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+Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Franklin K. Mathiews
+
+Release Date: August 29, 2008 [EBook #26475]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAMPFIRE STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK OF CAMPFIRE STORIES
+
+[Illustration: THERE, STANDING KNEE-DEEP IN THE WATER, WAS THE BIGGEST
+AND BLACKEST MOOSE IN THE WORLD]
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK OF CAMPFIRE STORIES
+
+          EDITED
+          WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
+
+BY
+
+FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS
+
+          CHIEF SCOUT LIBRARIAN,
+          BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
+
+PUBLISHED FOR
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY
+          INCORPORATED
+          NEW YORK             1933
+
+
+
+          COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
+
+          D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+          All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof,
+          must not be reproduced in any form without
+          permission of the publishers.
+
+          PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
+
+THE campfire for ages has been the place of council and friendship and
+story-telling. The mystic glow of the fire quickens the mind, warms the
+heart, awakens memories of happy, glowing tales that fairly leap to the
+lips. The Boy Scouts of America has incorporated the "campfire" in its
+program for council and friendship and story-telling. In one volume, the
+_Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories_ makes available to scoutmasters
+and other leaders a goodly number of stories worthy of their attention,
+and when well told likely to arrest and hold the interest of boys in
+their early teens, when "stirs the blood--to bubble in the veins."
+
+At this time, when the boy is growing so rapidly in brain and body, he
+can have no better teacher than some mighty woodsman. Now should be
+presented to him stirring stories of the adventurous lives of men who
+live in and love the out-of-doors. Says Professor George Walter Fiske:
+"Let him emulate savage woodcraft; the woodsman's keen, practiced
+vision; his steadiness of nerve; his contempt for pain, hardship and the
+weather; his power of endurance, his observation and heightened senses;
+his delight in out-of-door sports and joys and unfettered happiness with
+untroubled sleep under the stars; his calmness, self-control, emotional
+steadiness; his utter faithfulness in friendships; his honesty, his
+personal bravery."
+
+The Editor likes to think that quite a few of the stories found in the
+_Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories_ present companions for the mind
+of this hardy sort, and hopes, whether boys read or are told these
+stories, they will prove to be such as exalt and inspire while they
+thrill and entertain.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                            PAGE
+        INTRODUCTION                                                    v
+     I. SILVERHORNS                                  _Henry van Dyke_   1
+    II. WILD HORSE HUNTER                                 _Zane Grey_  21
+   III. HYDROPHOBIC SKUNK                             _Irvin S. Cobb_  90
+    IV. THE OLE VIRGINIA                       _Stewart Edward White_ 100
+     V. THE WEIGHT OF OBLIGATION                          _Rex Beach_ 108
+    VI. THAT SPOT                                       _Jack London_ 140
+   VII. WHEN LINCOLN LICKED A BULLY                _Irving Bacheller_ 155
+  VIII. THE END OF THE TRAIL                    _Clarence E. Mulford_ 180
+    IX. DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS                     _Ellis Parker Butler_ 201
+     X. THE NIGHT OPERATOR                         _Frank L. Packard_ 218
+    XI. CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP                 _Ralph Connor_ 258
+   XII. THE STORY THAT THE KEG TOLD ME _Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray_ 275
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.--Silverhorns[1]
+
+_By Henry van Dyke_
+
+
+THE railway station of Bathurst, New Brunswick, did not look
+particularly merry at two o'clock of a late September morning. There was
+an easterly haze driving in from the Baie des Chaleurs and the darkness
+was so saturated with chilly moisture that an honest downpour of rain
+would have been a relief. Two or three depressed and somnolent travelers
+yawned in the waiting room, which smelled horribly of smoky lamps. The
+telegraph instrument in the ticket office clicked spasmodically for a
+minute, and then relapsed into a gloomy silence. The imperturbable
+station master was tipped back against the wall in a wooden armchair,
+with his feet on the table, and his mind sunk in an old Christmas number
+of the _Cowboy Magazine_. The express agent, in the baggage-room, was
+going over his last week's waybills and accounts by the light of a
+lantern, trying to locate an error, and sighing profanely to himself as
+he failed to find it. A wooden trunk tied with rope, a couple of dingy
+canvas bags, a long box marked "Fresh Fish! Rush!" and two large leather
+portmanteaus with brass fittings were piled on the luggage truck at the
+far end of the platform; and beside the door of the waiting room,
+sheltered by the overhanging eaves, was a neat traveling bag, with a gun
+case and a rod case leaning against the wall. The wet rails glittered
+dimly northward and southward away into the night. A few blurred lights
+glimmered from the village across the bridge.
+
+Dudley Hemenway had observed all these features of the landscape with
+silent dissatisfaction, as he smoked steadily up and down the platform,
+waiting for the Maritime Express. It is usually irritating to arrive at
+the station on time for a train on the Intercolonial Railway. The
+arrangement is seldom mutual; and sometimes yesterday's train does not
+come along until to-morrow afternoon. Moreover, Hemenway was inwardly
+discontented with the fact that he was coming out of the woods instead
+of going in. "Coming out" always made him a little unhappy, whether his
+expedition had been successful or not. He did not like the thought that
+it was all over; and he had the very bad habit, at such times, of
+looking ahead and computing the slowly lessening number of chances that
+were left to him.
+
+"Sixty odd years--I may get to be that old and keep my shooting sight,"
+he said to himself. "That would give me a couple of dozen more camping
+trips. It's a short allowance. I wonder if any of them will be more
+lucky than this one. This makes the seventh year I've tried to get a
+moose; and the odd trick has gone against me every time."
+
+He tossed away the end of his cigar, which made a little trail of sparks
+as it rolled along the sopping platform, and turned to look in through
+the window of the ticket office. Something in the agent's attitude of
+literary absorption aggravated him. He went round to the door and opened
+it.
+
+"Don't you know or care when this train is coming?"
+
+"Nope," said the man placidly.
+
+"Well, when? What's the matter with her? When is she due?"
+
+"Doo twenty minits ago," said the man. "Forty minits late down to
+Moocastle. Git here quatter to three, ef nothin' more happens."
+
+"But what has happened? What's wrong with the beastly old road, anyhow?"
+
+"Freight car skipped the track," said the man, "up to Charlo. Everythin'
+hung up an' kinder goin' slow till they git the line clear. Dunno
+nothin' more."
+
+With this conclusive statement the agent seemed to disclaim all
+responsibility for the future of impatient travelers, and dropped his
+mind back into the magazine again. Hemenway lit another cigar and went
+into the baggage room to smoke with the expressman. It was nearly three
+o'clock when they heard the far-off shriek of the whistle sounding up
+from the south; then, after an interval, the puffing of the engine on
+the upgrade; then the faint ringing of the rails, the increasing clatter
+of the train, and the blazing headlight of the locomotive swept slowly
+through the darkness, past the platform. The engineer was leaning on one
+arm, with his head out of the cab window, and Hemenway nodded as he
+passed and hurried into the ticket office, where the ticktack of a
+conversation by telegraph was soon under way. The black porter of the
+Pullman car was looking out from the vestibule, and when he saw Hemenway
+his sleepy face broadened into a grin reminiscent of many generous tips.
+
+"Howdy, Mr. Hennigray," he cried; "glad to see yo' ag'in, sah! I got yo'
+section all right, sah! Lemme take yo' things, sah! Train gwine to stop
+hy'eh fo' some time yet, I reckon."
+
+"Well, Charles," said Hemenway, "you take my things and put them in the
+car. Careful with that gun now! The Lord only knows how much time this
+train's going to lose. I'm going ahead to see the engineer."
+
+Angus McLeod was a grizzle-bearded Scotchman who had run a locomotive on
+the Intercolonial ever since the road was cut through the woods from New
+Brunswick to Quebec. Every one who traveled often on that line knew him,
+and all who knew him well enough to get below his rough crust, liked
+him for his big heart.
+
+"Hallo, McLeod," said Hemenway as he came up through the darkness, "is
+that you?"
+
+"It's nane else," answered the engineer as he stepped down from his cab
+and shook hands warmly. "Hoo are ye, Dud, an' whaur hae ye been
+murderin' the innocent beasties noo? Hae ye kilt yer moose yet? Ye've
+been chasin' him these mony years."
+
+"Not much murdering," replied Hemenway. "I had a queer trip this
+time--away up the Nepisiguit, with old McDonald. You know him, don't
+you?"
+
+"Fine do I ken Rob McDonald, an' a guid mon he is. Hoo was it that ye
+couldna slaughter stacks o' moose wi' him to help ye? Did ye see nane at
+all?"
+
+"Plenty, and one with the biggest horns in the world! But that's a long
+story, and there's no time to tell it now."
+
+"Time to burrn, Dud, nae fear o' it! 'Twill be an hour afore the line's
+clear to Charlo an' they lat us oot o' this. Come awa' up into the cab,
+mon, an' tell us yer tale. 'Tis couthy an' warm in the cab, an' I'm
+willin' to leesten to yer bluidy advaintures."
+
+So the two men clambered up into the engineer's seat. Hemenway gave
+McLeod his longest and strongest cigar, and filled his own briar-wood
+pipe. The rain was now pattering gently on the roof of the cab. The
+engine hissed and sizzled patiently in the darkness. The fragrant smoke
+curled steadily from the glowing tip of the cigar; but the pipe went out
+half a dozen times while Hemenway was telling the story of Silverhorns.
+
+"We went up the river to the big rock, just below Indian Falls. There we
+made our main camp, intending to hunt on Forty-two Mile Brook. There's
+quite a snarl of ponds and bogs at the head of it, and some burned hills
+over to the west, and it's very good moose country.
+
+"But some other party had been there before us, and we saw nothing on
+the ponds, except two cow moose and a calf. Coming out the next morning
+we got a fine deer on the old wood road--a beautiful head. But I have
+plenty of deer heads already."
+
+"Bonny creature!" said McLeod. "An' what did ye do wi' it, when ye had
+murdered it?"
+
+"Ate it, of course. I gave the head to Billy Boucher, the cook. He said
+he could get ten dollars for it. The next evening we went to one of the
+ponds again, and Injun Pete tried to 'call' a moose for me. But it was
+no good. McDonald was disgusted with Pete's calling; said it sounded
+like the bray of a wild ass of the wilderness. So the next day we gave
+up calling and traveled the woods over toward the burned hills.
+
+"In the afternoon McDonald found an enormous moose-track; he thought it
+looked like a bull's track, though he wasn't quite positive. But then,
+you know, a Scotchman never likes to commit himself, except about
+theology or politics."
+
+"Humph!" grunted McLeod in the darkness, showing that the strike had
+counted.
+
+"Well, we went on, following that track through the woods, for an hour
+or two. It was a terrible country, I tell you: tamarack swamps, and
+spruce thickets, and windfalls, and all kinds of misery. Presently we
+came out on a bare rock on the burned hillside, and there, across a
+ravine, we could see the animal lying down, just below the trunk of a
+big dead spruce that had fallen. The beast's head and neck were hidden
+by some bushes, but the fore shoulder and side were in clear view, about
+two hundred and fifty yards away. McDonald seemed to be inclined to
+think that it was a bull and that I ought to shoot. So I shot, and
+knocked splinters out of the spruce log. We could see them fly. The
+animal got up quickly, and looked at us for a moment, shaking her long
+ears; then the huge unmitigated cow vamoosed into the brush. McDonald
+remarked that it was 'a varra fortunate shot, almaist providaintial!'
+And so it was; for if it had gone six inches lower, and the news gotten
+out at Bathurst, it would have cost me a fine of two hundred dollars."
+
+"Ye did weel, Dud," puffed McLeod; "varra weel indeed--for the coo!"
+
+"After that," continued Hemenway, "of course my nerve was a little
+shaken, and we went back to the main camp on the river, to rest over
+Sunday. That was all right, wasn't it, Mac!"
+
+"Aye!" replied McLeod, who was a strict member of the Presbyterian
+church at Moncton. "That was surely a varra safe thing to do. Even a
+hunter, I'm thinkin', wouldna like to be breakin' twa commandments in
+the ane day--the foorth and the saxth!"
+
+"Perhaps not. It's enough to break one, as you do once a fortnight when
+you run your train into Rivière du Loup Sunday morning. How's that, you
+old Calvinist?"
+
+"Dudley, ma son," said the engineer, "dinna airgue a point that ye canna
+understond. There's guid an' suffeecient reasons for the train. But
+ye'll ne'er be claimin' that moose huntin' is a wark o' necessity or
+maircy?"
+
+"No, no, of course not; but then, you see, barring Sundays, we felt that
+it was necessary to do all we could to get a moose, just for the sake of
+our reputations. Billy, the cook, was particularly strong about it. He
+said that an old woman in Bathurst, a kind of fortune teller, had told
+him that he was going to have 'la bonne chance' on this trip. He wanted
+to try his own mouth at 'calling.' He had never really done it before.
+But he had been practicing all winter in imitation of a tame cow moose
+that Johnny Moreau had, and he thought he could make the sound 'b'en
+bon.' So he got the birch-bark horn and gave us a sample of his skill.
+McDonald told me privately that it was 'nae sa bad; a deal better than
+Pete's feckless bellow.' We agreed to leave the Indian to keep the camp
+(after locking up the whisky flask in my bag), and take Billy with us on
+Monday to 'call' at Hogan's Pond.
+
+"It's a small bit of water, about three quarters of a mile long and four
+hundred yards across, and four miles back from the river. There is no
+trail to it, but a blazed line runs part of the way, and for the rest
+you follow up the little brook that runs out of the pond. We stuck up
+our shelter in a hollow on the brook, half a mile below the pond, so
+that the smoke of our fire would not drift over the hunting ground, and
+waited till five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we went up to the pond,
+and took our position in a clump of birch trees on the edge of the open
+meadow that runs round the east shore. Just at dark Billy began to call,
+and it was beautiful. You know how it goes. Three short grunts, and then
+a long ooooo-aaaa-ooooh, winding up with another grunt! It sounded
+lonelier than a love-sick hippopotamus on the house top. It rolled and
+echoed over the hills as if it would wake the dead.
+
+"There was a fine moon shining, nearly full, and a few clouds floating
+by. Billy called, and called, and called again. The air grew colder and
+colder; light frost on the meadow grass; our teeth were chattering,
+fingers numb.
+
+"Then we heard a bull give a short bawl, away off to the southward.
+Presently we could hear his horns knock against the trees, far up on
+the hill. McDonald whispered, 'He's comin',' and Billy gave another
+call.
+
+"But it was another bull that answered, back of the north end of the
+pond, and pretty soon we could hear him rapping along through the woods.
+Then everything was still. 'Call agen,' says McDonald, and Billy called
+again.
+
+"This time the bawl came from another bull, on top of the western hill,
+straight across the pond. It seemed to start up the other two bulls, and
+we could hear all three of them thrashing along, as fast as they could
+come, towards the pond. 'Call agen, a wee one,' says McDonald, trembling
+with joy. And Billy called a little seducing call, with two grunts at
+the end.
+
+"Well, sir, at that, a cow and a calf came rushing down through the
+brush not two hundred yards away from us, and the three bulls went
+splash into the water, one at the south end, one at the north end, and
+one on the west shore. 'Land,' whispers McDonald, 'it's a meenadgerie!'"
+
+"Dud," said the engineer, getting down to open the furnace door a crack,
+"this is mair than murder ye're comin' at; it's a buitchery--or else
+it's juist a pack o' lees."
+
+"I give you my word," said Hemenway, "it's all true as the catechism.
+But let me go on. The cow and the calf only stayed in the water a few
+minutes, and then ran back through the woods. But the three bulls went
+sloshing around in the pond as if they were looking for something. We
+could hear them, but we could not see any of them, for the sky had
+clouded up, and they kept far away from us. Billy tried another short
+call, but they did not come any nearer. McDonald whispered that he
+thought the one in the south end might be the biggest, and he might be
+feeding, and the two others might be young bulls, and they might be
+keeping away because they were afraid of the big one. This seemed
+reasonable; and I said that I was going to crawl around the meadow to
+the south end. 'Keep near a tree,' says Mac; and I started.
+
+"There was a deep trail, worn by animals, through the high grass; and in
+this I crept along on my hands and knees. It was very wet and muddy. My
+boots were full of cold water. After ten minutes I came to a little
+point running out into the pond, and one young birch growing on it.
+Under this I crawled, and rising up on my knees looked over the top of
+the grass and bushes.
+
+"There, in a shallow bay, standing knee-deep in the water, and rooting
+up the lily stems with his long, pendulous nose, was the biggest and
+blackest bull moose in the world. As he pulled the roots from the mud
+and tossed up his dripping head I could see his horns--four and a half
+feet across, if they were an inch, and the palms shining like tea trays
+in the moonlight. I tell you, old Silverhorns was the most beautiful
+monster I ever saw.
+
+"But he was too far away to shoot by that dim light, so I left my birch
+tree and crawled along toward the edge of the bay. A breath of wind must
+have blown across me to him, for he lifted his head, sniffed, grunted,
+came out of the water, and began to trot slowly along the trail which
+led past me. I knelt on one knee and tried to take aim. A black cloud
+came over the moon. I couldn't see either of the sights on the gun. But
+when the bull came opposite to me, about fifty yards off, I blazed away
+at a venture.
+
+"He reared straight up on his hind legs--it looked as if he rose fifty
+feet in the air--wheeled, and went walloping along the trail, around the
+south end of the pond. In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by,
+Silverhorns!"
+
+"Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a fresh cigar. "Fegs!
+Ah doot Sir Walter himsel' couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the
+way ye didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm joyfu' to be
+hearin'."
+
+"Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not the end, by a long shot.
+There's worse to follow. The next morning we returned to the pond at
+day-break, for McDonald thought I might have wounded the moose. We
+searched the bushes and the woods where he went out very carefully,
+looking for drops of blood on his trail."
+
+"Bluid!" groaned the engineer. "Hech, mon, wouldna that come nigh to
+mak' ye greet, to find the beast's red bluid splashed over the leaves,
+and think o' him staggerin' on thro' the forest, drippin' the heart oot
+o' him wi' every step?"
+
+"But we didn't find any blood, you old sentimentalist. That shot in the
+dark was a clear miss. We followed the trail by broken bushes and
+footprints, for half a mile, and then came back to the pond and turned
+to go down through the edge of the woods to the camp.
+
+"It was just after sunrise. I was walking a few yards ahead, McDonald
+next, and Billy last. Suddenly he looked around to the left, gave a low
+whistle and dropped to the ground, pointing northward. Away at the head
+of the pond, beyond the glitter of the sun on the water, the big
+blackness of Silverhorns' head and body was pushing through the bushes,
+dripping with dew.
+
+"Each of us flopped down behind the nearest shrub as if we had been
+playing squat tag. Billy had the birch-bark horn with him, and he gave a
+low, short call. Silverhorns heard it, turned, and came parading slowly
+down the western shore, now on the sand beach, now splashing through the
+shallow water. We could see every motion and hear every sound. He
+marched along as if he owned the earth, swinging his huge head from side
+to side and grunting at each step.
+
+"You see, we were just in the edge of the woods, strung along the south
+end of the pond, Billy nearest the west shore, where the moose was
+walking, McDonald next, and I last, perhaps fifteen yards farther to
+the east. It was a fool arrangement, but we had no time to think about
+it. McDonald whispered that I should wait until the moose came close to
+us and stopped.
+
+"So I waited. I could see him swagger along the sand and step out around
+the fallen logs. The nearer he came the bigger his horns looked; each
+palm was like an enormous silver fish fork with twenty prongs. Then he
+went out of my sight for a minute as he passed around a little bay in
+the southwest corner, getting nearer and nearer to Billy. But I could
+still hear his steps distinctly--slosh, slosh, slosh--thud, thud, thud
+(the grunting had stopped)--closer came the sound, until it was directly
+behind the dense green branches of a fallen balsam tree, not twenty feet
+away from Billy. Then suddenly the noise ceased. I could hear my own
+heart pounding at my ribs, but nothing else. And of Silverhorns not hair
+nor hide was visible. It looked as if he must be a Boojum, and had the
+power to 'softly and silently vanish away.'
+
+"Billy and Mac were beckoning to me fiercely and pointing to the green
+balsam top. I gripped my rifle and started to creep toward them. A
+little twig, about as thick as the tip of a fishing rod, cracked under
+my knee. There was a terrible crash behind the balsam, a plunging
+through the underbrush and a rattling among the branches, a lumbering
+gallop up the hill through the forest, and Silverhorns was gone into the
+invisible.
+
+"He had stopped behind the tree because he smelled the grease on
+Billy's boots. As he stood there, hesitating, Billy and Mac could see
+his shoulder and his side through a gap in the branches--a dead-easy
+shot. But so far as I was concerned, he might as well have been in
+Alaska. I told you that the way we had placed ourselves was a fool
+arrangement. But McDonald would not say anything about it, except to
+express his conviction that it was not predestinated we should get that
+moose."
+
+"Ah dinna ken ould Rob had sae much theology aboot him," commented
+McLeod. "But noo I'm thinkin' ye went back to yer main camp, an' lat
+puir Seelverhorrns live oot his life?"
+
+"Not much, did we! For now we knew that he wasn't badly frightened by
+the adventure of the night before, and that we might get another chance
+at him. In the afternoon it began to rain; and it poured for forty-eight
+hours. We covered in our shelter before a smoky fire, and lived on short
+rations of crackers and dried prunes--it was a hungry time."
+
+"But wasna there slathers o' food at the main camp? Ony fule wad ken
+enough to gae doon to the river an' tak' a guid fill-up."
+
+"But that wasn't what we wanted. It was Silverhorns. Billy and I made
+McDonald stay, and Thursday afternoon, when the clouds broke away, we
+went back to the pond to have a last try at turning our luck.
+
+"This time we took our positions with great care, among some small
+spruces on a joint that ran out from the southern meadow. I was farthest
+to the west; McDonald (who had also brought his gun) was next; Billy,
+with the horn, was farthest away from the point where he thought the
+moose would come out. So Billy began to call, very beautifully. The long
+echoes went bellowing over the hills. The afternoon was still and the
+setting sun shone through a light mist, like a ball of red gold.
+
+"Fifteen minutes after sundown Silverhorns gave a loud bawl from the
+western ridge and came crashing down the hill. He cleared the bushes two
+or three hundred yards to our left with a leap, rushed into the pond,
+and came wading around the south shore toward us. The bank here was
+rather high, perhaps four feet above the water, and the mud below it was
+deep, so that the moose sank in to his knees. I give you my word, as he
+came along there was nothing visible to Mac and me except his ears and
+his horns. Everything else was hidden below the bank.
+
+"There were we behind our little spruce trees. And there was
+Silverhorns, standing still now, right in front of us. And all that Mac
+and I could see were those big ears and those magnificent antlers,
+appearing and disappearing as he lifted and lowered his head. It was a
+fearful situation. And there was Billy, with his birch-bark hooter,
+forty yards below us--he could see the moose perfectly.
+
+"I looked at Mac, and he looked at me. He whispered something about
+predestination. Then Billy lifted his horn and made ready to give a
+little soft grunt, to see if the moose wouldn't move along a bit, just
+to oblige us. But as Billy drew in his breath, one of those fool flies
+that are always blundering around a man's face flew straight down his
+throat. Instead of a call he burst out with a furious, strangling fit of
+coughing. The moose gave a snort, and a wild leap in the water, and
+galloped away under the bank, the way he had come. Mac and I both fired
+at his vanishing ears and horns, but of course----"
+
+"All Aboooard!" The conductor's shout rang along the platform.
+
+"Line's clear," exclaimed McLeod, rising. "Noo we'll be off! Wull ye
+stay here wi' me, or gang awa' back to yer bed?"
+
+"Here," answered Hemenway, not budging from his place on the bench.
+
+The bell clanged, and the powerful machine puffed out on its flaring way
+through the night. Faster and faster came the big explosive breaths,
+until they blended in a long steady roar, and the train was sweeping
+northward at forty miles an hour. The clouds had broken; the night had
+grown colder; the gibbous moon gleamed over the vast and solitary
+landscape. It was a different thing to Hemenway, riding in the cab of
+the locomotive, from an ordinary journey in the passenger car or an
+unconscious ride in the sleeper. Here he was on the crest of motion, at
+the forefront of speed, and the quivering engine with the long train
+behind it seemed like a living creature leaping along the track. It
+responded to the labor of the fireman and the touch of the engineer
+almost as if it could think and feel. Its pace quickened without a jar;
+its great eye pierced the silvery space of moonlight with a shaft of
+blazing yellow; the rails sang before it and trembled behind it; it was
+an obedient and joyful monster, conquering distance and devouring
+darkness.
+
+On the wide level barrens beyond the Tête-á-Gouche River the locomotive
+reached its best speed, purring like a huge cat and running smoothly.
+McLeod leaned back on his bench with a satisfied air.
+
+"She's doin' fine, the nicht," said he. "Ah'm thinkin', whiles, o' yer
+auld Seelverhorrns. Whaur is he noo? Awa' up on Higan' Pond, gallantin'
+around i' the licht o' the mune wi' a lady moose, an' the gladness juist
+bubblin' in his hairt. Ye're no sorry that he's leevin' yet, are ye,
+Dud?"
+
+"Well," answered Hemenway slowly, between the puffs of his pipe, "I
+can't say I'm sorry that he's alive and happy, though I'm not glad that
+I lost him. But he did his best, the old rogue; he played a good game,
+and he deserved to win. Where he is now nobody can tell. He was
+traveling like a streak of lightning when I last saw him. By this time
+he may be----"
+
+"What's yon?" cried McLeod, springing up. Far ahead, in the narrow apex
+of the converging rails stood a black form, motionless, mysterious.
+McLeod grasped the whistle cord. The black form loomed higher in the
+moonlight and was clearly silhouetted against the horizon--a big moose
+standing across the track. They could see his grotesque head, his
+shadowy horns, high, sloping shoulders. The engineer pulled the cord.
+The whistle shrieked loud and long.
+
+The moose turned and faced the sound. The glare of the headlight
+fascinated, challenged, angered him. There he stood defiant, front feet
+planted wide apart, head lowered, gazing steadily at the unknown enemy
+that was rushing toward him. He was the monarch of the wilderness. There
+was nothing in the world that he feared, except those strange-smelling
+little beasts on two legs who crept around through the woods and shot
+fire out of sticks. This was surely not one of those treacherous
+animals, but some strange new creature that dared to shriek at him and
+try to drive him out of its way. He would not move. He would try his
+strength against this big yellow-eyed beast.
+
+"Losh!" cried McLeod; "he's gaun' to fecht us!" and he dropped the cord,
+grabbed the levers, and threw the steam off and the brakes on hard. The
+heavy train slid groaning and jarring along the track. The moose never
+stirred. The fire smoldered in his small narrow eyes. His black crest
+was bristling. As the engine bore down upon him, not a rod away, he
+reared high in the air, his antlers flashing in the blaze, and struck
+full at the headlight with his immense fore feet. There was a shattering
+of glass, a crash, a heavy shock, and the train slid on through the
+darkness, lit only by the moon.
+
+Thirty or forty yards beyond, the momentum was exhausted and the engine
+came to a stop. Hemenway and McLeod clambered down and ran back, with
+the other trainmen and a few of the passengers. The moose was lying in
+the ditch beside the track, stone dead and frightfully shattered. But
+the great head and the vast spreading antlers were intact.
+
+"Seelverhorrns, sure enough!" said McLeod, bending over him. "He was
+crossin' frae the Nepisiguit to the Jacquet; but he didna get across.
+Weel, Dud, are ye glad? Ye hae kilt yer first moose!"
+
+"Yes," said Hemenway, "it's my first moose. But it's your first moose,
+too. And I think it's our last. Ye gods, what a fighter!"
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[1] From _Days Off_. Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Used
+by permission of the publishers.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+II.--The Wild-Horse Hunter[2]
+
+_By Zane Grey_
+
+
+I
+
+THREE wild-horse hunters made camp one night beside a little stream in
+the Sevier Valley, five hundred miles, as a crow flies, from Bostil's
+Ford.
+
+These hunters had a poor outfit, excepting, of course, their horses.
+They were young men, rangy in build, lean and hard from life in the
+saddle, bronzed like Indians, still-faced, and keen-eyed. Two of them
+appeared to be tired out, and lagged at the camp-fire duties. When the
+meager meal was prepared they sat, cross-legged, before a ragged
+tarpaulin, eating and drinking in silence.
+
+The sky in the west was rosy, slowly darkening. The valley floor
+billowed away, ridged and cut, growing gray and purple and dark. Walls
+of stone, pink with the last rays of the setting sun, inclosed the
+valley, stretching away toward a long, low, black mountain range.
+
+The place was wild, beautiful, open, with something nameless that made
+the desert different from any other country. It was, perhaps, a
+loneliness of vast stretches of valley and stone, clear to the eye, even
+after sunset. That black mountain range, which looked close enough to
+ride to before dark, was a hundred miles distant.
+
+The shades of night fell swiftly, and it was dark by the time the
+hunters finished the meal. Then the camp fire had burned low. One of the
+three dragged branches of dead cedars and replenished the fire. Quickly
+it flared up, with the white flame and crackle characteristic of dry
+cedar. The night wind had risen, moaning through the gnarled, stunted
+cedars near by, and it blew the fragrant wood smoke into the faces of
+the two hunters, who seemed too tired to move.
+
+"I reckon a pipe would help me make up my mind," said one.
+
+"Wal, Bill," replied the other, dryly, "your mind's made up, else you'd
+not say smoke."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because there ain't three pipefuls of thet precious tobacco left."
+
+"Thet's one apiece, then. . . . Lin, come an' smoke the last pipe with
+us."
+
+The tallest of the three, he who had brought the firewood, stood in the
+bright light of the blaze. He looked the born rider, light, lithe,
+powerful.
+
+"Sure, I'll smoke," he replied.
+
+Then, presently, he accepted the pipe tendered him, and, sitting down
+beside the fire, he composed himself to the enjoyment which his
+companions evidently considered worthy of a decision they had reached.
+
+"So this smokin' means you both want to turn back?" queried Lin, his
+sharp gaze glancing darkly bright in the glow of the fire.
+
+"Yep, we'll turn back. An', Gee! the relief I feel!" replied one.
+
+"We've been long comin' to it, Lin, an' thet was for your sake," replied
+the other.
+
+Lin slowly pulled at his pipe and blew out the smoke as if reluctant to
+part with it. "Let's go on," he said, quietly.
+
+"No. I've had all I want of chasin' thet wild stallion," returned Bill,
+shortly.
+
+The other spread wide his hands and bent an expostulating look upon the
+one called Lin. "We're two hundred miles out," he said. "There's only a
+little flour left in the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt! All the
+hosses except your big Nagger are played out. We're already in strange
+country. An' you know what we've heerd of this an' all to the south.
+It's all cañons, an' somewheres down there is thet awful cañon none of
+our people ever seen. But we've heerd of it. An awful cut-up country."
+
+He finished with a conviction that no one could say a word against the
+common sense of his argument. Lin was silent, as if impressed.
+
+Bill raised a strong, lean, brown hand in a forcible gesture. "We can't
+ketch Wildfire!"
+
+That seemed to him, evidently, a more convincing argument than his
+comrade's.
+
+"Bill is sure right, if I'm wrong, which I ain't," went on the other.
+"Lin, we've trailed thet wild stallion for six weeks. Thet's the longest
+chase he ever had. He's left his old range. He's cut out his band, an'
+left them, one by one. We've tried every trick we know on him. An' he's
+too smart for us. There's a hoss! Why, Lin, we're all but gone to the
+dogs chasin' Wildfire. An' now I'm done, an' I'm glad of it."
+
+There was another short silence, which presently Bill opened his lips to
+break.
+
+"Lin, it makes me sick to quit. I ain't denyin' thet for a long time
+I've had hopes of ketchin' Wildfire. He's the grandest hoss I ever laid
+eyes on. I reckon no man, onless he was an Arab, ever seen as good a
+one. But now thet's neither here nor there. . . . We've got to hit the
+back trail."
+
+"Boys, I reckon I'll stick to Wildfire's tracks," said Lin, in the same
+quiet tone.
+
+Bill swore at him, and the other hunter grew excited and concerned.
+
+"Lin Slone, are you gone plumb crazy over thet red hoss?"
+
+"I--reckon," replied Slone. The working of his throat as he swallowed
+could be plainly seen by his companions.
+
+Bill looked at his ally as if to confirm some sudden understanding
+between them. They took Slone's attitude gravely and they wagged their
+heads doubtfully. . . . It was significant of the nature of riders that
+they accepted his attitude and had consideration for his feelings. For
+them the situation subtly changed. For weeks they had been three
+wild-horse wranglers on a hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had
+failed to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit of their
+endurance and of the outfit, and it was time to turn back. But Slone had
+conceived that strange and rare longing for a horse--a passion
+understood, if not shared, by all riders. And they knew that he would
+catch Wildfire or die in the attempt. From that moment their attitude
+toward Slone changed as subtly as had come the knowledge of his feeling.
+The gravity and gloom left their faces. It seemed they might have
+regretted what they had said about the futility of catching Wildfire.
+They did not want Slone to see or feel the hopelessness of his task.
+
+"I tell you, Lin," said Bill, "your hoss Nagger's as good as when we
+started."
+
+"Aw, he's better," vouchsafed the other rider. "Nagger needed to lose
+some weight. Lin, have you got an extra set of shoes for him?"
+
+"No full set. Only three left," replied Lin, soberly.
+
+"Wal, thet's enough. You can keep Nagger shod. An' _mebbe_ thet red
+stallion will get sore feet an' go lame. Then you'd stand a chance."
+
+"But Wildfire keeps travelin' the valleys--the soft ground," said Slone.
+
+"No matter. He's leavin' the country, an' he's bound to strike sandstone
+sooner or later. Then, by gosh! mebbe he'll wear off them hoofs."
+
+"Say, can't he ring bells offen the rocks?" exclaimed Bill.
+
+"Boys, do you think he's leavin' the country?" inquired Slone,
+anxiously.
+
+"Sure he is," replied Bill. "He ain't the first stallion I've chased off
+the Sevier range. An' I know. It's a stallion thet makes for new
+country, when you push him hard."
+
+"Yep, Lin, he's sure leavin'," added the other comrade. "Why, he's
+traveled a bee line for days! I'll bet he's seen us many a time.
+Wildfire's about as smart as any man. He was born wild, an' his dam was
+born wild, an' there you have it. The wildest of all wild creatures--a
+wild stallion, with the intelligence of a man! A grand hoss, Lin, but
+one thet has killed stallions all over the Sevier range. A wild
+stallion thet's a killer! I never liked him for thet. Could he be
+broke?"
+
+"I'll break him," said Lin Slone, grimly. "It's gettin' him thet's the
+job. I've got patience to break a hoss. But patience can't catch a
+streak of lightnin'."
+
+"Nope; you're right," replied Bill. "If you have some luck you'll get
+him--mebbe. If he wears out his feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow
+cañon, or run him into a bad place where he can't get by you. Thet might
+happen. An' then, with Nagger, you stand a chance. Did you ever tire
+thet hoss?"
+
+"Not yet."
+
+"An' how fur did you ever run him without a break? Why, when we ketched
+thet sorrel last year I rode Nagger myself--thirty miles, most at a hard
+gallop. An' he never turned a hair!"
+
+"I've beat thet," replied Lin. "He could run hard fifty miles--mebbe
+more. Honestly, I never seen him tired yet. If only he was fast!"
+
+"Wal, Nagger ain't so slow, come to think of thet," replied Bill, with a
+grunt. "He's good enough for you not to want another hoss."
+
+"Lin, you're goin' to wear out Wildfire, an' then trap him somehow--is
+thet the plan?" asked the other comrade.
+
+"I haven't any plan. I'll just trail him, like a cougar trails a deer."
+
+"Lin, if Wildfire gives you the slip he'll have to fly. You've got the
+best eyes for tracks of any wrangler in Utah."
+
+Slone accepted the compliment with a fleeting, doubtful smile on his
+dark face. He did not reply, and no more was said by his comrades. They
+rolled with backs to the fire. Slone put on more wood, for the keen wind
+was cold and cutting; and then he lay down, his head on his saddle, with
+a goatskin under him and a saddle blanket over him.
+
+All three were soon asleep. The wind whipped the sand and ashes and
+smoke over the sleepers. Coyotes barked from near in darkness, and from
+the valley ridge came the faint mourn of a hunting wolf. The desert
+night grew darker and colder.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Stewart brothers were wild-horse hunters for the sake of trades and
+occasional sales. But Lin Slone never traded nor sold a horse he had
+captured. The excitement of the game, and the lure of the desert, and
+the love of a horse were what kept him at the profitless work. His type
+was rare in the uplands.
+
+These were the early days of the settlement of Utah, and only a few of
+the hardiest and most adventurous pioneers had penetrated the desert in
+the southern part of that vast upland. And with them came some of that
+wild breed of riders to which Slone and the Stewarts belonged. Horses
+were really more important and necessary than men; and this singular
+fact gave these lonely riders a calling.
+
+Before the Spaniards came there were no horses in the West. Those
+explorers left or lost horses all over the southwest. Many of them were
+Arabian horses of purest blood. American explorers and travelers, at the
+outset of the nineteenth century, encountered countless droves of wild
+horses all over the plains. Across the Grand Cañon, however, wild horses
+were comparatively few in number in the early days; and these had
+probably come in by way of California.
+
+The Stewarts and Slone had no established mode of catching wild horses.
+The game had not developed fast enough for that. Every chase of horse or
+drove was different; and once in many attempts they met with success.
+
+A favorite method originated by the Stewarts was to find a water hole
+frequented by the band of horses or the stallion wanted, and to build
+round this hole a corral with an opening for the horses to get in. Then
+the hunters would watch the trap at night, and if the horses went in to
+drink, a gate was closed across the opening.
+
+Another method of the Stewarts was to trail a coveted horse up on a mesa
+or highland, places which seldom had more than one trail of ascent and
+descent, and there block the escape, and cut lines of cedars, into which
+the quarry was run till captured. Still another method, discovered by
+accident, was to shoot a horse lightly in the neck and sting him. This
+last, called creasing, was seldom successful, and for that matter in
+any method ten times as many horses were killed as captured.
+
+Lin Slone helped the Stewarts in their own way, but he had no especial
+liking for their tricks. Perhaps a few remarkable captures of remarkable
+horses had spoiled Slone. He was always trying what the brothers claimed
+to be impossible. He was a fearless rider, but he had the fault of
+saving his mount, and to kill a wild horse was a tragedy for him. He
+would much rather have hunted alone, and he had been alone on the trail
+of the stallion Wildfire when the Stewarts had joined him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lin Slone awoke next morning and rolled out of his blanket at his usual
+early hour. But he was not early enough to say good-by to the Stewarts.
+They were gone.
+
+The fact surprised him and somehow relieved him. They had left him more
+than his share of the outfit, and perhaps that was why they had slipped
+off before dawn. They knew him well enough to know that he would not
+have accepted it. Besides, perhaps they felt a little humiliation at
+abandoning a chase which he chose to keep up. Anyway, they were gone,
+apparently without breakfast.
+
+The morning was clear, cool, with the air dark like that before a storm,
+and in the east, over the steely wall of stone, shone a redness growing
+brighter.
+
+Slone looked away to the west, down the trail taken by his comrades,
+but he saw nothing moving against that cedar-dotted waste.
+
+"Good-by," he said, and he spoke as if he was saying good-by to more
+than comrades.
+
+"I reckon I won't see Sevier Village soon again--an' maybe never," he
+soliloquized.
+
+There was no one to regret him, unless it was old Mother Hall, who had
+been kind to him on those rare occasions when he got out of the
+wilderness. Still, it was with regret that he gazed away across the red
+valley to the west. Slone had no home. His father and mother had been
+lost in the massacre of a wagon train by Indians, and he had been one of
+the few saved and brought to Salt Lake. That had happened when he was
+ten years old. His life thereafter had been hard, and but for his sturdy
+Texas training he might not have survived. The last five years he had
+been a horse hunter in the wild uplands of Nevada and Utah.
+
+Slone turned his attention to the pack of supplies. The Stewarts had
+divided the flour and the parched corn equally, and unless he was
+greatly mistaken they had left him most of the coffee and all of the
+salt.
+
+"Now I hold that decent of Bill an' Abe," said Slone, regretfully. "But
+I could have got along without it better 'n they could."
+
+Then he swiftly set about kindling a fire and getting a meal. In the
+midst of his task a sudden ruddy brightness fell around him. Lin Slone
+paused in his work to look up.
+
+The sun had risen over the eastern wall.
+
+"Ah!" he said, and drew a deep breath.
+
+The cold, steely, darkling sweep of desert had been transformed. It was
+now a world of red earth and gold rocks and purple sage, with everywhere
+the endless straggling green cedars. A breeze whipped in, making the
+fire roar softly. The sun felt warm on his cheek. And at the moment he
+heard the whistle of his horse.
+
+"Good old Nagger!" he said. "I shore won't have to track you this
+mornin'."
+
+Presently he went off into the cedars to find Nagger and the mustang
+that he used to carry a pack. Nagger was grazing in a little open patch
+among the trees, but the pack horse was missing. Slone seemed to know in
+what direction to go to find the trail, for he came upon it very soon.
+The pack horse wore hobbles, but he belonged to the class that could
+cover a great deal of ground when hobbled. Slone did not expect the
+horse to go far, considering that the grass thereabouts was good. But in
+a wild-horse country it was not safe to give any horse a chance. The
+call of his wild brethren was irresistible. Slone, however, found the
+mustang standing quietly in a clump of cedars, and, removing the
+hobbles, he mounted and rode back to camp. Nagger caught sight of him
+and came at his call.
+
+This horse Nagger appeared as unique in his class as Slone was rare
+among riders. Nagger seemed of several colors, though black
+predominated. His coat was shaggy, almost woolly, like that of a sheep.
+He was huge, raw-boned, knotty, long of body and long of leg, with the
+head of a war charger. His build did not suggest speed. There appeared
+to be something slow and ponderous about him, similar to an elephant,
+with the same suggestion of power and endurance.
+
+Slone discarded the pack saddle and bags. The latter were almost empty.
+He roped the tarpaulin on the back of the mustang, and, making a small
+bundle of his few supplies, he tied that to the tarpaulin. His blanket
+he used for a saddle blanket on Nagger. Of the utensils left by the
+Stewarts he chose a couple of small iron pans, with long handles. The
+rest he left. In his saddle bags he had a few extra horseshoes, some
+nails, bullets for his rifle, and a knife with a heavy blade.
+
+"Not a rich outfit for a far country," he mused. Slone did not talk very
+much, and when he did he addressed Nagger and himself simultaneously.
+Evidently he expected a long chase, one from which he would not return,
+and light as his outfit was it would grow too heavy.
+
+Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope, facing the valley and
+the black, bold, flat mountain to the southeast. Some few hundred yards
+from camp he halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize
+the ground.
+
+The clean-cut track of a horse showed in the bare, hard sand. The hoof
+marks were large, almost oval, perfect in shape, and manifestly they
+were beautiful to Lin Slone. He gazed at them for a long time, and then
+he looked across the dotted red valley up to the vast ridgy steppes,
+toward the black plateau and beyond. It was the look that an Indian
+gives to a strange country. Then Slone slipped off the saddle and knelt
+to scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand had blown into the
+depressions, and some of it was wet and some of it was dry. He took his
+time about examining it, and he even tried gently blowing other sand
+into the tracks, to compare that with what was already there. Finally he
+stood up and addressed Nagger.
+
+"Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill this mornin'," he said,
+with satisfaction. "Wildfire made that track yesterday, before sunup."
+
+Thereupon Slone remounted and put Nagger to a trot. The pack horse
+followed with an alacrity that showed he had no desire for loneliness.
+
+As straight as a bee line Wildfire had left a trail down into the floor
+of the valley. He had not stopped to graze, and he had not looked for
+water. Slone had hoped to find a water hole in one of the deep washes in
+the red earth, but if there had been any water there Wildfire would have
+scented it. He had not had a drink for three days that Slone knew of.
+And Nagger had not drunk for forty hours. Slone had a canvas water bag
+hanging over the pommel, but it was a habit of his to deny himself, as
+far as possible, till his horse could drink also. Like an Indian, Slone
+ate and drank but little.
+
+It took four hours of steady trotting to reach the middle and bottom of
+that wide, flat valley. A network of washes cut up the whole center of
+it, and they were all as dry as bleached bone. To cross these Slone had
+only to keep Wildfire's trail. And it was proof of Nagger's quality that
+he did not have to veer from the stallion's course.
+
+It was hot down in the lowland. The heat struck up, reflected from the
+sand. But it was a March sun, and no more than pleasant to Slone. The
+wind rose, however, and blew dust and sand in the faces of horse and
+rider. Except lizards Slone did not see any living things.
+
+Miles of low greasewood and sparse yellow sage led to the first almost
+imperceptible rise of the valley floor on that side. The distant cedars
+beckoned to Slone. He was not patient, because he was on the trail of
+Wildfire; but, nevertheless, the hours seemed short.
+
+Slone had no past to think about, and the future held nothing except a
+horse, and so his thoughts revolved the possibilities connected with
+this chase of Wildfire. The chase was hopeless in such country as he was
+traversing, and if Wildfire chose to roam around valleys like this one
+Slone would fail utterly. But the stallion had long ago left his band of
+horses, and then, one by one his favorite consorts, and now he was
+alone, headed with unerring instinct for wild, untrammeled ranges. He
+had been used to the pure, cold water and the succulent grass of the
+cold desert uplands. Assuredly he would not tarry in such barren lands
+as these.
+
+For Slone an ever-present and growing fascination lay in Wildfire's
+clear, sharply defined tracks. It was as if every hoof mark told him
+something. Once, far up the interminable ascent, he found on a ridge top
+tracks showing where Wildfire had halted and turned.
+
+"Ha, Nagger!" cried Slone, exultingly. "Look there! He's begun facin'
+about. He's wonderin' if we're still after him. He's worried. . . . But
+we'll keep out of sight--a day behind."
+
+When Slone reached the cedars the sun was low down in the west. He
+looked back across the fifty miles of valley to the colored cliffs and
+walls. He seemed to be above them now, and the cool air, with tang of
+cedar and juniper, strengthened the impression that he had climbed high.
+
+A mile or more ahead of him rose a gray cliff with breaks in it and a
+line of dark cedars or piñons on the level rims. He believed these
+breaks to be the mouths of cañons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's
+trail led into the mouth of a narrow cañon with very steep and high
+walls. Nagger snorted his perception of water, and the mustang whistled.
+Wildfire's tracks led to a point under the wall where a spring gushed
+forth. There were mountain lion and deer tracks also, as well as those
+of smaller game.
+
+Slone made camp here. The mustang was tired. But Nagger, upon taking a
+long drink, rolled in the grass as if he had just begun the trip. After
+eating, Slone took his rifle and went out to look for deer. But there
+appeared to be none at hand. He came across many lion tracks, and saw,
+with apprehension, where one had taken Wildfire's trail. Wildfire had
+grazed up the cañon, keeping on and on, and he was likely to go miles in
+a night. Slone reflected that as small as were his own chances of
+getting Wildfire, they were still better than those of a mountain lion.
+Wildfire was the most cunning of all animals--a wild stallion; his speed
+and endurance were incomparable; his scent as keen as those animals that
+relied wholly upon scent to warn them of danger; and as for sight, it
+was Slone's belief that no hoofed creature, except the mountain sheep
+used to high altitudes, could see as far as a wild horse.
+
+It bothered Slone a little that he was getting into a lion country.
+Nagger showed nervousness, something unusual for him. Slone tied both
+horses with long halters and stationed them on patches of thick grass.
+Then he put a cedar stump on the fire and went to sleep. Upon awakening
+and going to the spring he was somewhat chagrined to see that deer had
+come down to drink early. Evidently they were numerous. A lion country
+was always a deer country, for the lions followed the deer.
+
+Slone was packed and saddled and on his way before the sun reddened the
+cañon wall. He walked the horses. From time to time he saw signs of
+Wildfire's consistent progress. The cañon narrowed and the walls grew
+lower and the grass increased. There was a decided ascent all the time.
+Slone could find no evidence that the cañon had ever been traveled by
+hunters or Indians. The day was pleasant and warm and still. Every once
+in a while a little breath of wind would bring a fragrance of cedar and
+piñon, and a sweet hint of pine and sage. At every turn he looked ahead,
+expecting to see the green of pine and the gray of sage. Toward the
+middle of the afternoon, coming to a place where Wildfire had taken to a
+trot, he put Nagger to that gait, and by sundown had worked up to where
+the cañon was only a shallow ravine. And finally it turned once more, to
+lose itself in a level where straggling pines stood high above the
+cedars, and great, dark-green silver spruces stood above the pines. And
+here were patches of sage, fresh and pungent, and long reaches of
+bleached grass. It was the edge of a forest. Wildfire's trail went on.
+Slone came at length to a group of pines, and here he found the remains
+of a camp fire, and some flint arrow-heads. Indians had been in there,
+probably having come from the opposite direction to Slone's. This
+encouraged him, for where Indians could hunt so could he. Soon he was
+entering a forest where cedars and piñons and pines began to grow
+thickly. Presently he came upon a faintly defined trail, just a dim,
+dark line even to an experienced eye. But it was a trail, and Wildfire
+had taken it.
+
+Slone halted for the night. The air was cold. And the dampness of it
+gave him an idea there were snow banks somewhere not far distant. The
+dew was already heavy on the grass. He hobbled the horses and put a bell
+on Nagger. A bell might frighten lions that had never heard one. Then he
+built a fire and cooked his meal.
+
+It had been long since he had camped high up among the pines. The sough
+of the wind pleased him, like music. There had begun to be prospects of
+pleasant experience along with the toil of chasing Wildfire. He was
+entering new and strange and beautiful country. How far might the chase
+take him? He did not care. He was not sleepy, but even if he had been it
+developed that he must wait till the coyotes ceased their barking round
+his camp fire. They came so close that he saw their gray shadows in the
+gloom. But presently they wearied of yelping at him and went away. After
+that the silence, broken only by the wind as it roared and lulled,
+seemed beautiful to Slone. He lost completely that sense of vague regret
+which had remained with him, and he forgot the Stewarts. And suddenly he
+felt absolutely free, alone, with nothing behind to remember, with wild,
+thrilling, nameless life before him. Just then the long mourn of a
+timber wolf wailed in with the wind. Seldom had he heard the cry of one
+of those night wanderers. There was nothing like it--no sound like it to
+fix in the lone camper's heart the great solitude and the wild.
+
+
+II
+
+In the early morning when all was gray and the big, dark pines were
+shadowy specters, Slone was awakened by the cold. His hands were so numb
+that he had difficulty starting a fire. He stood over the blaze, warming
+them. The air was nipping, clear and thin, and sweet with frosty
+fragrance.
+
+Daylight came while he was in the midst of his morning meal. A white
+frost covered the ground and crackled under his feet as he went out to
+bring in the horses. He saw fresh deer tracks. Then he went back to camp
+for his rifle. Keeping a sharp lookout for game, he continued his search
+for the horses.
+
+The forest was open and parklike. There were no fallen trees or
+evidences of fire. Presently he came to a wide glade in the midst of
+which Nagger and the pack mustang were grazing with a herd of deer. The
+size of the latter amazed Slone. The deer he had hunted back on the
+Sevier range were much smaller than these. Evidently these were mule
+deer, closely allied to the elk. They were so tame they stood facing him
+curiously, with long ears erect. It was sheer murder to kill a deer
+standing and watching like that, but Slone was out of meat and hungry
+and facing a long, hard trip. He shot a buck, which leaped spasmodically
+away, trying to follow the herd, and fell at the edge of the glade.
+Slone cut out a haunch, and then, catching the horses, he returned to
+camp, where he packed and saddled, and at once rode out on the dim
+trail.
+
+The wilderness of the country he was entering was evident in the fact
+that as he passed the glade where he had shot the deer a few minutes
+before, there were coyotes quarreling over the carcass.
+
+Slone could see ahead and on each side several hundred yards, and
+presently he ascertained that the forest floor was not so level as he
+had supposed. He had entered a valley or was traversing a wide, gently
+sloping pass. He went through thickets of juniper, and had to go around
+clumps of quaking asp. The pines grew larger and farther apart. Cedars
+and piñons had been left behind, and he had met with no silver spruces
+after leaving camp. Probably that point was the height of a divide.
+There were banks of snow in some of the hollows on the north side.
+Evidently the snow had very recently melted, and it was evident also
+that the depth of snow through here had been fully ten feet, judging
+from the mutilation of the juniper trees where the deer, standing on the
+hard, frozen crust, had browsed upon the branches.
+
+The quiet of the forest thrilled Slone. And the only movement was the
+occasional gray flash of a deer or coyote across a glade. No birds of
+any species crossed Slone's sight. He came, presently, upon a lion track
+in the trail, made probably a day before. Slone grew curious about it,
+seeing how it held, as he was holding, to Wildfire's tracks. After a
+mile or so he made sure the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for
+a second he felt a cold contraction of his heart. Already he loved
+Wildfire, and by virtue of all this toil of travel considered the wild
+horse his property.
+
+"No lion could ever get close to Wildfire," he soliloquized, with a
+short laugh. Of that he was absolutely certain.
+
+The sun rose, melting the frost, and a breath of warm air, laden with
+the scent of pine, moved heavily under the huge, yellow trees. Slone
+passed a point where the remains of an old camp fire and a pile of deer
+antlers were further proof that Indians visited this plateau to hunt.
+From this camp broader, more deeply defined trails led away to the south
+and east. Slone kept to the east trail, in which Wildfire's tracks and
+those of the lion showed clearly. It was about the middle of the
+forenoon when the tracks of the stallion and lion left the trail to lead
+up a little draw where grass grew thick. Slone followed, reading the
+signs of Wildfire's progress, and the action of his pursuer, as well as
+if he had seen them. Here the stallion had plowed into a snow bank,
+eating a hole two feet deep; then he had grazed around a little; then on
+and on; there his splendid tracks were deep in the soft earth. Slone
+knew what to expect when the track of the lion veered from those of the
+horse, and he followed the lion tracks. The ground was soft from the
+late melting of snow, and Nagger sunk deep. The lion left a plain track.
+Here he stole steadily along; there he left many tracks at a point where
+he might have halted to make sure of his scent. He was circling on the
+trail of the stallion, with cunning intent of ambush. The end of this
+slow, careful stalk of the lion, as told in his tracks, came upon the
+edge of a knoll where he had crouched to watch and wait. From this perch
+he had made a magnificent spring--Slone estimating it to be forty
+feet--but he had missed the stallion. There were Wildfire's tracks
+again, slow and short, and then deep and sharp where in the impetus of
+fright he had sprung out of reach. A second leap of the lion, and then
+lessening bounds, and finally an abrupt turn from Wildfire's trail told
+the futility of that stalk. Slone made certain that Wildfire was so keen
+that as he grazed along he had kept to open ground.
+
+Wildfire had run for a mile, then slowed down to a trot, and he had
+circled to get back to the trail he had left. Slone believed the horse
+was just so intelligent. At any rate, Wildfire struck the trail again,
+and turned at right angles to follow it.
+
+Here the forest floor appeared perfectly level. Patches of snow became
+frequent, and larger as Slone went on. At length the patches closed up,
+and soon extended as far as he could see. It was soft, affording
+difficult travel. Slone crossed hundreds of deer tracks, and the trail
+he was on evidently became a deer runway.
+
+Presently, far down one of the aisles between the great pines Slone saw
+what appeared to be a yellow cliff, far away. It puzzled him. And as he
+went on he received the impression that the forest dropped out of sight
+ahead. Then the trees grew thicker, obstructing his view. Presently the
+trail became soggy and he had to help his horse. The mustang floundered
+in the soft snow and earth. Cedars and piñons appeared again, making
+travel still more laborious.
+
+All at once there came to Slone a strange consciousness of light and
+wind and space and void. On the instant his horse halted with a snort.
+Slone quickly looked up. Had he come to the end of the world? An abyss,
+a cañon, yawned beneath him, beyond all comparison in its greatness. His
+keen eye, educated to desert distance and dimension swept down and
+across, taking in the tremendous truth, before it staggered his
+comprehension. But a second sweeping glance, slower, becoming
+intoxicated with what it beheld, saw gigantic cliff steppes and yellow
+slopes dotted with cedars, leading down to clefts filled with purple
+smoke, and these led on and on to a ragged red world of rock, bare,
+shining, bold, uplifted in mesa, dome, peak, and crag, clear and strange
+in the morning light, still and sleeping like death.
+
+This, then, was the great cañon, which had seemed like a hunter's fable
+rather than truth. Slone's sight dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he
+found that his eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away and looked
+again and again, until he was confounded by the vastness and grandeur
+and the vague sadness of the scene. Nothing he had ever looked at had
+affected him like this cañon, although the Stewarts had tried to prepare
+him for it.
+
+It was the horse hunter's passion that reminded him of his pursuit. The
+deer trail led down through a break in the wall. Only a few rods of it
+could be seen. This trail was passable, even though choked with snow.
+But the depth beyond this wall seemed to fascinate Slone and hold him
+back, used as he was to desert trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's
+hoof brought back the old thrill.
+
+"This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting.
+
+He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang followed. Slone kept to the
+wall side of the trail, fearing the horses might slip. The snow held
+firmly at first and Slone had no trouble. The gap in the rim rock
+widened to a slope thickly grown over with cedars and piñons and
+manzanita. This growth made the descent more laborious, yet afforded
+means at least for Slone to go down with less danger. There was no
+stopping. Once started, the horses had to keep on. Slone saw the
+impossibility of ever climbing out while that snow was there. The trail
+zigzagged down and down. Very soon the yellow wall hung tremendously
+over him, straight up. The snow became thinner and softer. The horses
+began to slip. They slid on their haunches. Fortunately the slope grew
+less steep, and Slone could see below where it reached out to
+comparatively level ground. Still, a mishap might yet occur. Slone kept
+as close to Nagger as possible, helping him whenever he could do it. The
+mustang slipped, rolled over, and then slipped past Slone, went down the
+slope to bring up in a cedar. Slone worked down to him and extricated
+him. Then the huge Nagger began to slide. Snow and loose rock slid with
+him, and so did Slone. The little avalanche stopped of its own accord,
+and then Slone dragged Nagger on down and down, presently to come to the
+end of the steep descent. Slone looked up to see that he had made short
+work of a thousand-foot slope. Here cedars and piñons grew thickly
+enough to make a forest. The snow thinned out to patches, and then
+failed. But the going remained bad for a while as the horses sank deep
+in a soft red earth. This eventually grew more solid and finally dry.
+Slone worked out of the cedars to what appeared a grassy plateau
+inclosed by the great green and white slope with its yellow wall
+overhanging, and distant mesas and cliffs. Here his view was restricted.
+He was down on the first bench of the great cañon. And there was the
+deer trail, a well-worn path keeping to the edge of the slope. Slone
+came to a deep cut in the earth, and the trail headed it, where it began
+at the last descent of the slope. It was the source of a cañon. He
+could look down to see the bare, worn rock, and a hundred yards from
+where he stood the earth was washed from its rims and it began to show
+depth and something of that ragged outline which told of violence of
+flood. The trail headed many cañons like this, all running down across
+this bench, disappearing, dropping invisibly. The trail swung to the
+left under the great slope, and then presently it climbed to a higher
+bench. Here were brush and grass and huge patches of sage, so pungent
+that it stung Slone's nostrils. Then he went down again, this time to
+come to a clear brook lined by willows. Here the horses drank long and
+Slone refreshed himself. The sun had grown hot. There was fragrance of
+flowers he could not see and a low murmur of a waterfall that was
+likewise invisible. For most of the time his view was shut off, but
+occasionally he reached a point where through some break he saw towers
+gleaming red in the sun. A strange place, a place of silence, and smoky
+veils in the distance. Time passed swiftly. Toward the waning of the
+afternoon he began to climb what appeared to be a saddle of land,
+connecting the cañon wall on the left with a great plateau, gold-rimmed
+and pine-fringed, rising more and more in his way as he advanced. At
+sunset Slone was more shut in than for several hours. He could tell the
+time was sunset by the golden light on the cliff wall again overhanging
+him. The slope was gradual up to this pass to the saddle, and upon
+coming to a spring and the first pine trees, he decided to halt for
+camp. The mustang was almost exhausted.
+
+Thereupon he hobbled the horses in the luxuriant grass round the spring,
+and then unrolled his pack. Once as dusk came stealing down, while he
+was eating his meal, Nagger whistled in fright. Slone saw a gray,
+pantherish form gliding away into the shadows. He took a quick shot at
+it, but missed.
+
+"It's a lion country, all right," he said. And then he set about
+building a big fire on the other side of the grassy plot, so as to have
+the horses between fires. He cut all the venison into thin strips, and
+spent an hour roasting them. Then he lay down to rest, and he said:
+"Wonder where Wildfire is to-night? Am I closer to him? Where's he
+headin' for?"
+
+The night was warm and still. It was black near the huge cliff, and
+overhead velvety blue, with stars of white fire. It seemed to him that
+he had become more thoughtful and observing of the aspects of his wild
+environment, and he felt a welcome consciousness of loneliness. Then
+sleep came to him and the night seemed short. In the gray dawn he arose
+refreshed.
+
+The horses were restive. Nagger snorted a welcome. Evidently they had
+passed an uneasy night. Slone found lion tracks at the spring and in
+sandy places. Presently he was on his way up to the notch between the
+great wall and the plateau. A growth of thick scrub oak made travel
+difficult. It had not appeared far up to that saddle, but it was far.
+There were straggling pine trees and huge rocks that obstructed his
+gaze. But once up he saw that the saddle was only a narrow ridge, curved
+to slope up on both sides.
+
+Straight before Slone and under him opened the cañon, blazing and
+glorious along the peaks and ramparts, where the rising sun struck,
+misty and smoky and shadowy down in those mysterious depths.
+
+It took an effort not to keep on gazing. But Slone turned to the grim
+business of his pursuit. The trail he saw leading down had been made by
+Indians. It was used probably once a year by them; and also by wild
+animals, and it was exceedingly steep and rough. Wildfire had paced to
+and fro along the narrow ridge of that saddle, making many tracks,
+before he had headed down again. Slone imagined that the great stallion
+had been daunted by the tremendous chasm, but had finally faced it,
+meaning to put this obstacle between him and his pursuers. It never
+occurred to Slone to attribute less intelligence to Wildfire than that.
+So, dismounting, Slone took Nagger's bridle and started down. The
+mustang with the pack was reluctant. He snorted and whistled and pawed
+the earth. But he would not be left alone, so he followed.
+
+The trail led down under cedars that fringed a precipice. Slone was
+aware of this without looking. He attended only to the trail and to his
+horse. Only an Indian could have picked out that course, and it was
+cruel to put a horse to it. But Nagger was powerful, sure-footed, and
+he would go anywhere that Slone led him. Gradually Slone worked down and
+away from the bulging rim wall. It was hard, rough work, and risky
+because it could not be accomplished slowly. Brush and rocks, loose
+shale and weathered slope, long, dusty inclines of yellow earth, and
+jumbles of stone--these made bad going for miles of slow, zigzag trail
+down out of the cedars. Then the trail entered what appeared to be a
+ravine.
+
+That ravine became a cañon. At its head it was a dry wash, full of
+gravel and rocks. It began to cut deep into the bowels of the earth. It
+shut out sight of the surrounding walls and peaks. Water appeared from
+under a cliff and, augmented by other springs, became a brook. Hot, dry,
+and barren at its beginning, this cleft became cool and shady and
+luxuriant with grass and flowers and amber moss with silver blossoms.
+The rocks had changed color from yellow to deep red. Four hours of
+turning and twisting, endlessly down and down, over bowlders and banks
+and every conceivable roughness of earth and rock, finished the pack
+mustang; and Slone mercifully left him in a long reach of cañon where
+grass and water never failed. In this place Slone halted for the noon
+hour, letting Nagger have his fill of the rich grazing. Nagger's three
+days in grassy upland, despite the continuous travel by day, had
+improved him. He looked fat, and Slone had not yet caught the horse
+resting. Nagger was iron to endure. Here Slone left all the outfit
+except what was on his saddle, and the sack containing the few pounds
+of meat and supplies, and the two utensils. This sack he tied on the
+back of his saddle, and resumed his journey.
+
+Presently he came to a place where Wildfire had doubled on his trail and
+had turned up a side cañon. The climb out was hard on Slone, if not on
+Nagger. Once up, Slone found himself upon a wide, barren plateau of
+glaring red rock and clumps of greasewood and cactus. The plateau was
+miles wide, shut in by great walls and mesas of colored rock. The
+afternoon sun beat down fiercely. A blast of wind, as if from a furnace,
+swept across the plateau, and it was laden with red dust. Slone walked
+here, where he could have ridden. And he made several miles of
+up-and-down progress over this rough plateau. The great walls of the
+opposite side of the cañon loomed appreciably closer. What, Slone
+wondered, was at the bottom of this rent in the earth? The great desert
+river was down there, of course, but he knew nothing of it. Would that
+turn back Wildfire? Slone thought grimly how he had always claimed
+Nagger to be part fish and part bird. Wildfire was not going to escape.
+
+By and by only isolated mescal plants with long, yellow-plumed spears
+broke the bare monotony of the plateau. And Slone passed from red sand
+and gravel to a red, soft shale, and from that to hard, red rock. Here
+Wildfire's tracks were lost, the first time in seven weeks. But Slone
+had his direction down that plateau with the cleavage lines of cañons
+to right and left. At times Slone found a vestige of the old Indian
+trail, and this made him doubly sure of being right. He did not need to
+have Wildfire's tracks. He let Nagger pick the way, and the horse made
+no mistake in finding the line of least resistance. But that grew harder
+and harder. This bare rock, like a file, would soon wear Wildfire's
+hoofs thin. And Slone rejoiced. Perhaps somewhere down in this awful
+chasm he and Nagger would have if out with the stallion. Slone began to
+look far ahead, beginning to believe that he might see Wildfire. Twice
+he had seen Wildfire, but only at a distance. Then he had resembled a
+running streak of fire, whence his name, which Slone had given him.
+
+This bare region of rock began to be cut up into gullies. It was
+necessary to head them or to climb in and out. Miles of travel really
+meant little progress straight ahead. But Slone kept on. He was hot and
+Nagger was hot, and that made hard work easier. Sometimes on the wind
+came a low thunder. Was it a storm or an avalanche slipping or falling
+water? He could not tell. The sound was significant and haunting.
+
+Of one thing he was sure--that he could not have found his back trail.
+But he divined he was never to retrace his steps on this journey. The
+stretch of broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of outline,
+darker in color, weirder in aspect and progress across it grew slower,
+more dangerous. There were many places Nagger should not have been put
+to--where a slip meant a broken leg. But Slone could not turn back. And
+something besides an indomitable spirit kept him going. Again the sound
+resembling thunder assailed his ears, louder this time. The plateau
+appeared to be ending in a series of great capes or promontories. Slone
+feared he would soon come out upon a promontory from which he might see
+the impossibility of further travel. He felt relieved down in the
+gullies, where he could not see far. He climbed out of one, presently,
+from which there extended a narrow ledge with a slant too perilous for
+any horse. He stepped out upon that with far less confidence than
+Nagger. To the right was a bulge of low wall, and a few feet to the left
+a dark precipice. The trail here was faintly outlined, and it was six
+inches wide and slanting as well. It seemed endless to Slone, that
+ledge. He looked only down at his feet and listened to Nagger's steps.
+The big horse trod carefully, but naturally, and he did not slip. That
+ledge extended in a long curve, turning slowly away from the precipice,
+and ascending a little at the further end. Slone drew a deep breath of
+relief when he led Nagger up on level rock.
+
+Suddenly a strange yet familiar sound halted Slone, as if he had been
+struck. The wild, shrill, high-pitched, piercing whistle of a stallion!
+Nagger neighed a blast in reply and pounded the rock with his iron-shod
+hoofs. With a thrill Slone looked ahead.
+
+There, some few hundred yards distant, on a promontory, stood a red
+horse.
+
+"It's Wildfire!" breathed Slone, tensely.
+
+He could not believe his sight. He imagined he was dreaming. But as
+Nagger stamped and snorted defiance Slone looked with fixed and keen
+gaze, and knew that beautiful picture was no lie.
+
+Wildfire was as red as fire. His long mane, wild in the wind, was like a
+whipping, black-streaked flame. Silhouetted there against that cañon
+background he seemed gigantic, a demon horse, ready to plunge into fiery
+depths. He was looking back over his shoulder, his head very high, and
+every line of him was instinct with wildness. Again he sent out that
+shrill, air-splitting whistle. Slone understood it to be a clarion call
+to Nagger. If Nagger had been alone Wildfire would have killed him. The
+red stallion was a killer of horses. All over the Utah ranges he had
+left the trail of a murderer. Nagger understood this, too, for he
+whistled back in rage and terror. It took an iron arm to hold him. Then
+Wildfire plunged, apparently down, and vanished from Slone's sight.
+
+Slone hurried onward, to be blocked by a huge crack in the rocky
+plateau. This he had to head. And then another and like obstacle checked
+his haste to reach that promontory. He was forced to go more slowly.
+Wildfire had been close only as to sight. And this was the great cañon
+that dwarfed distance and magnified proximity. Climbing down and up,
+toiling on, he at last learned patience. He had seen Wildfire at close
+range. That was enough. So he plodded on, once more returning to careful
+regard of Nagger. It took an hour of work to reach the point where
+Wildfire had disappeared.
+
+A promontory indeed it was, overhanging a valley a thousand feet below.
+A white torrent of a stream wound through it. There were lines of green
+cottonwoods following the winding course. Then Slone saw Wildfire slowly
+crossing the flat toward the stream. He had gone down that cliff, which
+to Slone looked perpendicular.
+
+Wildfire appeared to be walking lame. Slone, making sure of this,
+suffered a pang. Then, when the significance of such lameness dawned
+upon him he whooped his wild joy and waved his hat. The red stallion
+must have heard, for he looked up. Then he went on again and waded into
+the stream, where he drank long. When he started to cross, the swift
+current drove him back in several places. The water wreathed white
+around him. But evidently it was not deep, and finally he crossed. From
+the other side he looked up again at Nagger and Slone, and, going on, he
+soon was out of sight in the cottonwoods.
+
+"How to get down!" muttered Slone.
+
+There was a break in the cliff wall, a bare stone slant where horses had
+gone down and come up. That was enough for Slone to know. He would have
+attempted the descent if he were sure no other horse but Wildfire had
+ever gone down there. But Slone's hair began to rise stiff on his head.
+A horse like Wildfire, and mountain sheep and Indian ponies, were all
+very different from Nagger. The chances were against Nagger.
+
+"Come on, old boy. If I can do it, you can," he said.
+
+Slone had never seen a trail as perilous as this. He was afraid for his
+horse. A slip there meant death. The way Nagger trembled in every muscle
+showed his feelings. But he never flinched. He would follow Slone
+anywhere, providing Slone rode him or led him. And here, as riding was
+impossible, Slone went before. If the horse slipped there would be a
+double tragedy, for Nagger would knock his master off the cliff. Slone
+set his teeth and stepped down. He did not let Nagger see his fear. He
+was taking the greatest risk he had ever run.
+
+The break in the wall led to a ledge, and the ledge dropped from step to
+step, and these had bare, slippery slants between. Nagger was splendid
+on a bad trail. He had methods peculiar to his huge build and great
+weight. He crashed down over the stone steps, both front hoofs at once.
+The slants he slid down on his haunches with his forelegs stiff and the
+iron shoes scraping. He snorted and heaved and grew wet with sweat. He
+tossed his head at some of the places. But he never hesitated and it was
+impossible for him to go slowly. Whenever Slone came to corrugated
+stretches in the trail he felt grateful. But these were few. The rock
+was like smooth red iron. Slone had never seen such hard rock. It took
+him long to realize that it was marble. His heart seemed a tense,
+painful knot in his breast, as if it could not beat, holding back in the
+strained suspense. But Nagger never jerked on the bridle. He never
+faltered. Many times he slipped, often with both front feet, but never
+with all four feet. So he did not fall. And the red wall began to loom
+above Sloan. Then suddenly he seemed brought to a point where it was
+impossible to descend. It was a round bulge, slanting fearfully, with
+only a few rough surfaces to hold a foot. Wildfire had left a broad,
+clear-swept mark at that place, and red hairs on some of the sharp
+points. He had slid down. Below was an offset that fortunately prevented
+further sliding. Slone started to walk down this place, but when Nagger
+began to slide Slone had to let go the bridle and jump. Both he and the
+horse landed safely. Luck was with them. And they went on, down and
+down, to reach the base of the great wall, scraped and exhausted, wet
+with sweat, but unhurt. As Slone gazed upward he felt the impossibility
+of believing what he knew to be true. He hugged and petted the horse.
+Then he led on to the roaring stream.
+
+It was green water white with foam. Slone waded in and found the water
+cool and shallow and very swift. He had to hold to Nagger to keep from
+being swept downstream. They crossed in safety. There in the sand
+showed Wildfire's tracks. And here were signs of another Indian camp,
+half a year old.
+
+The shade of the cotton woods was pleasant. Slone found this valley
+oppressively hot. There was no wind and the sand blistered his feet
+through his boots. Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided him
+down into this wilderness of worn rock. And that trail crossed the
+stream at every turn of the twisting, narrow valley. Slone enjoyed
+getting into the water. He hung his gun over the pommel and let the
+water roll him. A dozen times he and Nagger forded the rushing torrent.
+Then they came to a boxlike closing of the valley to cañon walls, and
+here the trail evidently followed the stream bed. There was no other
+way. Slone waded in, and stumbled, rolled, and floated ahead of the
+sturdy horse. Nagger was wet to his breast, but he did not fall. This
+gulch seemed full of a hollow rushing roar. It opened out into a wide
+valley. And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began to climb
+the slope.
+
+Here the traveling was good, considering what had been passed. Once up
+out of the valley floor Slone saw Wildfire far ahead, high on the slope.
+He did not appear to be limping, but he was not going fast. Slone
+watched as he climbed. What and where would be the end of this chase?
+
+Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment, but usually he
+was hidden by rocks. The slope was one great talus, a jumble of
+weathered rock, fallen from what appeared a mountain of red and yellow
+wall. Here the heat of the sun fell upon him like fire. The rocks were
+so hot Slone could not touch them with bare hand. The close of the
+afternoon was approaching, and this slope was interminably long. Still,
+it was not steep, and the trail was good.
+
+At last from the height of slope Wildfire appeared, looking back and
+down. Then he was gone. Slone plodded upward. Long before he reached
+that summit he heard the dull rumble of the river. It grew to be a roar,
+yet it seemed distant. Would the great desert river stop Wildfire in his
+flight? Slone doubted it. He surmounted the ridge, to find the cañon
+opening in a tremendous gap, and to see down, far down, a glittering,
+sun-blasted slope merging into a deep, black gulch where a red river
+swept and chafed and roared.
+
+Somehow the river was what he had expected to see. A force that had cut
+and ground this cañon could have been nothing but a river like that. The
+trail led down, and Slone had no doubt that it crossed the river and led
+up out of the cañon. He wanted to stay there and gaze endlessly and
+listen. At length he began the descent. As he proceeded it seemed that
+the roar of the river lessened. He could not understand why this was so.
+It took half an hour to reach the last level, a ghastly, black, and
+iron-ribbed cañon bed, with the river splitting it. He had not had a
+glimpse of Wildfire on this side of the divide, but he found his tracks,
+and they led down off the last level, through a notch in the black bank
+of marble to a sand bar and the river.
+
+Wildfire had walked straight off the sand into the water. Slone studied
+the river and shore. The water ran slow, heavily, in sluggish eddies.
+From far up the cañon came the roar of a rapid, and from below the roar
+of another, heavier and closer. The river appeared tremendous, in ways
+Slone felt rather than realized, yet it was not swift. Studying the
+black, rough wall of rock above him, he saw marks where the river had
+been sixty feet higher than where he stood on the sand. It was low,
+then. How lucky for him that he had gotten there before flood season! He
+believed Wildfire had crossed easily, and he knew Nagger could make it.
+Then he piled and tied his supplies and weapons high on the saddle, to
+keep them dry, and looked for a place to take to the water.
+
+Wildfire had sunk deep before reaching the edge. Manifestly he had
+lunged the last few feet. Slone found a better place, and waded in,
+urging Nagger. The big horse plunged, almost going under, and began to
+swim. Slone kept upstream beside him. He found, presently, that the
+water was thick and made him tired, so it was necessary to grasp a
+stirrup and be towed. The river appeared only a few hundred feet wide,
+but probably it was wider than it looked. Nagger labored heavily near
+the opposite shore; still, he landed safely upon a rocky bank. There
+were patches of sand in which Wildfire's tracks showed so fresh that
+the water had not yet dried out of them.
+
+Slone rested his horse before attempting to climb out of that split in
+the rock. However, Wildfire had found an easy ascent. On this side of
+the cañon the bare rock did not predominate. A clear trail led up a
+dusty, gravelly slope, upon which scant greasewood and cactus appeared.
+Half an hour's climbing brought Slone to where he could see that he was
+entering a vast valley, sloping up and narrowing to a notch in the dark
+cliffs, above which towered the great red wall and about that the slopes
+of cedar and the yellow rim rock.
+
+And scarcely a mile distant, bright in the westering sunlight, shone the
+red stallion, moving slowly.
+
+Slone pressed on steadily. Just before dark he came to an ideal spot to
+camp. The valley had closed up, so that the lofty walls cast shadows
+that met. A clump of cottonwoods surrounding a spring, abundance of rich
+grass, willows and flowers lining the banks, formed an oasis in the bare
+valley. Slone was tired out from the day of ceaseless toil down and up,
+and he could scarcely keep his eyes open. But he tried to stay awake.
+The dead silence of the valley, the dry fragrance, the dreaming walls,
+the advent of night low down, when up on the ramparts the last red rays
+of the sun lingered, the strange loneliness--these were sweet and
+comforting to him.
+
+And that night's sleep was as a moment. He opened his eyes to see the
+crags and towers and peaks and domes, and the lofty walls of that vast,
+broken chaos of cañons across the river. They were now emerging from the
+misty gray of dawn, growing pink and lilac and purple under the rising
+sun.
+
+He arose and set about his few tasks, which, being soon finished,
+allowed him an early start.
+
+Wildfire had grazed along no more than a mile in the lead. Slone looked
+eagerly up the narrowing cañon, but he was not rewarded by a sight of
+the stallion. As he progressed up a gradually ascending trail he became
+aware of the fact that the notch he had long looked up to was where the
+great red walls closed in and almost met. And the trail zigzagged up
+this narrow vent, so steep that only a few steps could be taken without
+rest. Slone toiled up for an hour--an age--till he was wet, burning,
+choked, with a great weight on his chest. Yet still he was only halfway
+up that awful break between the walls. Sometimes he could have tossed a
+stone down upon a part of the trail, only a few rods below, yet many,
+many weary steps of actual toil. As he got farther up the notch widened.
+What had been scarcely visible from the valley below was now colossal in
+actual dimensions. The trail was like a twisted mile of thread between
+two bulging mountain walls leaning their ledges and fronts over this
+tilted pass.
+
+Slone rested often. Nagger appreciated this and heaved gratefully at
+every halt. In this monotonous toil Slone forgot the zest of his
+pursuit. And when Nagger suddenly snorted in fright Slone was not
+prepared for what he saw.
+
+Above him ran a low, red wall, around which evidently the trail led. At
+the curve, which was a promontory, scarcely a hundred feet in an air
+line above him, he saw something red moving, bobbing, coming out into
+view. It was a horse.
+
+Wildfire--no farther away than the length of three lassos!
+
+There he stood looking down. He fulfilled all of Slone's dreams. Only he
+was bigger. But he was so magnificently proportioned that he did not
+seem heavy. His coat was shaggy and red. It was not glossy. The color
+was what made him shine. His mane was like a crest, mounting, then
+falling low. Slone had never seen so much muscle on a horse. Yet his
+outline was graceful, beautiful. The head was indeed that of the wildest
+of all wild creatures--a stallion born wild--and it was beautiful,
+savage, splendid, everything but noble. Slone thought that if a horse
+could express hate, surely Wildfire did then. It was certain that he did
+express curiosity and fury.
+
+Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the horse were
+human. That was a natural action for a rider of his kind. Wildfire
+turned away, showed bright against the dark background, and then
+disappeared.
+
+
+III
+
+That was the last Slone saw of Wildfire for three days.
+
+It took all of this day to climb out of the cañon. The second was a slow
+march of thirty miles into a scrub cedar and piñon forest, through which
+the great red and yellow walls of the cañon could be seen. That night
+Slone found a water hole in a rocky pocket and a little grass for
+Nagger. The third day's travel consisted of forty miles or more through
+level pine forest, dry and odorous, but lacking the freshness and beauty
+of the forest on the north side of the cañon. On this south side a
+strange feature was that all the water, when there was any, ran away
+from the rim. Slone camped this night at a muddy pond in the woods,
+where Wildfire's tracks showed plainly.
+
+On the following day Slone rode out of the forest into a country of
+scanty cedars, bleached and stunted, and out of this to the edge of a
+plateau, from which the shimmering desert flung its vast and desolate
+distances, forbidding and menacing. This was not the desert upland
+country of Utah, but a naked and bony world of colored rock and sand--a
+painted desert of heat and wind and flying sand and waterless wastes and
+barren ranges. But it did not daunt Slone. For far down on the bare,
+billowing ridges moved a red speck, at a snail's pace, a slowly moving
+dot of color which was Wildfire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On open ground like this, Nagger, carrying two hundred and fifty pounds,
+showed his wonderful quality. He did not mind the heat nor the sand nor
+the glare nor the distance nor his burden. He did not tire. He was an
+engine of tremendous power.
+
+Slone gained upon Wildfire, and toward evening of that day he reached to
+within half a mile of the stallion. And he chose to keep that far
+behind. That night he camped where there was dry grass, but no water.
+
+Next day he followed Wildfire down and down, over the endless swell of
+rolling red ridges, bare of all but bleached white grass and meager
+greasewood, always descending in the face of that painted desert of bold
+and ragged steppes. Slone made fifty miles that day, and gained the
+valley bed, where a slender stream ran thin and spread over a wide sandy
+bottom. It was salty water, but it was welcome to both man and beast.
+
+The following day he crossed, and the tracks of Wildfire were still wet
+on the sand bars. The stallion was slowing down. Slone saw him, limping
+along, not far in advance. There was a ten-mile stretch of level ground,
+blown hard as rock, from which the sustenance had been bleached, for not
+a spear of grass grew there. And following that was a tortuous passage
+through a weird region of clay dunes, blue and violet and heliotrope and
+lavender, all worn smooth by rain and wind. Wildfire favored the soft
+ground now. He had deviated from his straight course. And he was partial
+to washes and dips in the earth where water might have lodged. And he
+was not now scornful of a green-scummed water hole with its white margin
+of alkali. That night Slone made camp with Wildfire in plain sight. The
+stallion stopped when his pursuers stopped. And he began to graze on the
+same stretch with Nagger. How strange this seemed to Slone!
+
+Here at this camp was evidence of Indians. Wildfire had swung round to
+the north in his course. Like any pursued wild animal, he had begun to
+circle. And he had pointed his nose toward the Utah he had left.
+
+Next morning Wildfire was not in sight, but he had left his tracks in
+the sand. Slone trailed him with Nagger at a trot. Toward the head of
+this sandy flat Slone came upon old cornfields, and a broken dam where
+the water had been stored, and well-defined trails leading away to the
+right. Somewhere over there in the desert lived Indians. At this point
+Wildfire abandoned the trail he had followed for many days and cut out
+more to the north. It took all the morning hours to climb three great
+steppes and benches that led up to the summit of a mesa, vast in extent.
+It turned out to be a sandy waste. The wind rose and everywhere were
+moving sheets of sand, and in the distance circular yellow dust devils,
+rising high like water spouts, and back down in the sun-scorched valley
+a sandstorm moved along majestically, burying the desert in its yellow
+pall.
+
+Then two more days of sand and another day of a slowly rising ground
+growing from bare to gray and gray to green, and then to the purple of
+sage and cedar--these three grinding days were toiled out with only one
+water hole.
+
+And Wildfire was lame and in distress and Nagger was growing gaunt and
+showing strain; and Slone, haggard and black and worn, plodded miles and
+miles on foot to save his horse.
+
+Slone felt that it would be futile to put the chase to a test of speed.
+Nagger could never head that stallion. Slone meant to go on and on,
+always pushing Wildfire, keeping him tired, wearied, and worrying him,
+till a section of the country was reached where he could drive Wildfire
+into some kind of a natural trap. The pursuit seemed endless. Wildfire
+kept to open country where he could not be surprised.
+
+There came a morning when Slone climbed to a cedared plateau that rose
+for a whole day's travel, and then split into a labyrinthine maze of
+cañons. There were trees, grass, water. It was a high country, cool and
+wild, like the uplands he had left. For days he camped on Wildfire's
+trail, always relentlessly driving him, always watching for the trap he
+hoped to find. And the red stallion spent much of this time of flight in
+looking backward. Whenever Slone came in sight of him he had his head
+over his shoulder, watching. And on the soft ground of these cañons he
+had begun to recover from his lameness. But this did not worry Slone.
+Sooner or later Wildfire would go down into a high-walled wash, from
+which there would be no outlet; or he would wander into a box cañon; or
+he would climb out on a mesa with no place to descend, unless he passed
+Slone; or he would get cornered on a soft, steep slope where his hoofs
+would sink deep and make him slow. The nature of the desert had changed.
+Slone had entered a wonderful region, the like of which he had not
+seen--a high plateau criss-crossed in every direction by narrow cañons
+with red walls a thousand feet high.
+
+And one of the strange turning cañons opened into a vast valley of
+monuments.
+
+The plateau had weathered and washed away, leaving huge sections of
+stone walls, all standing isolated, different in size and shape, but all
+clean-cut, bold, with straight lines. They stood up everywhere,
+monumental, towering, many-colored, lending a singular and beautiful
+aspect to the great green and gray valley, billowing away to the north,
+where dim, broken battlements mounted to the clouds.
+
+The only living thing in Slone's sight was Wildfire. He shone red down
+on the green slope.
+
+Slone's heart swelled. This was the setting for that grand horse--a
+perfect wild range. But also it seemed the last place where there might
+be any chance to trap the stallion. Still that did not alter Slone's
+purpose, though it lost to him the joy of former hopes. He rode down the
+slope, out upon the billowing floor of the valley. Wildfire looked back
+to see his pursuers, and then the solemn stillness broke to a wild,
+piercing whistle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Day after day, camping where night found him, Slone followed the
+stallion, never losing sight of him till darkness had fallen. The valley
+was immense and the monuments miles apart. But they always seemed close
+together and near him. The air magnified everything. Slone lost track of
+time. The strange, solemn, lonely days and the silent, lonely nights,
+and the endless pursuit, and the wild, weird valley--these completed the
+work of years on Slone and he became satisfied, unthinking, almost
+savage.
+
+The toil and privation had worn him down and he was like iron. His
+garments hung in tatters; his boots were ripped and soleless. Long since
+his flour had been used up, and all his supplies except the salt. He
+lived on the meat of rabbits, but they were scarce, and the time came
+when there were none. Some days he did not eat. Hunger did not make him
+suffer. He killed a desert bird now and then, and once a wildcat
+crossing the valley. Eventually he felt his strength diminishing, and
+then he took to digging out the pack rats and cooking them. But these,
+too, were scarce. At length starvation faced Slone. But he knew he would
+not starve. Many times he had been within rifle shot of Wildfire. And
+the grim, forbidding thought grew upon him that he must kill the
+stallion. The thought seemed involuntary, but his mind rejected it.
+Nevertheless, he knew that if he could not catch the stallion he would
+kill him. That had been the end of many a desperate rider's pursuit of a
+coveted horse.
+
+While Slone kept on his merciless pursuit, never letting Wildfire rest
+by day, time went on just as relentlessly. Spring gave way to early
+summer. The hot sun bleached the grass; water holes failed out in the
+valley, and water could be found only in the cañons; and the dry winds
+began to blow the sand. It was a sandy valley, green and gray only at a
+distance, and out toward the north there were no monuments, and the slow
+heave of sand lifted toward the dim walls.
+
+Wildfire worked away from this open valley, back to the south end, where
+the great monuments loomed, and still farther back, where they grew
+closer, till at length some of them were joined by weathered ridges to
+the walls of the surrounding plateau. For all that Slone could see,
+Wildfire was in perfect condition. But Nagger was not the horse he had
+been. Slone realized that in one way or another the pursuit was
+narrowing down to the end.
+
+He found a water hole at the head of a wash in a split in the walls, and
+here he let Nagger rest and graze one whole day--the first day for a
+long time that he had not kept the red stallion in sight. That day was
+marked by the good fortune of killing a rabbit, and while eating it his
+gloomy, fixed mind admitted that he was starving. He dreaded the next
+sunrise. But he could not hold it back. There, behind the dark
+monuments, standing sentinel-like, the sky lightened and reddened and
+burnt into gold and pink, till out of the golden glare the sun rose
+glorious. And Slone, facing the league-long shadows of the monuments,
+rode out again into the silent, solemn day, on his hopeless quest.
+
+For a change Wildfire had climbed high up a slope of talus, through a
+narrow pass, rounded over with drifting sand. And Slone gazed down into
+a huge amphitheater full of monuments, like all that strange country. A
+basin three miles across lay beneath him. Walls and weathered slants of
+rock and steep slopes of reddish-yellow sand inclosed this oval
+depression. The floor was white, and it seemed to move gently or radiate
+with heat waves. Studying it, Slone made out that the motion was caused
+by wind in long bleached grass. He had crossed small areas of this grass
+in different parts of the region.
+
+Wildfire's tracks led down into this basin, and presently Slone, by
+straining his eyes, made out the red spot that was the stallion.
+
+"He's lookin' to quit the country," soliloquized Slone, as he surveyed
+the scene.
+
+With keen, slow gaze Slone studied the lay of wall and slope, and when
+he had circled the huge depression he made sure that Wildfire could not
+get out except by the narrow pass through which he had gone in. Slone
+sat astride Nagger in the mouth of this pass--a wash a few yards wide,
+walled by broken, rough rock on one side and an insurmountable slope on
+the other.
+
+"If this hole was only little, now," sighed Slone, as he gazed at the
+sweeping, shimmering oval floor, "I might have a chance. But down
+there--we couldn't get near him."
+
+There was no water in that dry bowl. Slone reflected on the uselessness
+of keeping Wildfire down there, because Nagger could not go without
+water as long as Wildfire. For the first time Slone hesitated. It seemed
+merciless to Nagger to drive him down into this hot, windy hole. The
+wind blew from the west, and it swooped up the slope, hot, with the odor
+of dry, dead grass.
+
+But that hot wind stirred Slone with an idea, and suddenly he was tense,
+excited, glowing, yet grim and hard.
+
+"Wildfire, I'll make you run with your namesake in that high grass,"
+called Slone. The speech was full of bitter failure, of regret, of the
+hardness of a rider who could not give up the horse to freedom.
+
+Slone meant to ride down there and fire the long grass. In that wind
+there would indeed be wildfire to race with the red stallion. It would
+perhaps mean his death; at least it would chase him out of that hole,
+where to follow him would be useless.
+
+"I'd make you hump now to get away if I could get behind you," muttered
+Slone. He saw that if he could fire the grass on the other side the wind
+of flame would drive Wildfire straight toward him. The slopes and walls
+narrowed up to the pass, but high grass grew to within a few rods of
+where Slone stood. But it seemed impossible to get behind Wildfire.
+
+"At night--then--I could get round him," said Slone, thinking hard and
+narrowing his gaze to scan the circle of wall and slope. "Why not? . . .
+No wind at night. That grass would burn slow till mornin'--till the wind
+came up--an' it's been west for days."
+
+Suddenly Slone began to pound the patient Nagger and to cry out to him
+in wild exultance.
+
+"Old horse, we've got him! We've got him! We'll put a rope on him before
+this time to-morrow!"
+
+Slone yielded to his strange, wild joy, but it did not last long, soon
+succeeding to sober, keen thought. He rode down into the bowl a mile,
+making absolutely certain that Wildfire could not climb out on that
+side. The far end, beyond the monuments, was a sheer wall of rock. Then
+he crossed to the left side. Here the sandy slope was almost too steep
+for even him to go up. And there was grass that would burn. He returned
+to the pass assured that Wildfire had at last fallen into a trap the
+like Slone had never dreamed of. The great horse was doomed to run into
+living flame or the whirling noose of a lasso.
+
+Then Slone reflected. Nagger had that very morning had his fill of good
+water--the first really satisfying drink for days. If he was rested that
+day, on the morrow he would be fit for the grueling work possibly in
+store for him. Slone unsaddled the horse and turned him loose, and with
+a snort he made down the gentle slope for the grass. Then Slone carried
+his saddle to a shady spot afforded by a slab of rock and a dwarf cedar,
+and here he composed himself to rest and watch and think and wait.
+
+Wildfire was plainly in sight no more than two miles away. Gradually he
+was grazing along toward the monuments and the far end of the great
+basin. Slone believed, because the place was so large, that Wildfire
+thought there was a way out on the other side or over the slopes or
+through the walls. Never before had the farsighted stallion made a
+mistake. Slone suddenly felt the keen, stabbing fear of an outlet
+somewhere. But it left him quickly. He had studied those slopes and
+walls. Wildfire could not get out, except by the pass he had entered,
+unless he could fly.
+
+Slone lay in the shade, his head propped on his saddle, and while gazing
+down into the shimmering hollow he began to plan. He calculated that he
+must be able to carry fire swiftly across the far end of the basin, so
+that he would not be absent long from the mouth of the pass. Fire was
+always a difficult matter, since he must depend only on flint and steel.
+He decided to wait till dark, build a fire with dead cedar sticks, and
+carry a bundle of them with burning ends. He felt assured that the wind
+caused by riding would keep them burning. After he had lighted the grass
+all he had to do was to hurry back to his station and there await
+developments.
+
+The day passed slowly, and it was hot. The heat-waves rose in dark,
+wavering lines and veils from the valley. The wind blew almost a gale.
+Thin, curling sheets of sand blew up over the crests of the slopes, and
+the sound it made was a soft, silken rustling, very low. The sky was a
+steely blue above and copper close over the distant walls.
+
+That afternoon, toward the close, Slone ate the last of the meat. At
+sunset the wind died away and the air cooled. There was a strip of red
+along the wall of rock and on the tips of the monuments, and it lingered
+there for long, a strange, bright crown. Nagger was not far away, but
+Wildfire had disappeared, probably behind one of the monuments.
+
+When twilight fell Slone went down after Nagger and, returning with him,
+put on bridle and saddle. Then he began to search for suitable sticks of
+wood. Farther back in the pass he found stunted dead cedars, and from
+these secured enough for his purpose. He kindled a fire and burned the
+ends of the sticks into red embers. Making a bundle of these, he put
+them under his arm, the dull, glowing ends backward, and then mounted
+his horse.
+
+It was just about dark when he faced down into the valley. When he
+reached level ground he kept to the edge of the left slope and put
+Nagger to a good trot. The grass and brush were scant here, and the
+color of the sand was light, so he had no difficulty in traveling. From
+time to time his horse went through grass, and its dry, crackling
+rustle, showing how it would burn, was music to Slone. Gradually the
+monuments began to loom up, bold and black against the blue sky, with
+stars seemingly hanging close over them. Slone had calculated that the
+basin was smaller than it really was, in both length and breadth. This
+worried him. Wildfire might see or hear or scent him, and make a break
+back to the pass and thus escape. Slone was glad when the huge, dark
+monuments were indistinguishable from the black, frowning wall. He had
+to go slower here, because of the darkness. But at last he reached the
+slow rise of jumbled rock that evidently marked the extent of weathering
+on that side. Here he turned to the right and rode out into the valley.
+The floor was level and thickly overgrown with long, dead grass and dead
+greasewood, as dry as tinder. It was easy to account for the dryness;
+neither snow nor rain had visited that valley for many months. Slone
+whipped one of the sticks in the wind and soon had the smouldering end
+red and showering sparks. Then he dropped the stick in the grass, with
+curious intent and a strange feeling of regret.
+
+Instantly the grass blazed with a little sputtering roar. Nagger
+snorted. "Wildfire!" exclaimed Slone. That word was a favorite one with
+riders, and now Slone used it both to call out his menace to the
+stallion and to express his feeling for that blaze, already running
+wild.
+
+Without looking back, Slone rode across the valley, dropping a glowing
+stick every quarter of a mile. When he reached the other side there were
+a dozen fires behind him, burning slowly, with white smoke rising
+lazily. Then he loped Nagger along the side back to the sandy ascent,
+and on up to the mouth of the pass. There he searched for tracks.
+Wildfire had not gone out, and Slone experienced relief and exultation.
+He took up a position in the middle of the narrowest part of the pass,
+and there, with Nagger ready for anything, he once more composed himself
+to watch and wait.
+
+Far across the darkness of the valley, low down, twelve lines of fire,
+widely separated, crept toward one another. They appeared thin and slow,
+with only an occasional leaping flame. And some of the black spaces must
+have been monuments, blotting out the creeping snail lines of red. Slone
+watched, strangely fascinated.
+
+"What do you think of that?" he said, aloud, and he meant his query for
+Wildfire.
+
+As he watched the lines perceptibly lengthened and brightened and pale
+shadows of smoke began to appear. Over at the left of the valley the two
+brightest fires, the first he had started, crept closer and closer
+together. They seemed long in covering distance. But not a breath of
+wind stirred, and besides they really might move swiftly, without
+looking so to Slone. When the two lines met a sudden and larger blaze
+rose.
+
+"Ah!" said the rider, and then he watched the other lines creeping
+together. How slowly fire moved, he thought. The red stallion would have
+every chance to run between those lines, if he dared. But a wild horse
+fears nothing like fire. This one would not run the gantlet of flames.
+Nevertheless Slone felt more and more relieved as the lines closed. The
+hours of the night dragged past until at length one long, continuous
+line of fire spread level across the valley, its bright, red line broken
+only where the monuments of stone were silhouetted against it.
+
+The darkness of the valley changed. The light of the moon changed. The
+radiance of the stars changed. Either the line of fire was finding
+denser fuel to consume or it was growing appreciably closer, for the
+flames began to grow, to leap, and to flare.
+
+Slone strained his ears for the thud of hoofs on sand.
+
+The time seemed endless in its futility of results, but fleeting after
+it had passed; and he could tell how the hours fled by the
+ever-recurring need to replenish the little fire he kept burning in the
+pass.
+
+A broad belt of valley grew bright in the light, and behind it loomed
+the monuments, weird and dark, with columns of yellow and white smoke
+wreathing them.
+
+Suddenly Slone's sensitive ear vibrated to a thrilling sound. He leaned
+down to place his ear to the sand. Rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs made
+him leap to his feet, reaching for his lasso with right hand and a gun
+with his left.
+
+Nagger lifted his head, sniffed the air, and snorted. Slone peered into
+the black belt of gloom that lay below him. It would be hard to see a
+horse there, unless he got high enough to be silhouetted against that
+line of fire now flaring to the sky. But he heard the beat of hoofs,
+swift, sharp, louder--louder. The night shadows were deceptive. That
+wonderful light confused him, made the place unreal. Was he dreaming? Or
+had the long chase and his privations unhinged his mind? He reached for
+Nagger. No! The big black was real, alive, quivering, pounding the sand.
+He scented an enemy.
+
+Once more Slone peered down into the void or what seemed a void. But it,
+too, had changed, lightened. The whole valley was brightening. Great
+palls of curling smoke rose white and yellow, to turn back as the
+monuments met their crests, and then to roll upward, blotting out the
+stars. It was such a light as he had never seen, except in dreams. Pale
+moonlight and dimmed starlight and wan dawn all vague and strange and
+shadowy under the wild and vivid light of burning grass.
+
+In the pale path before Slone, that fanlike slope of sand which opened
+down into the valley, appeared a swiftly moving black object, like a
+fleeing phantom. It was a phantom horse. Slone felt that his eyes,
+deceived by his mind, saw racing images. Many a wild chase he had lived
+in dreams on some far desert. But what was that beating in his
+ears--sharp, swift, even, rhythmic? Never had his ears played him false.
+Never had he heard things in his dreams. That running object was a horse
+and he was coming like the wind. Slone felt something grip his heart.
+All the time and endurance and pain and thirst and suspense and longing
+and hopelessness--the agony of the whole endless chase--closed tight on
+his heart in that instant.
+
+The running horse halted just in the belt of light cast by the burning
+grass. There he stood sharply defined, clear as a cameo, not a hundred
+paces from Slone. It was Wildfire.
+
+Slone uttered an involuntary cry. Thrill on thrill shot through him.
+Delight and hope and fear and despair claimed him in swift, successive
+flashes. And then again the ruling passion of a rider held him--the
+sheer glory of a grand and unattainable horse. For Slone gave up
+Wildfire in that splendid moment. How had he ever dared to believe he
+could capture that wild stallion? Slone looked and looked, filling his
+mind, regretting nothing, sure that the moment was reward for all he had
+endured.
+
+The weird lights magnified Wildfire and showed him clearly. He seemed
+gigantic. He shone black against the fire. His head was high, his mane
+flying. Behind him the fire flared and the valley-wide column of smoke
+rolled majestically upward, and the great monuments seemed to retreat
+darkly and mysteriously as the flames advanced beyond them. It was a
+beautiful, unearthly spectacle, with its silence the strangest feature.
+
+But suddenly Wildfire broke that silence with a whistle which to Slone's
+overstrained faculties seemed a blast as piercing as the splitting sound
+of lightning. And with the whistle Wildfire plunged up toward the pass.
+
+Slone yelled at the top of his lungs and fired his gun before he could
+terrorize the stallion and drive him back down the slope. Soon Wildfire
+became again a running black object, and then he disappeared.
+
+The great line of fire had gotten beyond the monuments and now stretched
+unbroken across the valley from wall to slope. Wildfire could never
+pierce that line of flames. And now Slone saw, in the paling sky to the
+east, that dawn was at hand.
+
+
+IV
+
+Slone looked grimly glad when simultaneously with the first red flash of
+sunrise a breeze fanned his cheek. All that was needed now was a west
+wind. And here came the assurance of it.
+
+The valley appeared hazy and smoky, with slow, rolling clouds low down
+where the line of fire moved. The coming of daylight paled the blaze of
+the grass, though here and there Slone caught flickering glimpses of
+dull red flame. The wild stallion kept to the center of the valley,
+restlessly facing this way and that, but never toward the smoke. Slone
+made sure that Wildfire gradually gave ground as the line of smoke
+slowly worked toward him.
+
+Every moment the breeze freshened, grew steadier and stronger, until
+Slone saw that it began to clear the valley of the low-hanging smoke.
+There came a time when once more the blazing line extended across from
+slope to slope.
+
+Wildfire was cornered, trapped. Many times Slone nervously uncoiled and
+recoiled his lasso. Presently the great chance of his life would
+come--the hardest and most important throw he would ever have with a
+rope. He did not miss often, but then he missed sometimes, and here he
+must be swift and sure. It annoyed him that his hands perspired and
+trembled and that something weighty seemed to obstruct his breathing. He
+muttered that he was pretty much worn out, not in the best of condition
+for a hard fight with a wild horse. Still he would capture Wildfire; his
+mind was unalterably set there. He anticipated that the stallion would
+make a final and desperate rush past him; and he had his plan of action
+all outlined. What worried him was the possibility of Wildfire's doing
+some unforeseen feat at the very last. Slone was prepared for hours of
+strained watching, and then a desperate effort, and then a shock that
+might kill Wildfire and cripple Nagger, or a long race and fight.
+
+But he soon discovered that he was wrong about the long watch and wait.
+The wind had grown strong and was driving the fire swiftly. The flames,
+fanned by the breeze, leaped to a formidable barrier. In less than an
+hour, though the time seemed only a few moments to the excited Slone,
+Wildfire had been driven down toward the narrowing neck of the valley,
+and he had begun to run, to and fro, back and forth. Any moment, then,
+Slone expected him to grow terrorized and to come tearing up toward the
+pass.
+
+Wildfire showed evidence of terror, but he did not attempt to make the
+pass. Instead he went at the right-hand slope of the valley and began to
+climb. The slope was steep and soft, yet the stallion climbed up and up.
+The dust flew in clouds; the gravel rolled down, and the sand followed
+in long streams. Wildfire showed his keenness by zigzagging up the
+slope.
+
+"Go ahead, you red devil!" yelled Slone. He was much elated. In that
+soft bank Wildfire would tire out while not hurting himself.
+
+Slone watched the stallion in admiration and pity and exultation.
+Wildfire did not make much headway, for he slipped back almost as much
+as he gained. He attempted one place after another where he failed.
+There was a bank of clay, some few feet high, and he could not round it
+at either end or surmount it in the middle. Finally he literally pawed
+and cut a path, much as if he were digging in the sand for water. When
+he got over that he was not much better off. The slope above was endless
+and grew steeper, more difficult toward the top. Slone knew absolutely
+that no horse could climb over it. He grew apprehensive, however, for
+Wildfire might stick up there on the slope until the line of fire
+passed. The horse apparently shunned any near proximity to the fire, and
+performed prodigious efforts to escape.
+
+"He'll be ridin' an avalanche pretty soon," muttered Slone.
+
+Long sheets of sand and gravel slid down to spill thinly over the low
+bank. Wildfire, now sinking to his knees, worked steadily upward till he
+had reached a point halfway up the slope, at the head of a long, yellow
+bank of treacherous-looking sand. Here he was halted by a low bulge,
+which he might have surmounted had his feet been free. But he stood deep
+in the sand. For the first time he looked down at the sweeping fire, and
+then at Slone.
+
+Suddenly the bank of sand began to slide with him. He snorted in fright.
+The avalanche started slowly and was evidently no mere surface slide. It
+was deep. It stopped--then started again--and again stopped. Wildfire
+appeared to be sinking deeper and deeper. His struggles only embedded
+him more firmly. Then the bank of sand, with an ominous, low roar, began
+to move once more. This time it slipped swiftly. The dust rose in a
+cloud, almost obscuring the horse. Long streams of gravel rattled down,
+and waterfalls of sand waved over the steppes of the slope.
+
+Just as suddenly the avalanche stopped again. Slone saw, from the great
+oval hole it had left above, that it was indeed deep. That was the
+reason it did not slide readily. When the dust cleared away Slone saw
+the stallion, sunk to his flanks in the sand, utterly helpless.
+
+With a wild whoop Slone leaped off Nagger, and, a lasso in each hand, he
+ran down the long bank. The fire was perhaps a quarter of a mile
+distant, and, since the grass was thinning out, it was not coming so
+fast as it had been. The position of the stallion was halfway between
+the fire and Slone, and a hundred yards up the slope.
+
+Like a madman Slone climbed up through the dragging, loose sand. He was
+beside himself with a fury of excitement. He fancied his eyes were
+failing him, that it was not possible the great horse really was up
+there, helpless in the sand. Yet every huge stride Slone took brought
+him closer to a fact he could not deny. In his eagerness he slipped, and
+fell, and crawled, and leaped, until he reached the slide which held
+Wildfire prisoner.
+
+The stallion might have been fast in quicksand, up to his body, for all
+the movement he could make. He could move only his head. He held that
+up, his eyes wild, showing the whites, his foaming mouth wide open, his
+teeth gleaming. A sound like a scream rent the air. Terrible fear and
+hate were expressed in that piercing neigh. And shaggy, wet, dusty red,
+with all of brute savageness in the look and action of his head, he
+appeared hideous.
+
+As Slone leaped within roping distance the avalanche slipped a foot or
+two, halted, slipped once more, and slowly started again with that low
+roar. He did not care whether it slipped or stopped. Like a wolf he
+leaped closer, whirling his rope. The loop hissed round his head and
+whistled as he flung it. And when fiercely he jerked back on the rope,
+the noose closed tight round Wildfire's neck.
+
+"I--got--a rope--on him!" cried Slone, in hoarse pants.
+
+He stared, unbelieving. It was unreal, that sight--unreal like the slow,
+grinding movement of the avalanche under him. Wildfire's head seemed a
+demon head of hate. It reached out, mouth agape, to bite, to rend. That
+horrible scream could not be the scream of a horse.
+
+Slone was a wild-horse hunter, a rider, and when that second of
+incredulity flashed by, then came the moment of triumph. No moment could
+ever equal that one, when he realized he stood there with a rope around
+that grand stallion's neck. All the days and the miles and the toil and
+the endurance and the hopelessness and the hunger were paid for in that
+moment. His heart seemed too large for his breast.
+
+"I tracked--you!" he cried, savagely. "I stayed--with you! An' I got a
+rope--on you! An'--I'll ride you--you red devil!"
+
+The passion of the man was intense. That endless, racking pursuit had
+brought out all the hardness the desert had engendered in him. Almost
+hate, instead of love, spoke in Slone's words. He hauled on the lasso,
+pulling the stallion's head down and down. The action was the lust of
+capture as well as the rider's instinctive motive to make the horse fear
+him. Life was unquenchably wild and strong in that stallion; it showed
+in the terror which made him hideous. And man and beast somehow
+resembled each other in that moment which was inimical to noble life.
+
+The avalanche slipped with little jerks, as if treacherously loosing its
+hold for a long plunge. The line of fire below ate at the bleached grass
+and the long column of smoke curled away on the wind.
+
+Slone held the taut lasso with his left hand, and with the right he
+swung the other rope, catching the noose round Wildfire's nose. Then
+letting go of the first rope he hauled on the other, pulling the head of
+the stallion far down. Hand over hand Slone closed in on the horse. He
+leaped on Wildfire's head, pressed it down, and, holding it down on the
+sand with his knees, with swift fingers he tied the nose in a
+hackamore--an improvised halter. Then, just as swiftly, he bound his
+scarf tight round Wildfire's head, blindfolding him.
+
+"All so easy!" exclaimed Slone, under his breath. "Who would believe it!
+Is it a dream?"
+
+He rose and let the stallion have a free head.
+
+"Wildfire, I got a rope on you--an' a hackamore--an' a blinder," said
+Slone. "An' if I had a bridle I'd put that on you. Who'd ever believe
+you'd catch yourself, draggin' in the sand?"
+
+Slone, finding himself falling on the sand, grew alive to the augmented
+movement of the avalanche. It had begun to slide, to heave and bulge and
+crack. Dust rose in clouds from all around. The sand appeared to open
+and let him sink to his knees. The rattle of gravel was drowned in a
+soft roar. Then he shot down swiftly, holding the lassos, keeping
+himself erect, and riding as if in a boat. He felt the successive
+steppes of the slope, and then the long incline below, and then the
+checking and rising and spreading of the avalanche as it slowed down on
+the level. All movement then was checked violently. He appeared to be
+half buried in sand. While he struggled to extricate himself the thick
+dust blew away and, settled so that he could see. Wildfire lay before
+him, at the edge of the slide, and now he was not so deeply embedded as
+he had been up on the slope. He was struggling and probably soon would
+have been able to get out. The line of fire was close now, but Slone did
+not fear that.
+
+At his shrill whistle Nagger bounded toward him, obedient, but snorting,
+with ears laid back. He halted. A second whistle started him again.
+Slone finally dug himself out of the sand, pulled the lassos out, and
+ran the length of them toward Nagger. The black showed both fear and
+fight. His eyes rolled and he half shied away.
+
+"Come on!" called Slone, harshly.
+
+He got a hand on the horse, pulled him round, and, mounting in a flash,
+wound both lassos round the pommel of the saddle.
+
+"Haul him out, Nagger, old boy!" cried Slone, and he dug spurs into the
+black.
+
+One plunge of Nagger's slid the stallion out of the sand. Snorting,
+wild, blinded, Wildfire got up, shaking in every limb. He could not see
+his enemies. The blowing smoke, right in his nose, made scent
+impossible. But in the taut lassos he sensed the direction of his
+captors. He plunged, rearing at the end of the plunge, and struck out
+viciously with his hoofs. Slone, quick with spur and bridle, swerved
+Nagger aside and Wildfire, off his balance, went down with a crash.
+Slone dragged him, stretched him out, pulled him over twice before he
+got forefeet planted. Once up, he reared again, screeching his rage,
+striking wildly with his hoofs. Slone wheeled aside and toppled him over
+again.
+
+"Wildfire, it's no fair fight," he called, grimly. "But you led me a
+chase. An' you learn right now I'm boss!"
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[2] From _Wildfire_. Copyright, 1916, by Harper and Brothers, New York
+and London. Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+III.--The Hydrophobic Skunk[3]
+
+_By Irvin S. Cobb_
+
+
+THE Hydrophobic Skunk resides at the extreme bottom of the Grand Cañon
+and, next to a Southern Republican who never asked for a Federal office,
+is the rarest of living creatures. He is so rare that nobody ever saw
+him--that is, nobody except a native. I met plenty of tourists who had
+seen people who had seen him, but never a tourist who had seen him with
+his own eyes. In addition to being rare, he is highly gifted.
+
+I think almost anybody will agree with me that the common, ordinary
+skunk has been most richly dowered by Nature. To adorn a skunk with any
+extra qualifications seems as great a waste of the raw material as
+painting the lily or gilding refined gold. He is already amply equipped
+for outdoor pursuits. Nobody intentionally shoves him round; everybody
+gives him as much room as he seems to need. He commands respect--nay,
+more than that, respect and veneration--wherever he goes. Joy riders
+never run him down and foot passengers avoid crowding him into a corner.
+You would think Nature had done amply well by the skunk; but no--the
+Hydrophobic Skunk comes along and upsets all these calculations. Besides
+carrying the traveling credentials of an ordinary skunk, he is rabid in
+the most rabidissimus form. He is not mad just part of the time, like
+one's relatives by marriage--and not mad most of the time, like the
+old-fashioned railroad ticket agent--but mad all the time--incurably,
+enthusiastically and unanimously mad! He is mad and he is glad of it.
+
+We made the acquaintance of the Hydrophobic Skunk when we rode down
+Hermit Trail. The casual visitor to the Grand Cañon first of all takes
+the rim drive; then he essays Bright Angel Trail, which is sufficiently
+scary for his purposes until he gets used to it; and after that he grows
+more adventurous and tackles Hermit Trail, which is a marvel of
+corkscrew convolutions, gimleting its way down this red abdominal wound
+of a cañon to the very gizzard of the world. Here, Johnny, our guide,
+felt moved to speech, and we hearkened to his words and hungered for
+more, for Johnny knows the ranges of the Northwest as a city dweller
+knows his own little side street. In the fall of the year Johnny comes
+down to the Cañon and serves as a guide a while; and then, when he gets
+so he just can't stand associating with tourists any longer, he packs
+his war bags and journeys back to the Northern Range and enjoys the
+company of cows a spell. Cows are not exactly exciting, but they don't
+ask fool questions.
+
+A highly competent young person is Johnny and a cow-puncher of parts.
+Most of the Cañon guides are cow-punchers--accomplished ones, too, and
+of high standing in the profession. With a touch of reverence Johnny
+pointed out to us Sam Scovel, the greatest bronco buster of his time,
+now engaged in piloting tourists.
+
+"Can he ride?" echoed Johnny in answer to our question. "Scovel could
+ride an earthquake if she stood still long enough for him to mount! He
+rode Steamboat--not Young Steamboat, but Old Steamboat! He rode Rocking
+Chair, and he's the only man that ever did that and was not called on in
+a couple of days to attend his own funeral."
+
+We went on and on at a lazy mule trot, hearing the unwritten annals of
+the range from one who had seen them enacted at first hand. Pretty soon
+we passed a herd of burros with mealy, dusty noses and spotty hides,
+feeding on prickly pears and rock lichens; and just before sunset we
+slid down the last declivity out upon the plateau and came to a camp as
+was a camp!
+
+This was roughing it de luxe with a most de-luxey vengeance! Here were
+three tents, or rather three canvas houses, with wooden half walls; and
+they were spick-and-span inside and out, and had glass windows in them
+and doors and matched wooden floors. . . . The mess tent was provided
+with a table with a clean cloth to go over it, and there were china
+dishes and china cups and shiny knives, forks and spoons. . . . Bill was
+in charge of the camp--a dark, rangy, good-looking leading man of a
+cowboy, wearing his blue shirt and his red neckerchief with an air.
+
+That Johnny certainly could cook! Served on china dishes upon a
+cloth-covered table, we had mounds of fried steaks and shoals of fried
+bacon; and a bushel, more or less, of sheepherder potatoes; and green
+peas and sliced peaches out of cans; and sour-dough biscuits as light as
+kisses and much more filling; and fresh butter and fresh milk; and
+coffee as black as your hat and strong as sin. How easy it is for
+civilized man to become primitive and comfortable in his way of eating,
+especially if he has just ridden ten miles on a buckboard and nine more
+on a mule and is away down at the bottom of the Grand Cañon--and there
+is nobody to look on disapprovingly when he takes a bite that would be a
+credit to a steam shovel!
+
+Despite all reports to the contrary, I wish to state that it is no
+trouble at all to eat green peas off a knife-blade--you merely mix them
+in with potatoes for a cement; and fried steak--take it from an old
+steak eater--tastes best when eaten with those tools of Nature's own
+providing, both hands and your teeth. An hour passed--busy, yet
+pleasant--and we were both gorged to the gills and had reared back with
+our cigars lit to enjoy a third jorum of black coffee apiece, when
+Johnny, speaking in an offhand way to Bill, who was still hiding away
+biscuits inside of himself like a parlor prestidigitator, said:
+
+"Seen any of them old Hydrophobies the last day or two?"
+
+"Not so many," said Bill casually. "There was a couple out last night
+pirootin' round in the moonlight. I reckon, though, there'll be quite a
+flock of 'em out to-night. A new moon always seems to fetch 'em up from
+the river."
+
+Both of us quit blowing on our coffee and we put the cups down. I think
+I was the one who spoke.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I asked, "but what did you say would be out
+to-night?"
+
+"We were just speakin' to one another about them Hydrophoby Skunks,"
+said Bill apologetically. "This here Cañon is where they mostly hang out
+and frolic 'round."
+
+I laid down my cigar, too. I admit I was interested.
+
+"Oh!" I said softly--like that. "Is it? Do they?"
+
+"Yes," said Johnny. "I reckin there's liable to be one come shovin' his
+old nose into that door any minute. Or probably two--they mostly travels
+in pairs--sets, as you might say."
+
+"You'd know one the minute you saw him, though," said Bill. "They're
+smaller than a regular skunk and spotted where the other kind is
+striped. And they got little red eyes. You won't have no trouble at all
+recognizin' one."
+
+It was at this juncture that we both got up and moved back by the stove.
+It was warmer there and the chill of evening seemed to be settling down
+noticeably.
+
+"Funny thing about Hydrophoby Skunks," went on Johnny after a moment of
+pensive thought--"mad, you know!"
+
+"What makes them mad?" The two of us asked the question together.
+
+"Born that way!" explained Bill--"mad from the start, and won't never do
+nothin' to get shut of it."
+
+"Ahem--they never attack humans, I suppose?"
+
+"Don't they?" said Johnny, as if surprised at such ignorance. "Why,
+humans is their favorite pastime! Humans is just pie to a Hydrophoby
+Skunk. It ain't really any fun to be bit by a Hydrophoby Skunk neither."
+He raised his coffee cup to his lips and imbibed deeply.
+
+"Which you certainly said something then, Johnny," stated Bill. "You
+see," he went on, turning to us, "they aim to catch you asleep and they
+creep up right soft and take holt of you--take holt of a year
+usually--and clamp their teeth and just hang on for further orders. Some
+says they hang on till it thunders, same as snappin' turtles. But that's
+a lie, I judge, because there's weeks on a stretch down here when it
+don't thunder. All the cases I ever heard of they let go at sunup."
+
+"It is right painful at the time," said Johnny, taking up the thread of
+the narrative; "and then in nine days you go mad yourself. Remember that
+fellow the Hydrophoby Skunk bit down here by the rapids, Bill? Let's see
+now--what was that hombre's name?"
+
+"Williams," supplied Bill--"Heck Williams. I saw him at Flagstaff when
+they took him there to the hospital. That guy certainly did carry on
+regardless. First he went mad and his eyes turned red, and he got so he
+didn't have no real use for water--well, them prospectors don't never
+care much about water anyway--and then he got to snappin' and bitin' and
+foamin' so's they had to strap him down to his bed. He got loose
+though."
+
+"Broke loose, I suppose?" I said.
+
+"No, he bit loose," said Bill with the air of one who would not deceive
+you even in a matter of small details.
+
+"Do you mean to say he bit those leather straps in two?"
+
+"No, sir; he couldn't reach them," explained Bill, "so he bit the bed in
+two. Not in one bite, of course," he went on. "It took him several. I
+saw him after he was laid out. He really wasn't no credit to himself as
+a corpse."
+
+I'm not sure, but I think my companion and I were holding hands by now.
+Outside we could hear that little lost echo laughing to itself. It was
+no time to be laughing either. Under certain circumstances I don't know
+of a lonelier place anywhere on earth than that Grand Cañon.
+
+Presently my friend spoke, and it seemed to me his voice was a mite
+husky. Well, he had a bad cold.
+
+"You said they mostly attack persons who are sleeping out, didn't you?"
+
+"That's right, too," said Johnny, and Bill nodded in affirmation.
+
+"Then, of course, since we sleep indoors everything will be all right,"
+I put in.
+
+"Well, yes and no," answered Johnny. "In the early part of the evening a
+Hydrophoby is liable to do a lot of prowlin' round outdoors; but toward
+mornin' they like to get into camps--they dig up under the side walls or
+come up through the floor--and they seem to prefer to get in bed with
+you. They're cold-blooded, I reckin, same as rattlesnakes. Cool nights
+always do drive 'em in, seems like."
+
+"It's going to be sort of coolish to-night," said Bill casually.
+
+It certainly was. I don't remember a chillier night in years. My teeth
+were chattering a little--from cold--before we turned in. I retired with
+all my clothes on, including my boots and leggings, and I wished I had
+brought along my ear muffs. I also buttoned my watch into my lefthand
+shirt pocket, the idea being if for any reason I should conclude to move
+during the night I would be fully equipped for traveling. The door would
+not stay closely shut--the door-jamb had sagged a little and the wind
+kept blowing the door ajar. But after a while we dozed off.
+
+It was one twenty-seven A. M. when I woke with a violent start. I know
+this was the exact time because that was when my watch stopped. I peered
+about me in the darkness. The door was wide open--I could tell that.
+Down on the floor there was a dragging, scuffling sound, and from almost
+beneath me a pair of small red eyes peered up phosphorescently.
+
+"He's here!" I said to my companion as I emerged from my blankets; and
+he, waking instantly, seemed instinctively to know whom I meant. I used
+to wonder at the ease with which a cockroach can climb a perfectly
+smooth wall and run across the ceiling. I know now that to do this is
+the easiest thing in the world--if you have the proper incentive behind
+you. I had gone up one wall of the tent and had crossed over and was in
+the act of coming down the other side when Bill burst in, his eyes
+blurred with sleep, a lighted lamp in one hand and a gun in the other.
+
+I never was so disappointed in my life because it wasn't a Hydrophobic
+Skunk at all. It was a pack rat, sometimes called a trade rat, paying us
+a visit. The pack or trade rat is also a denizen of the Grand Cañon. He
+is about four times as big as an ordinary rat and has an appetite to
+correspond. He sometimes invades your camp and makes free with your
+things, but he never steals anything outright--he merely trades with
+you; hence his name. He totes off a side of meat or a bushel of meal and
+brings a cactus stalk in; or he will confiscate your saddlebags and
+leave you in exchange a nice dry chip. He is honest, but from what I can
+gather he never gets badly stuck on a deal.
+
+Next morning at breakfast Johnny and Bill were doing a lot of laughing
+between them over something or other.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] From _Roughing It de Luxe_. Copyright, 1914, by George H. Doran
+Company. Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IV.--The Ole Virginia[4]
+
+_By Stewart Edward White_
+
+
+THE ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoise
+blue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries are
+infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm. We had ridden since
+sunup over broad mesas, down and out of deep cañons, along the base of
+the mountains in the wildest parts of the territory. The cattle were
+winding leisurely toward the high country; the jack rabbits had
+disappeared; the quail lacked; we did not see a single antelope in the
+open.
+
+"It's a case of hold up," the Cattleman ventured his opinion. "I have a
+ranch over in the Double R. Charley and Windy Bill hold it down. We'll
+tackle it. What do you think?"
+
+The four cowboys agreed. We dropped into a low, broad watercourse,
+ascended its bed to big cottonwoods and flowing water, followed it into
+box cañons between rim rock carved fantastically and painted like a
+Moorish façade, until at last in a widening below a rounded hill, we
+came upon an adobe house, a fruit tree, and a round corral. This was the
+Double R.
+
+Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits. We turned our
+horses out, spread our beds on the floor, filled our pipes, and squatted
+on our heels. Various dogs of various breeds investigated us. It was
+very pleasant, and we did not mind the ring around the sun.
+
+"Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman finally.
+
+"Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.
+
+A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and long white hair rode
+out from the cottonwoods. He had on a battered broad hat abnormally high
+of crown, carried across his saddle a heavy "eight square" rifle, and
+was followed by a half-dozen lolloping hounds.
+
+The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight of our group,
+launched himself with lightning rapidity at the biggest of the ranch
+dogs, promptly nailed that canine by the back of the neck, shook him
+violently a score of times, flung him aside, and pounced on the next.
+During the ensuing few moments that hound was the busiest thing in the
+West. He satisfactorily whipped four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree,
+upset the Dutch oven and the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded the
+horses, and raised a cloud of dust adequate to represent the smoke of
+battle. We others were too paralyzed to move. Uncle Jim sat placidly on
+his white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups, smoking.
+
+In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because there was no
+more trouble to make. The hound returned leisurely, licking from his
+chops the hair of his victims. Uncle Jim shook his head.
+
+"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."
+
+We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a fresh
+batch of soda biscuits.
+
+The old man was one of the typical "long hairs." He had come to the
+Galiuro Mountains in '69, and since '69 he had remained in the Galiuro
+Mountains, spite of man or the devil. At present he possessed some
+hundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water, in a dry season, from
+an ordinary dish pan. In times past he had prospected.
+
+That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to slumber, he held
+forth on big-game hunting and dogs, quartz claims and Apaches.
+
+"Did you ever have any very close calls?" I asked.
+
+He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with some awful tobacco,
+and told the following experience:
+
+"In the time of Geronimo I was living just about where I do now; and
+that was just about in line with the raiding. You see, Geronimo, and Ju,
+and old Loco used to pile out of the reservation at Camp Apache, raid
+south to the line, slip over into Mexico when the soldiers got too
+promiscuous, and raid there until they got ready to come back. Then
+there was always a big medicine talk. Says Geronimo:
+
+"'I am tired of the warpath. I will come back from Mexico with all my
+warriors, if you will escort me with soldiers and protect my people.'
+
+"'All right,' says the General, being only too glad to get him back at
+all.
+
+"So, then, in ten minutes there wouldn't be a buck in camp, but next
+morning they shows up again, each with about fifty head of hosses.
+
+"'Where'd you get those hosses?' asks the General, suspicious.
+
+"'Had 'em pastured in the hills,' answers Geronimo.
+
+"'I can't take all those hosses with me; I believe they're stolen!' says
+the General.
+
+"'My people cannot go without their hosses,' says Geronimo.
+
+"So, across the line they goes, and back to the reservation. In about a
+week there's fifty-two frantic Greasers wanting to know where's their
+hosses. The army is nothing but an importer of stolen stock, and knows
+it, and can't help it.
+
+"Well, as I says, I'm between Camp Apache and the Mexican line, so that
+every raiding party goes right on past me. The point is that I'm a
+thousand feet or so above the valley, and the renegades is in such a
+hurry about that time that they never stop to climb up and collect me.
+Often I've watched them trailing down the valley in a cloud of dust.
+Then, in a day or two, a squad of soldiers would come up and camp at my
+spring for a while. They used to send soldiers to guard every water hole
+in the country so the renegades couldn't get water. After a while, from
+not being bothered none, I got to thinking I wasn't worth while with
+them.
+
+"Me and Johnny Hooper were pecking away at the Ole Virginia mine then.
+We'd got down about sixty feet, all timbered, and was thinking of
+crosscutting. One day Johnny went to town, and that same day I got in a
+hurry and left my gun at camp.
+
+"I worked all the morning down at the bottom of the shaft, and when I
+see by the sun it was getting along towards noon, I put in three good
+shots, tamped 'em down, lit the fuses, and started to climb out.
+
+"It ain't noways pleasant to light a fuse in a shaft, and then have to
+climb out a fifty-foot ladder, with it burning behind you. I never did
+get used to it. You keep thinking, 'Now, suppose there's a flaw in that
+fuse, or something, and she goes off in six seconds instead of two
+minutes? Where'll you be then?' It would give you a good boost towards
+your home on high, anyway.
+
+"So I climbed fast, and stuck my head out the top without looking--and
+then I froze solid enough. There, about fifty feet away, climbing up
+the hill on mighty tired hosses, was a dozen of the ugliest Chiricahuas
+you ever don't want to meet, and in addition a Mexican renegade named
+Maria, who was worse than any of 'em. I see at once their hosses was
+tired out, and they had a notion of camping at my water hole, not
+knowing nothing about the Ole Virginia mine.
+
+"For two bits I'd have let go all holts and dropped backwards, trusting
+to my thick head for easy lighting. Then I heard a little fizz and
+sputter from below. At that my hair riz right up so I could feel the
+breeze blow under my hat. For about six seconds I stood there like an
+imbecile, grinning amiably. Then one of the Chiricahuas made a sort of
+grunt, and I sabed that they'd seen the original exhibit your Uncle Jim
+was making of himself.
+
+"Then that fuse gave another sputter and one of the Apaches said, 'Un
+dah.' That means 'white man.' It was harder to turn my head than if I'd
+had a stiff neck; but I managed to do it, and I see that my ore dump
+wasn't more than ten foot away. I mighty near overjumped it; and the
+next I knew I was on one side of it and those Apaches on the other.
+Probably I flew; leastways I don't seem to remember jumping.
+
+"That didn't seem to do me much good. The renegades were grinning and
+laughing to think how easy a thing they had; and I couldn't rightly
+think up any arguments against the notion--at least from their
+standpoint. They were chattering away to each other in Mexican for the
+benefit of Maria. Oh, they had me all distributed, down to my suspender
+buttons! And me squatting behind that ore dump about as formidable as a
+brush rabbit!
+
+"Then, all at once, one of my shots went off down in the shaft.
+
+"'Boom!' says she, plenty big; and a slather of rocks and stones come
+out of the mouth, and began to dump down promiscuous on the scenery. I
+got one little one in the shoulder blade, and found time to wish my ore
+dump had a roof. But those renegades caught it square in the thick of
+trouble. One got knocked out entirely for a minute, by a nice piece of
+country rock in the head.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I, which means 'again.'
+
+"'Boom!' goes the Ole Virginia prompt as an answer.
+
+"I put in my time dodging, but when I gets a chance to look, the Apaches
+has all got to cover and is looking scared.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I again.
+
+"'Boom!' says the Ole Virginia.
+
+"This was the biggest shot of the lot, and she surely cut loose. I ought
+to have been halfway up the hill watching things from a safe distance,
+but I wasn't. Lucky for me the shaft was a little on the drift, so she
+didn't quite shoot my way. But she distributed about a ton over those
+renegades. They sort of half got to their feet uncertain.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I once more, as bold as if I could keep her shooting
+all day.
+
+"It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go through I could see
+me as an Apache parlor ornament. But it did. Those Chiricahuas give one
+yell and skipped. It was surely a funny sight, after they got aboard
+their war ponies, to see them trying to dig out on horses too tired to
+trot.
+
+"I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In fact, I give one jump
+off that ledge, and I lit a-running. A quarter-hoss couldn't have beat
+me to that shack. There I grabbed my good old gun, old Meat-in-the-pot,
+and made a climb for the tall country."
+
+Uncle Jim stopped with an air of finality, and began lazily to refill
+his pipe. From the open mud fireplace he picked a coal. Outside, the
+rain, faithful to the prophecy of the wide-ringed sun, beat fitfully
+against the roof.
+
+"That was the closest call I ever had," said he at last.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[4] From _Arizona Nights_. Reprinted by special permission of publisher
+and author. Copyright, 1907, by Doubleday, Page and Company.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+V.--The Weight of Obligation[5]
+
+_By Rex Beach_
+
+
+THIS is the story of a burden, the tale of a load that irked a strong
+man's shoulders. To those who do not know the North it may seem strange,
+but to those who understand the humors of men in solitude, and the
+extravagant vagaries that steal in upon their minds, as fog drifts with
+the night, it will not appear unusual. There are spirits in the
+wilderness, eerie forces which play pranks; some droll or whimsical,
+others grim.
+
+Johnny Cantwell and Mortimer Grant were partners, trail mates, brothers
+in soul if not in blood. The ebb and flood of frontier life had brought
+them together, its hardships had united them until they were as one.
+They were something of a mystery to each other, neither having
+surrendered all his confidence, and because of this they retained their
+mutual attraction. They had met by accident, but they remained together
+by desire.
+
+The spirit of adventure bubbled merrily within them, and it led them
+into curious byways. It was this which sent them northward from the
+States in the dead of winter, on the heels of the Stony River strike; it
+was this which induced them to land at Katmai instead of Illiamna,
+whither their land journey should have commenced.
+
+"There are two routes over the coast range," the captain of the _Dora_
+told them, "and only two. Illiamna Pass is low and easy, but the
+distance is longer than by way of Katmai. I can land you at either
+place."
+
+"Katmai is pretty tough, isn't it?" Grant inquired.
+
+"We've understood it's the worst pass in Alaska." Cantwell's eyes were
+eager.
+
+"It's awful! Nobody travels it except natives, and they don't like it.
+Now, Illiamna--"
+
+"We'll try Katmai. Eh, Mort?"
+
+"Sure! They don't come hard enough for us, Cap. We'll see if it's as bad
+as it's painted."
+
+So, one gray January morning they were landed on a frozen beach, their
+outfit was flung ashore through the surf, the lifeboat pulled away, and
+the _Dora_ disappeared after a farewell toot of her whistle. Their last
+glimpse of her showed the captain waving good-by and the purser flapping
+a red tablecloth at them from the after-deck.
+
+"Cheerful place, this," Grant remarked, as he noted the desolate
+surroundings of dune and hillside.
+
+The beach itself was black and raw where the surf washed it, but
+elsewhere all was white, save for the thickets of alder and willow which
+protruded nakedly. The bay was little more than a hollow scooped out of
+the Alaskan range; along the foothills behind there was a belt of spruce
+and cottonwood and birch. It was a lonely and apparently unpeopled
+wilderness in which they had been set down.
+
+"Seems good to be back in the North again, doesn't it?" said Cantwell,
+cheerily. "I'm tired of the booze, and the street cars, and the dames,
+and all that civilized stuff. I'd rather be broke in Alaska--with
+you--than a banker's son, back home."
+
+Soon a globular Russian half-breed, the Katmai trader, appeared among
+the dunes, and with him were some native villagers. That night the
+partners slept in a snug log cabin, the roof of which was chained down
+with old ships' cables. Petellin, the fat little trader, explained that
+roofs in Katmai had a way of sailing off to seaward when the wind blew.
+He listened to their plan of crossing the divide and nodded.
+
+It could be done, of course, he agreed, but they were foolish to try it,
+when the Illiamna route was open. Still, now that they were here, he
+would find dogs for them, and a guide. The village hunters were out
+after meat, however, and until they returned the white men would need to
+wait in patience.
+
+There followed several days of idleness, during which Cantwell and Grant
+amused themselves around the village, teasing the squaws, playing games
+with the boys, and flirting harmlessly with the girls, one of whom, in
+particular, was not unattractive. She was perhaps three-quarters Aleut,
+the other quarter being plain coquette, and, having been educated at the
+town of Kodiak, she knew the ways and the wiles of the white man.
+
+Cantwell approached her, and she met his extravagant advances more than
+halfway. They were getting along nicely together when Grant, in a spirit
+of fun, entered the game and won her fickle smiles for himself. He joked
+his partner unmercifully, and Johnny accepted defeat gracefully, never
+giving the matter a second thought.
+
+When the hunters returned, dogs were bought, a guide was hired, and, a
+week after landing, the friends were camped at timber line awaiting a
+favorable moment for their dash across the range. Above them, white
+hillsides rose in irregular leaps to the gash in the saw-toothed barrier
+which formed the pass; below them a short valley led down to Katmai and
+the sea. The day was bright, the air clear, nevertheless after the guide
+had stared up at the peaks for a time he shook his head, then reëntered
+the tent and lay down. The mountains were "smoking"; from their tops
+streamed a gossamer veil which the travelers knew to be drifting snow
+clouds carried by the wind. It meant delay, but they were patient.
+
+They were up and going on the following morning, however, with the
+Indian in the lead. There was no trail; the hills were steep; in places
+they were forced to unload the sled and hoist their outfit by means of
+ropes, and as they mounted higher the snow deepened. It lay like loose
+sand, only lighter; it shoved ahead of the sled in a feathery mass; the
+dogs wallowed in it and were unable to pull, hence the greater part of
+the work devolved upon the men. Once above the foothills and into the
+range proper, the going became more level, but the snow remained
+knee-deep.
+
+The Indian broke trail stolidly; the partners strained at the sled,
+which hung back like a leaden thing. By afternoon the dogs had become
+disheartened and refused to heed the whip. There was neither fuel nor
+running water, and therefore the party did not pause for luncheon. The
+men were sweating profusely from their exertions and had long since
+become parched with thirst, but the dry snow was like chalk and scoured
+their throats.
+
+Cantwell was the first to show the effects of his unusual exertions, for
+not only had he assumed a lion's share of the work, but the last few
+months of easy living had softened his muscles, and in consequence his
+vitality was quickly spent. His undergarments were drenched; he was
+fearfully dry inside; a terrible thirst seemed to penetrate his whole
+body; he was forced to rest frequently.
+
+Grant eyed him with some concern, finally inquiring, "Feel bad,
+Johnny?"
+
+Cantwell nodded. Their fatigue made both men economical of language.
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Thirsty!" The former could barely speak.
+
+"There won't be any water till we get across. You'll have to stand it."
+
+They resumed their duties; the Indian "swish-swished" ahead, as if
+wading through a sea of swan's-down; the dogs followed listlessly; the
+partners leaned against the stubborn load.
+
+A faint breath finally came out of the north, causing Grant and the
+guide to study the sky anxiously. Cantwell was too weary to heed the
+increasing cold. The snow on the slopes above began to move; here and
+there, on exposed ridges, it rose in clouds and puffs; the cleancut
+outlines of the hills became obscured as by a fog; the languid wind bit
+cruelly.
+
+After a time Johnny fell back upon the sled and exclaimed: "I'm--all in,
+Mort. Don't seem to have the--guts." He was pale, his eyes were
+tortured. He scooped a mitten full of snow and raised it to his lips,
+then spat it out, still dry.
+
+"Here! Brace up!" In a panic of apprehension at this collapse Grant
+shook him; he had never known Johnny to fail like this. "Take a drink;
+it'll do you good." He drew a bottle from one of the dunnage bags and
+Cantwell seized it avidly. It was wet; it would quench his thirst, he
+thought. Before Mort could check him he had drunk a third of the
+contents.
+
+The effect was almost instantaneous, for Cantwell's stomach was empty
+and his tissues seemed to absorb the liquor like a dry sponge; his
+fatigue fell away, he became suddenly strong and vigorous again. But
+before he had gone a hundred yards the reaction followed. First his mind
+grew thick, then his limbs became unmanageable and his muscles flabby.
+He was drunk. Yet it was a strange and dangerous intoxication, against
+which he struggled desperately. He fought it for perhaps a quarter of a
+mile before it mastered him; then he gave up.
+
+Both men knew that stimulants are never taken on the trail, but they had
+never stopped to reason why, and even now they did not attribute
+Johnny's breakdown to the brandy. After a while he stumbled and fell,
+then, the cool snow being grateful to his face, he sprawled there
+motionless until Mort dragged him to the sled. He stared at his partner
+in perplexity and laughed foolishly. The wind was increasing, darkness
+was near, they had not yet reached the Bering slope.
+
+Something in the drunken man's face frightened Grant and, extracting a
+ship's biscuit from the grub box, he said, hurriedly: "Here, Johnny. Get
+something under your belt, quick."
+
+Cantwell obediently munched the hard cracker, but there was no moisture
+on his tongue; his throat was paralyzed; the crumbs crowded themselves
+from the corners of his lips. He tried with limber fingers to stuff
+them down, or to assist the muscular action of swallowing, but finally
+expelled them in a cloud. Mort drew the parka hood over his partner's
+head, for the wind cut like a scythe and the dogs were turning tail to
+it, digging holes in the snow for protection. The air about them was
+like yeast; the light was fading.
+
+The Indian snowshoed his way back, advising a quick camp until the storm
+abated, but to this suggestion Grant refused to listen, knowing only too
+well the peril of such a course. Nor did he dare take Johnny on the
+sled, since the fellow was half asleep already, but instead whipped up
+the dogs and urged his companion to follow as best he could.
+
+When Cantwell fell, for a second time, he returned, dragged him forward,
+and tied his wrists firmly, yet loosely, to the load.
+
+The storm was pouring over them now, like water out of a spout; it
+seared and blinded them; its touch was like that of a flame.
+Nevertheless they struggled on into the smother, making what headway
+they could. The Indian led, pulling at the end of a rope; Grant strained
+at the sled and hoarsely encouraged the dogs; Cantwell stumbled and
+lurched in the rear like an unwilling prisoner. When he fell his
+companion lifted him, then beat him, cursed him, tried in every way to
+rouse him from his lethargy.
+
+After an interminable time they found they were descending and this gave
+them heart to plunge ahead more rapidly. The dogs began to trot as the
+sled overran them; they rushed blindly into gullies, fetching up at the
+bottom in a tangle, and Johnny followed in a nerveless, stupefied
+condition. He was dragged like a sack of flour for his legs were limp
+and he lacked muscular control, but every dash, every fall, every quick
+descent drove the sluggish blood through his veins and cleared his brain
+momentarily. Such moments were fleeting, however; much of the time his
+mind was a blank, and it was only by a mechanical effort that he fought
+off unconsciousness.
+
+He had vague memories of many beatings at Mort's hands, of the slippery
+clean-swept ice of a stream over which he limply skidded, of being
+carried into a tent where a candle flickered and a stove roared. Grant
+was holding something hot to his lips, and then--
+
+It was morning. He was weak and sick; he felt as if he had awakened from
+a hideous dream. "I played out, didn't I?" he queried, wonderingly.
+
+"You sure did," Grant laughed. "It was a tight squeak, old boy. I never
+thought I'd get you through."
+
+"Played out! I--can't understand it." Cantwell prided himself on his
+strength and stamina, therefore the truth was unbelievable. He and Mort
+had long been partners, they had given and taken much at each other's
+hands, but this was something altogether different. Grant had saved his
+life, at risk of his own; the older man's endurance had been the greater
+and he had used it to good advantage. It embarrassed Johnny tremendously
+to realize that he had proved unequal to his share of the work, for he
+had never before experienced such an obligation. He apologized
+repeatedly during the few days he lay sick, and meanwhile Mort waited
+upon him like a mother.
+
+Cantwell was relieved when at last they had abandoned camp, changed
+guides at the next village, and were on their way along the coast, for
+somehow he felt very sensitive about his collapse. He was, in fact,
+extremely ashamed of himself.
+
+Once he had fully recovered he had no further trouble, but soon rounded
+into fit condition and showed no effects of his ordeal. Day after day he
+and Mort traveled through the solitudes, their isolation broken only by
+occasional glimpses of native villages, where they rested briefly and
+renewed their supply of dog feed.
+
+But although the younger man was now as well and strong as ever, he was
+uncomfortably conscious that his trail mate regarded him as the weaker
+of the two and shielded him in many ways. Grant performed most of the
+unpleasant tasks, and occasionally cautioned Johnny about overdoing.
+This protective attitude at first amused, then offended Cantwell, it
+galled him until he was upon the point of voicing his resentment, but
+reflected that he had no right to object, for, judging by past
+performances, he had proved his inferiority. This uncomfortable
+realization forever arose to prevent open rebellion, but he asserted
+himself secretly by robbing Grant of his self-appointed tasks. He rose
+first in the mornings, he did the cooking, he lengthened his turns
+ahead of the dogs, he mended harness after the day's hike had ended. Of
+course the older man objected, and for a time they had a good-natured
+rivalry as to who should work and who should rest--only it was not quite
+so good-natured on Cantwell's part as he made it appear.
+
+Mort broke out in friendly irritation one day: "Don't try to do
+everything, Johnny. Remember I'm no cripple."
+
+"Humph! You proved that. I guess it's up to me to do your work."
+
+"Oh, forget that day on the pass, can't you?"
+
+Johnny grunted a second time, and from his tone it was evident that he
+would never forget, unpleasant though the memory remained. Sensing his
+sullen resentment, the other tried to rally him, but made a bad job of
+it. The humor of men in the open is not delicate; their wit and their
+words become coarsened in direct proportion as they revert to the
+primitive; it is one effect of the solitudes.
+
+Grant spoke extravagantly, mockingly, of his own superiority in a way
+which ordinarily would have brought a smile to Cantwell's lips, but the
+latter did not smile. He taunted Johnny humorously on his lack of
+physical prowess, his lack of good looks and manly qualities--something
+which had never failed to result in a friendly exchange of badinage; he
+even teased him about his defeat with the Katmai girl.
+
+Cantwell did respond finally, but afterward he found himself wondering
+if Mort could have been in earnest. He dismissed the thought with some
+impatience. But men on the trail have too much time for their thoughts;
+there is nothing in the monotonous routine of the day's work to distract
+them, so the partner who had played out dwelt more and more upon his
+debt and upon his friend's easy assumption of preëminence. The weight of
+obligation began to chafe him, lightly at first, but with
+ever-increasing discomfort. He began to think that Grant honestly
+considered himself the better man, merely because chance had played into
+his hands.
+
+It was silly, even childish, to dwell on the subject, he reflected, and
+yet he could not banish it from his mind. It was always before him, in
+one form or another. He felt the strength in his lean muscles, and
+sneered at the thought that Mort should be deceived. If it came to a
+physical test he felt sure he could break his slighter partner with his
+bare hands, and as for endurance--well, he was hungry for a chance to
+demonstrate it.
+
+They talked little; men seldom converse in the wastes, for there is
+something about the silence of the wilderness which discourages speech.
+And no land is so grimly silent, so hushed and soundless, as the frozen
+North. For days they marched through desolation, without glimpse of
+human habitation, without sight of track or trail, without sound of a
+human voice to break the monotony. There was no game in the country,
+with the exception of an occasional bird or rabbit, nothing but the
+white hills, the fringe of alder tops along the watercourses, and the
+thickets of gnarled, unhealthy spruce in the smothered valleys.
+
+Their destination was a mysterious stream at the headwaters of the
+unmapped Kuskokwim, where rumor said there was gold, and whither they
+feared other men were hastening from the mining country far to the
+north.
+
+Now it is a penalty of the White Country that men shall think of women;
+Cantwell began to brood upon the Katmai girl, for she was the last; her
+eyes were haunting and distance had worked its usual enchantment. He
+reflected that Mort had shouldered him aside and won her favor, then
+boasted of it. Johnny awoke one night with a dream of her, and lay
+quivering.
+
+"She was only a squaw," he said, half aloud. "If I'd really tried--"
+
+Grant lay beside him, snoring, the heat of their bodies intermingled.
+The waking man tried to compose himself, but his partner's stertorous
+breathing irritated him beyond measure; for a long time he remained
+motionless, staring into the gray blurr of the tent top. He had played
+out. He owed his life to the man who had cheated him of the Katmai girl,
+and that man knew it. He had become a weak, helpless thing, dependent
+upon another's strength, and that other now accepted his superiority as
+a matter of course. The obligation was insufferable, and--it was
+unjust. The North had played him a devilish trick, it had betrayed him,
+it had bound him to his benefactor with chains of gratitude which were
+irksome. Had they been real chains they could have galled him no more
+than at this moment.
+
+As time passed the men spoke less frequently to each other. Grant joshed
+his mate roughly, once or twice, masking beneath an assumption of
+jocularity his own vague irritation at the change that had come over
+them. It was as if he had probed at an open wound with clumsy fingers.
+
+Cantwell had by this time assumed most of those petty camp tasks which
+provoke tired trailers, those humdrum duties which are so trying to
+exhausted nerves, and of course they wore upon him as they wear upon
+every man. But, once he had taken them over, he began to resent Grant's
+easy relinquishment; it rankled him to realize how willingly the other
+allowed him to do the cooking, the dish-washing, the fire-building, the
+bed-making. Little monotonies of this kind form the hardest part of
+winter travel, they are the rocks upon which friendships founder and
+partnerships are wrecked. Out on the trail, nature equalizes the work to
+a great extent, and no man can shirk unduly, but in camp, inside the
+cramped confines of a tent pitched on boughs laid over the snow, it is
+very different. There one must busy himself while the other rests and
+keeps his legs out of the way if possible. One man sits on the bedding
+at the rear of the shelter, and shivers, while the other squats over a
+tantalizing fire of green wood, blistering his face and parboiling his
+limbs inside his sweaty clothing. Dishes must be passed, food divided,
+and it is poor food, poorly prepared at best. Sometimes men criticize
+and voice longings for better grub and better cooking. Remarks of this
+kind have been known to result in tragedies, bitter words and flaming
+curses--then, perhaps, wild actions, memories of which the later years
+can never erase.
+
+It is but one prank of the wilderness, one grim manifestation of its
+silent forces.
+
+Had Grant been unable to do his part Cantwell would have willingly
+accepted the added burden, but Mort was able, he was nimble and "handy,"
+he was the better cook of the two; in fact, he was the better man in
+every way--or so he believed. Cantwell sneered at the last thought, and
+the memory of his debt was like bitter medicine.
+
+His resentment--in reality nothing more than a phase of insanity begot
+of isolation and silence--could not help but communicate itself to his
+companion, and there resulted a mutual antagonism, which grew into a
+dislike, then festered into something more, something strange,
+reasonless, yet terribly vivid and amazingly potent for evil. Neither
+man ever mentioned it--their tongues were clenched between their teeth
+and they held themselves in check with harsh hands--but it was
+constantly in their minds, nevertheless. No man who has not suffered the
+manifold irritations of such an intimate association can appreciate the
+gnawing canker of animosity like this. It was dangerous because there
+was no relief from it: the two were bound together as by gyves; they
+shared each other's every action and every plan; they trod in each
+other's tracks, slept in the same bed, ate from the same plate. They
+were like prisoners ironed to the same staple.
+
+Each fought the obsession in his own way, but it is hard to fight the
+impalpable, hence their sick fancies grew in spite of themselves. Their
+minds needed food to prey upon, but found none. Each began to criticize
+the other silently, to sneer at his weaknesses, to meditate derisively
+upon his peculiarities. After a time they no longer resisted the advance
+of these poisonous thoughts, but welcomed it.
+
+On more than one occasion the embers of their wrath were upon the point
+of bursting into flame, but each realized that the first ill-considered
+word would serve to slip the leash from those demons that were straining
+to go free, and so managed to restrain himself.
+
+The crisis came one crisp morning when a dog team whirled around a bend
+in the river and a white man hailed them. He was the mail carrier, on
+his way out from Nome, and he brought news of the "inside."
+
+"Where are you boys bound for?" he inquired when greetings were over
+and gossip of the trail had passed.
+
+"We're going to the Stony River strike," Grant told him.
+
+"Stony River? Up the Kuskokwim?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+The mail man laughed. "Can you beat that? Ain't you heard about Stony
+River?"
+
+"No!"
+
+"Why, it's a fake--no such place."
+
+There was a silence; the partners avoided each other's eyes.
+
+"MacDonald, the fellow that started it, is on his way to Dawson. There's
+a gang after him, too, and if he's caught it'll go hard with him. He
+wrote the letters--to himself--and spread the news just to raise a
+grubstake. He cleaned up big before they got onto him. He peddled his
+tips for real money."
+
+"Yes!" Grant spoke quietly. "Johnny bought one. That's what brought us
+from Seattle. We went out on the last boat and figured we'd come in from
+this side before the break-up. So--fake!"
+
+"Gee! You fellers bit good." The mail carrier shook his head. "Well!
+You'd better keep going now; you'll get to Nome before the season opens.
+Better take dogfish from Bethel--it's four bits a pound on the Yukon.
+Sorry I didn't hit your camp last night; we'd 'a' had a visit. Tell the
+gang that you saw me." He shook hands ceremoniously, yelled at his
+panting dogs, and went swiftly on his way, waving a mitten on high as he
+vanished around the next bend.
+
+The partners watched him go, then Grant turned to Johnny, and repeated:
+"Fake! MacDonald stung you."
+
+Cantwell's face went as white as the snow behind him, his eyes blazed.
+"Why did you tell him I bit?" he demanded harshly.
+
+"Hunh! _Didn't_ you bite? Two thousand miles afoot; three months of
+Hades; for nothing. That's biting some."
+
+"_Well!_" The speaker's face was convulsed, and Grant's flamed with an
+answering anger. They glared at each other for a moment. "Don't blame
+me. You fell for it, too."
+
+"I----" Mort checked his rushing words.
+
+"Yes, _you_! Now, what are you going to do about it? Welsh?"
+
+"I'm going through to Nome." The sight of his partner's rage had set
+Mort to shaking with a furious desire to fly at his throat, but
+fortunately, he retained a spark of sanity.
+
+"Then shut up, and quit chewing the rag. You--talk too much."
+
+Mort's eyes were bloodshot; they fell upon the carbine under the sled
+lashings, and lingered there, then wavered. He opened his lips,
+reconsidered, spoke softly to the team, then lifted the heavy dog whip
+and smote the Malemutes with all his strength.
+
+The men resumed their journey without further words, but each was
+cursing inwardly.
+
+"So! I talk too much," Grant thought. The accusation struck in his mind
+and he determined to speak no more.
+
+"He blames me," Cantwell reflected, bitterly. "I'm in wrong again and he
+couldn't keep his mouth shut. A fine partner, he is!"
+
+All day they plodded on, neither trusting himself to speak. They ate
+their evening meal like mutes; they avoided each other's eyes. Even the
+guide noticed the change and looked on curiously.
+
+There were two robes and these the partners shared nightly, but their
+hatred had grown so during the past few hours that the thought of lying
+side by side, limb to limb, was distasteful.
+
+Yet neither dared suggest a division of the bedding, for that would have
+brought further words and resulted in the crash which they longed for,
+but feared. They stripped off their furs, and lay down beside each other
+with the same repugnance they would have felt had there been a serpent
+in the couch.
+
+This unending malevolent silence became terrible. The strain of it
+increased, for each man now had something definite to cherish in the
+words and the looks that had passed. They divided the camp work with
+scrupulous nicety, each man waited upon himself and asked no favors. The
+knowledge of his debt forever chafed Cantwell; Grant resented his
+companion's lack of gratitude.
+
+Of course they spoke occasionally--it was beyond human endurance to
+remain entirely dumb--but they conversed in monosyllables, about trivial
+things, and their voices were throaty, as if the effort choked them.
+Meanwhile they continued to glow inwardly at a white heat.
+
+Cantwell no longer felt the desire merely to match his strength against
+Grant's; the estrangement had become too wide for that; a physical
+victory would have been flat and tasteless; he craved some deeper
+satisfaction. He began to think of the ax--just how or when or why he
+never knew. It was a thin-bladed, polished thing of frosty steel, and
+the more he thought of it the stronger grew his impulse to rid himself
+once for all of that presence which exasperated him. It would be very
+easy, he reasoned; a sudden blow, with the weight of his shoulders
+behind it--he fancied he could feel the bit sink into Grant's flesh,
+cleaving bone and cartilages in its course--a slanting downward stroke,
+aimed at the neck where it joined the body, and he would be forever
+satisfied. It would be ridiculously simple. He practiced in the gloom of
+evening as he felled spruce trees for firewood; he guarded the ax
+religiously; it became a living thing which urged him on to violence. He
+saw it standing by the tent fly when he closed his eyes to sleep; he
+dreamed of it; he sought it out with his eyes when he first awoke. He
+slid it loosely under the sled lashings every morning, thinking that its
+use could not long be delayed.
+
+As for Grant, the carbine dwelt forever in his mind, and his fingers
+itched for it. He secretly slipped a cartridge into the chamber, and
+when an occasional ptarmigan offered itself for a target he saw the
+white spot on the breast of Johnny's reindeer parka, dancing ahead of
+the Lyman bead.
+
+The solitude had done its work; the North had played its grim comedy to
+the final curtain, making sport of men's affections and turning love to
+rankling hate. But into the mind of each man crept a certain craftiness.
+Each longed to strike, but feared to face the consequences. It was
+lonesome, here among the white hills and the deathly silences, yet they
+reflected that it would be still more lonesome if they were left to keep
+step with nothing more substantial than a memory. They determined,
+therefore, to wait until civilization was nearer, meanwhile rehearsing
+the moment they knew was inevitable. Over and over in their thoughts
+each of them enacted the scene, ending it always with the picture of a
+prostrate man in a patch of trampled snow which grew crimson as the
+other gloated.
+
+They paused at Bethel Mission long enough to load with dried salmon,
+then made the ninety-mile portage over lake and tundra to the Yukon.
+There they got their first touch of the "inside" world. They camped in a
+barabora where white men had slept a few nights before, and heard their
+own language spoken by native tongues. The time was growing short now,
+and they purposely dismissed their guide, knowing that the trail was
+plain from there on. When they hitched up, on the next morning, Cantwell
+placed the ax, bit down, between the tarpaulin and the sled rail,
+leaving the helve projecting where his hand could reach it. Grant thrust
+the barrel of the rifle beneath a lashing, with the butt close by the
+handle-bars, and it was loaded.
+
+A mile from the village they were overtaken by an Indian and his squaw,
+traveling light behind hungry dogs. The natives attached themselves to
+the white men and hung stubbornly to their heels, taking advantage of
+their tracks. When night came they camped alongside, in the hope of
+food. They announced that they were bound for St. Michaels, and in spite
+of every effort to shake them off they remained close behind the
+partners until that point was reached.
+
+At St. Michaels there were white men, practically the first Johnny and
+Mort had encountered since landing at Katmai, and for a day at least
+they were sane. But there were still three hundred miles to be traveled,
+three hundred miles of solitude and haunting thoughts. Just as they were
+about to start, Cantwell came upon Grant and the A. C. agent, and heard
+his name pronounced, also the word "Katmai." He noted that Mort fell
+silent at his approach, and instantly his anger blazed afresh. He
+decided that the latter had been telling the story of their experience
+on the pass and boasting of his service. So much the better, he
+thought, in a blind rage; that which he planned doing would appear all
+the more like an accident, for who would dream that a man could kill the
+person to whom he owed his life?
+
+That night he waited for a chance.
+
+They were camped in a dismal hut on a wind-swept shore; they were alone.
+But Grant was waiting also, it seemed. They lay down beside each other,
+ostensibly to sleep; their limbs touched; the warmth from their bodies
+intermingled, but they did not close their eyes.
+
+They were up and away early, with Nome drawing rapidly nearer. They had
+skirted an ocean, foot by foot; Bering Sea lay behind them, now, and its
+northern shore swung westward to their goal. For two months they had
+lived in silent animosity, feeding on bitter food while their elbows
+rubbed.
+
+Noon found them floundering through one of those unheralded storms which
+make coast travel so hazardous. The morning had turned off gray, the sky
+was of a leaden hue which blended perfectly with the snow underfoot,
+there was no horizon, it was impossible to see more than a few yards in
+any direction. The trail soon became obliterated and their eyes began to
+play tricks. For all they could distinguish, they might have been
+suspended in space; they seemed to be treading the measures of an
+endless dance in the center of a whirling cloud. Of course it was cold,
+for the wind off the open sea was damp, but they were not men to turn
+back.
+
+They soon discovered that their difficulty lay not in facing the storm,
+but in holding to the trail. That narrow, two-foot causeway, packed by a
+winter's travel and frozen into a ribbon of ice by a winter's frosts,
+afforded their only avenue of progress, for the moment they left it the
+sled plowed into the loose snow, well-nigh disappearing and bringing the
+dogs to a standstill. It was the duty of the driver, in such case, to
+wallow forward, right the load if necessary, and lift it back into
+place. These mishaps were forever occurring, for it was impossible to
+distinguish the trail beneath its soft covering. However, if the
+driver's task was hard it was no more trying than that of the man ahead,
+who was compelled to feel out and explore the ridge of hardened snow and
+ice with his feet, after the fashion of a man walking a plank in the
+dark. Frequently he lunged into the drifts with one foot, or both; his
+glazed mukluk soles slid about, causing him to bestride the invisible
+hogback, or again his legs crossed awkwardly, throwing him off his
+balance. At times he wandered away from the path entirely and had to
+search it out again. These exertions were very wearing and they were
+dangerous, also, for joints are easily dislocated, muscles twisted, and
+tendons strained.
+
+Hour after hour the march continued, unrelieved by any change, unbroken
+by any speck or spot of color. The nerves of their eyes, wearied by
+constant nearsighted peering at the snow, began to jump so that vision
+became untrustworthy. Both travelers appreciated the necessity of
+clinging to the trail, for, once they lost it, they knew they might
+wander about indefinitely until they chanced to regain it or found their
+way to the shore, while always to seaward was the menace of open water,
+of air holes, or cracks which might gape beneath their feet like jaws.
+Immersion in this temperature, no matter how brief, meant death.
+
+The monotony of progress through this unreal, leaden world became almost
+unbearable. The repeated strainings and twistings they suffered in
+walking the slippery ridge reduced the men to weariness; their legs grew
+clumsy and their feet uncertain. Had they found a camping place they
+would have stopped, but they dared not forsake the thin thread that
+linked them with safety to go and look for one, not knowing where the
+shore lay. In storms of this kind men have lain in their sleeping bags
+for days within a stone's throw of a road-house or village. Bodies have
+been found within a hundred yards of shelter after blizzards have
+abated.
+
+Cantwell and Grant had no choice, therefore, except to bore into the
+welter of drifting flakes.
+
+It was late in the afternoon when the latter met with an accident.
+Johnny, who had taken a spell at the rear, heard him cry out, saw him
+stagger, struggle to hold his footing, then sink into the snow. The
+dogs paused instantly, lay down, and began to strip the ice pellets
+from between their toes.
+
+Cantwell spoke harshly, leaning upon the handle-bars: "Well! What's the
+idea?"
+
+It was the longest sentence of the day.
+
+"I've--hurt myself." Mort's voice was thin and strange; he raised
+himself to a sitting posture, and reached beneath his parka, then lay
+back weakly. He writhed, his face was twisted with pain. He continued to
+lie there, doubled into a knot of suffering. A groan was wrenched from
+between his teeth.
+
+"Hurt? How?" Johnny inquired, dully.
+
+It seemed very ridiculous to see that strong man kicking around in the
+snow.
+
+"I've ripped something loose--here." Mort's palms were pressed in upon
+his groin, his fingers were clutching something. "Ruptured--I guess." He
+tried again to rise, but sank back. His cap had fallen off and his
+forehead glistened with sweat.
+
+Cantwell went forward and lifted him. It was the first time in many days
+that their hands had touched, and the sensation affected him strangely.
+He struggled to repress a devilish mirth at the thought that Grant had
+played out--it amounted to that and nothing less; the trail had
+delivered him into his enemy's hands, his hour had struck. Johnny
+determined to square the debt now, once for all, and wipe his own mind
+clean of that poison which corroded it. His muscles were strong, his
+brain clear, he had never felt his strength so irresistible as at this
+moment, while Mort, for all his boasted superiority, was nothing but a
+nerveless thing hanging limp against his breast. Providence had arranged
+it all. The younger man was impelled to give raucous voice to his glee,
+and yet--his helpless burden exerted an odd effect upon him.
+
+He deposited his foe upon the sled and stared at the face he had not met
+for many days. He saw how white it was, how wet and cold, how weak and
+dazed, then as he looked he cursed inwardly, for the triumph of his
+moment was spoiled.
+
+The ax was there, its polished bit showed like a piece of ice, its helve
+protruded handily, but there was no need of it now; his fingers were all
+the weapons Johnny needed; they were more than sufficient, in fact, for
+Mort was like a child.
+
+Cantwell was a strong man, and, although the North had coarsened him,
+yet underneath the surface was a chivalrous regard for all things weak,
+and this the trail madness had not affected. He had longed for this
+instant, but now that it had come he felt no enjoyment, since he could
+not harm a sick man and waged no war on cripples. Perhaps, when Mort had
+rested, they could settle their quarrel; this was as good a place as
+any. The storm hid them, they would leave no traces, there could be no
+interruption.
+
+But Mort did not rest. He could not walk; movement brought excruciating
+pain.
+
+Finally Cantwell heard himself saying: "Better wrap up and lie still
+for a while. I'll get the dogs underway." His words amazed him dully.
+They were not at all what he had intended to say.
+
+The injured man demurred, but the other insisted gruffly, then brought
+him his mittens and cap, slapping the snow out of them before rousing
+the team to motion. The load was very heavy now, the dogs had no
+footprints to guide them, and it required all of Cantwell's efforts to
+prevent capsizing. Night approached swiftly, the whirling snow particles
+continued to flow past upon the wind, shrouding the earth in an
+impenetrable pall.
+
+The journey soon became a terrible ordeal, a slow, halting progress that
+led nowhere and was accomplished at the cost of tremendous exertion.
+Time after time Johnny broke trail, then returned and urged the huskies
+forward to the end of his tracks. When he lost the path he sought it
+out, laboriously hoisted the sledge back into place, and coaxed his
+four-footed helpers to renewed effort. He was drenched with
+perspiration, his inner garments were steaming, his outer ones were
+frozen into a coat of armor; when he paused he chilled rapidly. His
+vision was untrustworthy, also, and he felt snow blindness coming on.
+Grant begged him more than once to unroll the bedding and prepare to
+sleep out the storm; he even urged Johnny to leave him and make a dash
+for his own safety, but at this the younger man cursed and told him to
+hold his tongue.
+
+Night found the lone driver slipping, plunging, lurching ahead of the
+dogs, or shoving at the handle-bars and shouting at the dogs. Finally,
+during a pause for rest he heard a sound which roused him. Out of the
+gloom to the right came the faint complaining howl of a malemute; it was
+answered by his own dogs, and the next moment they had caught a scent
+which swerved them shoreward and led them scrambling through the drifts.
+Two hundred yards, and a steep bank loomed above, up and over which they
+rushed, with Cantwell yelling encouragement; then a light showed, and
+they were in the lee of a low-roofed hut.
+
+A sick native, huddled over a Yukon stove, made them welcome to his mean
+abode, explaining that his wife and son had gone to Unalaklik for
+supplies.
+
+Johnny carried his partner to the one unoccupied bunk and stripped his
+clothes from him. With his own hands he rubbed the warmth back into
+Mortimer's limbs, then swiftly prepared hot food, and, holding him in
+the hollow of his aching arm, fed him, a little at a time. He was like
+to drop from exhaustion, but he made no complaint. With one folded robe
+he made the hard boards comfortable, then spread the other as a
+covering. For himself he sat beside the fire and fought his weariness.
+When he dozed off and the cold awakened him, he renewed the fire; he
+heated beef tea, and, rousing Mort, fed it to him with a teaspoon. All
+night long, at intervals, he tended the sick man, and Grant's eyes
+followed him with an expression that brought a fierce pain to Cantwell's
+throat.
+
+"You're mighty good--after the rotten way I acted," the former whispered
+once.
+
+And Johnny's big hand trembled so that he spilled the broth.
+
+His voice was low and tender as he inquired, "Are you resting easier
+now?"
+
+The other nodded.
+
+"Maybe you're not hurt badly, after--all. God! That would be awful----"
+Cantwell choked, turned away, and, raising his arms against the log
+wall, buried his face in them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The morning broke clear; Grant was sleeping. As Johnny stiffly mounted
+the creek bank with a bucket of water he heard a jingle of sleighbells
+and saw a sled with two white men swing in toward the cabin.
+
+"Hello!" he called, then heard his own name pronounced.
+
+"Johnny Cantwell, by all that's holy!"
+
+The next moment he was shaking hands vigorously with two old friends
+from Nome.
+
+"Martin and me are bound for Saint Mikes," one of them explained. "Where
+the deuce did you come from, Johnny?"
+
+"The 'outside.' Started for Stony River, but--"
+
+"Stony River!" The newcomers began to laugh loudly and Cantwell joined
+them. It was the first time he had laughed for weeks. He realized the
+fact with a start, then recollected also his sleeping partner, and said:
+
+"Sh-h! Mort's inside, asleep!"
+
+During the night everything had changed for Johnny Cantwell; his mental
+attitude, his hatred, his whole reasonless insanity. Everything was
+different now, even his debt was canceled, the weight of obligation was
+removed, and his diseased fancies were completely cured.
+
+"Yes! Stony River," he repeated, grinning broadly. "I bit!"
+
+Martin burst forth, gleefully: "They caught MacDonald at Holy Cross and
+ran him out on a limb. He'll never start another stampede. Old man Baker
+gun-branded him."
+
+"What's the matter with Mort?" inquired the second traveler.
+
+"He's resting up. Yesterday, during the storm he--" Johnny was upon the
+point of saying "played out," but changed it to "had an accident. We
+thought it was serious, but a few days' rest'll bring him around all
+right. He saved me at Katmai, coming in. I petered out and threw up my
+tail, but he got me through. Come inside and tell him the news."
+
+"Sure thing."
+
+"Well, well!" Martin said. "So you and Mort are still partners, eh?"
+
+"_Still_ partners?" Johnny took up the pail of water. "Well, rather!
+We'll always be partners." His voice was young and full and hearty as he
+continued: "Why, Mort's the best fellow in the world. I'd lay down my
+life for him."
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[5] From _The Crimson Garden_. Copyright, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1916, by
+Harper and Brothers. Reprinted by special permission of publisher and
+author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VI.--That Spot[6]
+
+_By Jack London_
+
+
+I DON'T think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear
+by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my brother. If
+ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my
+actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and
+blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out
+the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly
+comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his
+nature. I shall never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that
+man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the
+Stewart; and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the
+years we were together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is
+the meanest man I ever knew.
+
+We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started
+too late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our
+outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then
+we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how
+we came to get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and
+ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say _looked_, because he was
+one of the finest-appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds,
+and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out
+his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like
+all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he
+had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of
+the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing
+color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water bucket. That was
+why we called him Spot.
+
+He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles
+stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest-looking
+brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent-looking. To run
+your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own
+weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run
+that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct
+that was positively gruesome for divining when work was to be done and
+for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying
+lost he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the
+way that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of
+wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed.
+
+There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I
+know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over
+us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and
+decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better
+than work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for
+such a computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes
+till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like
+yeast, what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express
+myself about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it,
+that's all. At times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into
+his eyes; and what I saw there frightened me and started all sorts of
+ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I
+sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there,
+but I wasn't big enough myself to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm
+making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give
+an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it
+wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes
+themselves weren't moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I
+only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,--that's what it
+was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it was different from a mere
+expression; it was more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave
+me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not sentimental kinship.
+It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a
+deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just a calm
+assumption of equality. And I don't think it was deliberate. My belief
+is that it was unconscious on his part. It was there because it was
+there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine. It
+didn't shine; it _moved_. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd looked
+into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve was
+affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he was
+no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the
+brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going on.
+I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big
+Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't
+plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things
+moving, yes, _moving_, in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them
+move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed
+them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was
+like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your
+gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so
+near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I
+could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all
+around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. I got scared. I
+was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation
+that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, and he
+looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know what
+I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God in
+my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into the
+woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back
+alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too.
+
+At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for
+him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even
+tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in
+harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the
+traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve
+touched him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched
+him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. Then
+Steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the
+tent.
+
+I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some words--the
+first we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow and walked away
+mad. I picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and wobbled and
+cowered before ever I swung the lash, and with the first bite of it he
+howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I started the
+rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along, while I threw the whip
+into him. He rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four legs
+waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a
+sausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me, and I apologized for
+what I'd said.
+
+There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it,
+he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he
+was the cleverest thief. These was no circumventing him. Many a
+breakfast we went without our bacon because Spot had been there first.
+And it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the
+Stewart. He figured out the way to break into our meat cache, and what
+he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole
+from everybody. He was a restless dog, always very busy snooping around
+or going somewhere. And there was never a camp within five miles that he
+didn't raid. The worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay
+his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was
+mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we
+were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate.
+He could fight, too, that Spot. He could do everything but work. He
+never pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. The way he
+made those dogs stand around was an education. He bullied them, and
+there was always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. But he
+was more than a bully. He wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four
+legs; and I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team,
+without any provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole
+outfit. Did I say he could eat? I caught him eating the whip once.
+That's straight. He started in at the lash, and when I caught him he was
+down to the handle, and still going.
+
+But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for
+seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced dog
+drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred miles
+to Dawson he'd be a good sled dog. I say we _knew_, for we were just
+getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash
+enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up
+in the morning to the dangedest dog fight we'd ever heard. It was that
+Spot come back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty
+depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward
+when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with
+government dispatches. That Spot was only three days in coming back,
+and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house.
+
+We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the
+pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also,
+we made money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty
+times. He always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't
+want the money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off
+our hands for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him
+away, for that would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker
+that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say,
+and they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five
+dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular
+party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the
+way he abused us was something awful. He said it was cheap at the price
+to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that
+we never talked back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the
+old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me.
+
+When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a
+Lake Bennet boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, and
+of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was along--there
+was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he knocked one or
+another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting with them. It
+was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded.
+
+"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's maroon
+him."
+
+We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore.
+Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole
+days trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the
+quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused
+his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first
+time in months Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as
+happy as clams. The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted.
+That Spot was gone.
+
+Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the river
+bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. I saw
+Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice and
+that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow of
+the boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked
+immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from
+justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he
+saw us sneaking. He surmised that there were law officers in the boat
+who were after us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, and
+in the M.&.M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time explaining,
+for we refused to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and finally he held
+us under guard of another policeman while he went to the boat. After we
+got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we arrived, there
+was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. Now how did he know
+we lived there? There were forty thousand people in Dawson that summer,
+and how did he _savvy_ our cabin out of all the cabins? How did he know
+we were in Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. But don't forget what I
+have said about his intelligence and that immortal something I have seen
+glimmering in his eyes.
+
+There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in
+Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half
+a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but
+he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank.
+We couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried),
+and nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen
+him go down in a dog fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of
+him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs,
+unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be
+lying dead.
+
+I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so
+heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw
+cook, who was after him with an ax. As he went up the hill, after the
+squaw gave out, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his
+Winchester into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never
+touched that Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for
+discharging firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his
+fine, and Steve and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a
+dollar a pound, bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was
+high that year.
+
+I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you
+something, also. I saw that Spot fall through a water hole. The ice was
+three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a
+straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water hole used by the
+hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water hole, licked off the
+water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the
+bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner.
+
+In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water,
+bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We
+figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and
+trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the
+Chilcoot--especially grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and
+pulled our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River,
+and Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was
+a funny cuss, and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing
+when a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into those dogs and
+gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up
+to you. I haven't any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike
+River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up
+the Yukon? You see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks.
+Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog. He got on our
+nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him.
+
+The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and
+we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up
+White River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace
+nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They
+dropped clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the
+country. Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks
+afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton,
+and could just drag along; but he got there. And what I want to know is
+who told him we were up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other
+places. How did he know? You tell me, and I'll tell you.
+
+No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck
+who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an ax, missed him, and
+killed his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside--I, for
+one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an ax aside with a big
+buck at the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That
+buck didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me.
+
+I told you about Spot breaking into our meat cache. It was nearly the
+death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed, and meat was all
+we had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the
+Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on, and we had to wait for
+the river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the
+dogs, and we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did?
+He sneaked. Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We
+sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the
+other dogs. We ate the whole team.
+
+And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up
+and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding.
+Just in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and
+roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was
+trying to cross up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and
+ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd
+stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's
+finish. He didn't have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance
+at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the
+Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at
+the cabins at the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in to the
+bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked
+up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to
+us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were coming
+to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank
+waiting for us?
+
+The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are
+things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds
+can that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or
+something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of theosophy thrown in. The
+Klondike is a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a
+millionaire, if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood
+him for two years altogether, and then I guess my stamina broke. It was
+the summer of 1899 when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to Steve. I
+just sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a note, and
+enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do with it. I
+was worn down to skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that nervous that
+I'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within hailing
+distance. But it was astonishing the way I recuperated when I got quit
+of him. I got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San Francisco, and
+by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old self again, so
+that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me.
+
+Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind
+of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the
+"rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A
+year went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even
+getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read
+his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder
+long. I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gate-post
+and holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that
+very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a
+collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing
+her pet Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be
+with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good
+since he arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that
+Spot got into Mr. Harvey's hen house (Harvey is my next door neighbor)
+and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for
+them. My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then
+moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed
+in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] From _Lost Face_. Copyright, 1910, by the Macmillan Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of the publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII.--When Lincoln Licked a Bully[7]
+
+_By Irving Bacheller_
+
+          _In "A Man For the Ages" Irving Bacheller tells
+          the story of Abraham Lincoln's life and career in
+          the form of a novel. He represents that the book
+          is written by the grandson of one Samson Traylor,
+          who is presented as a friend of Lincoln's. The
+          story that follows is an abbreviation of the
+          account of the journey of Samson Traylor and his
+          wife and two children and their dog, Sambo, in
+          1831, from Vergennes, Vermont, to the Illinois
+          country; and the part "Abe" Lincoln, a clerk in
+          Denton Offut's store at New Salem, had in building
+          a log cabin for them upon their arrival there; and
+          concludes by telling how Lincoln licked a
+          bully._--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+IN the early summer of 1831 Samson Traylor and his wife, Sarah, and two
+children left their old home near the village of Vergennes, Vermont, and
+began their travels toward the setting sun with four chairs, a bread
+board and rolling-pin, a feather bed and blankets, a small
+looking-glass, a skillet, an ax, a pack basket with a pad of sole
+leather on the same, a water pail, a box of dishes, a tub of salt pork,
+a rifle, a teapot, a sack of meal, sundry small provisions and a violin,
+in a double wagon drawn by oxen. . . . A young black shepherd dog with
+tawny points and the name of Sambo followed the wagon or explored the
+fields and woods it passed.
+
+The boy Josiah--familiarly called Joe--sits beside his mother. He is a
+slender, sweet-faced boy. He is looking up wistfully at his mother. The
+little girl Betsey sits between him and her father.
+
+That evening they stopped at the house of an old friend some miles up
+the dusty road to the north.
+
+"Here we are--goin' west," Samson shouted to the man at the doorstep.
+
+He alighted and helped his family out of the wagon.
+
+"You go right in--I'll take care o' the oxen," said the man.
+
+Samson started for the house with the girl under one arm and the boy
+under the other. A pleasant-faced woman greeted them with a hearty
+welcome at the door.
+
+"You poor man! Come right in," she said.
+
+"Poor! I'm the richest man in the world," said he. "Look at the gold on
+that girl's head--curly, fine gold, too--the best there is. She's
+Betsey--my little toy woman--half past seven years old--blue eyes--helps
+her mother get tired every day. Here's my toy man Josiah--yes, brown
+hair and brown eyes like Sarah--heart o' gold--helps his mother,
+too--six times one year old."
+
+"What pretty faces!" said the woman as she stooped and kissed them.
+
+"Yes, ma'am. Got 'em from the fairies," Samson went on. "They have all
+kinds o' heads for little folks, an' I guess they color 'em up with the
+blood o' roses an' the gold o' buttercups an' the blue o' violets.
+Here's this wife o' mine. She's richer'n I am. She owns all of us. We're
+her slaves."
+
+"Looks as young as she did the day she was married--nine years ago,"
+said the woman.
+
+"Exactly!" Samson exclaimed. "Straight as an arrow and proud! I don't
+blame her. She's got enough to make her proud I say. I fall in love
+again every time I look into her big brown eyes."
+
+The talk and laughter brought the dog into the house.
+
+"There's Sambo, our camp follower," said Samson. "He likes us, one and
+all, but he often feels sorry for us because we cannot feel the joy that
+lies in buried bones and the smell of a liberty pole or a gate post."
+
+They had a joyous evening and a restful night with these old friends and
+resumed their journey soon after daylight. They ferried across the lake
+at Burlington and fared away over the mountains and through the deep
+forest on the Chateaugay trail. . . .
+
+They had read a little book called _The Country of the Sangamon_. The
+latter was a word of the Pottawatomies meaning "land of plenty." It was
+the name of a river in Illinois draining "boundless, flowery meadows of
+unexampled beauty and fertility, belted with timber, blessed with shady
+groves, covered with game and mostly level, without a stick or a stone
+to vex the plowman." Thither they were bound to take up a section of
+government land.
+
+They stopped for a visit with Elisha Howard and his wife, old friends of
+theirs, who lived in the village of Malone, which was in Franklin
+County, New York. There they traded their oxen for a team of horses.
+They were large gray horses named Pete and Colonel. The latter was fat
+and good-natured. His chief interest in life was food. Pete was always
+looking for food and perils. Colonel was the near horse. Now and then
+Samson threw a sheepskin over his back and put the boy on it and tramped
+along within arm's reach of Joe's left leg. This was a great delight to
+the little lad.
+
+They proceeded at a better pace to the Black River country, toward
+which, in the village of Canton, they tarried again for a visit with
+Captain Moody and Silas Wright, both of whom had taught school in the
+town of Vergennes.
+
+They proceeded through DeKalb, Richville and Gouverneur and Antwerp and
+on to the Sand Plains. They had gone far out of their way for a look at
+these old friends of theirs.
+
+Every day the children would ask many questions, as they rode along,
+mainly about the beasts and birds in the dark shadows of the forest
+through which they passed. These were answered patiently by their father
+and mother and every answer led to other queries.
+
+"You're a funny pair," said their father one day. "You have to turn over
+every word we say to see what's under it. I used to be just like ye,
+used to go out in the lot and tip over every stick and stone I could
+lift to see the bugs and crickets run. You're always hopin' to see a
+bear or a panther or a fairy run out from under my remarks."
+
+"Wonder why we don't see no bears?" Joe asked.
+
+"'Cause they always see us first or hear us comin'," said his father.
+"If you're goin' to see ol' Uncle Bear ye got to pay the price of
+admission."
+
+"What's that?" Joe asked.
+
+"Got to go still and careful so you'll see him first. If this old wagon
+didn't talk so loud and would kind o' go on its tiptoes maybe we'd see
+him. He don't like to be seen. Seems so he was kind o' shamed of
+himself, an' I wouldn't wonder if he was. He's done a lot o' things to
+be 'shamed of."
+
+"What's he done?" Joe asked.
+
+"Ketched sheep and pigs and fawns and run off with 'em."
+
+"What does he do with 'em?"
+
+"Eats 'em up. Now you quit. Here's a lot o' rocks and mud and I got to
+tend to business. You tackle yer mother and chase her up and down the
+hills a while and let me get my breath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the twenty-ninth day after their journey began they came in sight of
+the beautiful green valley of the Mohawk. As they looked from the hills
+they saw the roof of the forest dipping down to the river shores and
+stretching far to the east and west and broken, here and there, by small
+clearings. Soon they could see the smoke and spires of the thriving
+village of Utica.
+
+Here they bought provisions and a tin trumpet for Joe, and a doll with a
+real porcelain face for Betsey, and turned into the great main
+thoroughfare of the north leading eastward to Boston and westward to a
+shore of the midland seas. This road was once the great trail of the
+Iroquois, by them called the Long House, because it had reached from the
+Hudson to Lake Erie, and in their day had been well roofed with foliage.
+Here the travelers got their first view of a steam engine. The latter
+stood puffing and smoking near the village of Utica, to the horror and
+amazement of the team and the great excitement of those in the wagon.
+The boy clung to his father for fear of it.
+
+Samson longed to get out of the wagon and take a close look at the noisy
+monster, but his horses were rearing in their haste to get away, and
+even a short stop was impossible. Sambo, with his tail between his
+legs, ran ahead, in a panic, and took refuge in some bushes by the
+roadside.
+
+"What was that, father?" the boy asked when the horses had ceased to
+worry over this new peril.
+
+"A steam engyne," he answered. "Sarah, did ye get a good look at it?"
+
+"Yes; if that don't beat all the newfangled notions I ever heard of,"
+she exclaimed.
+
+"It's just begun doin' business," said Samson.
+
+"What does it do?" Joe asked.
+
+"On a railroad track it can grab hold of a house full o' folks and run
+off with it. Goes like the wind, too."
+
+"Does it eat 'em up?" Joe asked.
+
+"No. It eats wood and oil and keeps yellin' for more. I guess it could
+eat a cord o' wood and wash it down with half a bucket o' castor oil in
+about five minutes. It snatches folks away to some place and drops 'em.
+I guess it must make their hair stand up and their teeth chatter."
+
+"Does it hurt anybody?" Joe asked hopefully.
+
+"Well, sir, if anybody wanted to be hurt and got in its way, I rather
+guess he'd succeed purty well. It's powerful. Why, if a man was to ketch
+hold of the tail of a locomotive, and hang on, it would jerk the toe
+nails right off him."
+
+Joe began to have great respect for locomotives.
+
+Soon they came in view of the famous Erie Canal, hard by the road.
+Through it the grain of the far West had just begun moving eastward in a
+tide that was flowing from April to December. Big barges, drawn by mules
+and horses on its shore, were cutting the still waters of the canal.
+They stopped and looked at the barges and the long tow ropes and the
+tugging animals.
+
+"There is a real artificial river, hundreds o' miles long, handmade of
+the best material, water tight, no snags or rocks or other
+imperfections, durability guaranteed," said Samson. "It has made the
+name of DeWitt Clinton known everywhere."
+
+"I wonder what next!" Sarah exclaimed.
+
+They met many teams and passed other movers going west, and some
+prosperous farms on a road wider and smoother than any they had
+traveled. They camped that night, close by the river, with a Connecticut
+family on its way to Ohio with a great load of household furniture on
+one wagon and seven children in another. There were merry hours for the
+young, and pleasant visiting between the older folk that evening at the
+fireside. There was much talk among the latter about the great Erie
+Canal.
+
+So they fared along through Canandaigua and across the Genesee to the
+village of Rochester and on through Lewiston and up the Niagara River to
+the Falls, and camped where they could see the great water flood and
+hear its muffled thunder. . . .
+
+"Children," said Samson, "I want you to take a good look at that. It's
+the most wonderful thing in the world and maybe you'll never see it
+again."
+
+"The Indians used to think that the Great Spirit was in this river,"
+said Sarah.
+
+"Kind o' seems to me they were right," Samson remarked thoughtfully.
+"Kind o' seems as if the great spirit of America was in that water. It
+moves on in the way it wills and nothing can stop it. Everything in its
+current goes along with it. . . ."
+
+They had the lake view and its cool breeze on their way to Silver Creek,
+Dunkirk and Erie, and a rough way it was in those days.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They fared along through Indiana and over the wide savannas of Illinois,
+and on the ninety-seventh day of their journey they drove through
+rolling, grassy, flowering prairies and up a long, hard hill to the
+small log cabin settlement of New Salem, Illinois, on the shore of the
+Sangamon. They halted about noon in the middle of this little prairie
+village, opposite a small clapboarded house. A sign hung over its door
+which bore the rudely lettered words: "Rutledge's Tavern."
+
+A long, slim, stoop-shouldered young man sat in the shade of an oak tree
+that stood near a corner of the tavern, with a number of children
+playing around him. He had sat leaning against the tree trunk reading a
+book. He had risen as they came near and stood looking at them, with the
+book under his arm. . . .
+
+He wore a hickory shirt without a collar or coat or jacket. One
+suspender held up his coarse, linsey trousers, the legs of which fitted
+closely and came only to a blue yarn zone above his heavy cowhide shoes.
+Samson writes that he "fetched a sneeze and wiped his big nose with a
+red handkerchief" as he stood surveying them in silence, while Dr. John
+Allen, who had sat on the doorstep reading a paper--a kindly-faced man
+of middle age with a short white beard under his chin--greeted them
+cheerfully.
+
+The withering sunlight of a day late in August fell upon the dusty
+street, now almost deserted. Faces at the doors and windows of the
+little houses were looking out at them. Two ragged boys and a
+ginger-colored dog came running toward the wagon. The latter and Sambo
+surveyed each other with raised hair and began scratching the earth,
+straight-legged, whining meanwhile, and in a moment began to play
+together. A man in blue jeans who sat on the veranda of a store
+opposite, leaning against its wall, stopped whittling and shut his
+jacknife.
+
+"Where do ye hail from?" the Doctor asked.
+
+"Vermont," said Samson.
+
+"All the way in that wagon?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I guess you're made o' the right stuff," said the Doctor. "Where ye
+bound?"
+
+"Don't know exactly. Going to take up a claim somewhere."
+
+"There's no better country than right here. This is the Canaan of
+America. We need people like you. Unhitch your team and have some dinner
+and we'll talk things over after you're rested. I'm the doctor here and
+I ride all over this part o' the country. I reckon I know it pretty
+well."
+
+A woman in a neat calico dress came out of the door--a strong built and
+rather well favored woman with blond hair and dark eyes.
+
+"Mrs. Rutledge, these are travelers from the East," said the Doctor.
+"Give 'em some dinner, and if they can't pay for it, I can. They've come
+all the way from Vermont."
+
+"Good land! Come right in an' rest yerselves. Abe, you show the
+gentleman where to put his horses an' lend him a hand."
+
+Abe extended his long arm toward Samson and said "Howdy" as they shook
+hands.
+
+"When his big hand got hold of mine, I kind of felt his timber," Samson
+writes. "I says to myself, 'There's a man it would be hard to tip over
+in a rassle.'"
+
+"What's yer name? How long ye been travelin'? My conscience! Ain't ye
+wore out?" the hospitable Mrs. Rutledge was asking as she went into the
+house with Sarah and the children. "You go and mix up with the little
+ones and let yer mother rest while I git dinner," she said to Joe and
+Betsey, and added as she took Sarah's shawl and bonnet: "You lop down
+an' rest yerself while I'm flyin' around the fire."
+
+"Come all the way from Vermont?" Abe asked as he and Samson were
+unhitching.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"By jing!" the slim giant exclaimed. "I reckon you feel like throwin'
+off yer harness an' takin' a roll in the grass."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The tavern was the only house in New Salem with stairs in it. Stairs so
+steep, as Samson writes, that "they were first cousins to the ladder."
+There were four small rooms above them. Two of these were parted by a
+partition of cloth hanging from the rafters. In each was a bed and
+bedstead and smaller beds on the floor. In case there were a number of
+adult guests the bedstead was screened with sheets hung upon strings.
+
+In one of these rooms the travelers had a night of refreshing sleep.
+
+After riding two days with the Doctor, Samson bought the claim of one
+Isaac Gollaher to a half section of land a little more than a mile from
+the western end of the village. He chose a site for his house on the
+edge of an open prairie.
+
+"Now we'll go over and see Abe," said Dr. Allen, after the deal was
+made. "He's the best man with an ax and a saw in this part of the
+country. He clerks for Mr. Offut. Abe Lincoln is one of the best fellows
+that ever lived--a rough diamond just out of the great mine of the
+West, that only needs to be cut and polished."
+
+Denton Offut's store was a small log structure about twenty by twenty
+which stood near the brow of the hill east of Rutledge's Tavern. When
+they entered it Abe lay at full length on the counter, his head resting
+on a bolt of blue denim as he studied a book in his hand. He wore the
+same shirt and one suspender and linsey trousers which he had worn in
+the dooryard of the tavern, but his feet were covered only by his blue
+yarn socks.
+
+Abe laid aside his book and rose to a sitting posture.
+
+"Mr. Traylor," said Doctor Allen, "has just acquired an interest in all
+our institutions. He has bought the Gollaher tract and is going to build
+a house and some fences. Abe, couldn't you help get the timber out in a
+hurry so we can have a raising within a week? You know the art of the ax
+better than any of us."
+
+Abe looked at Samson.
+
+"I reckon he and I would make a good team with the ax," he said. "He
+looks as if he could push a house down with one hand and build it up
+with the other. You can bet I'll be glad to help in any way I can."
+
+Next morning at daylight two parties went out in the woods to cut timber
+for the home of the newcomers. In one party were Harry Needles carrying
+two axes and a well-filled luncheon pail; Samson with a saw in his hand
+and the boy Joe on his back; Abe with saw and ax and a small jug of root
+beer and a book tied in a big red handkerchief and slung around his
+neck. When they reached the woods Abe cut a pole for the small boy and
+carried him on his shoulder to the creek and said:
+
+"Now you sit down here and keep order in this little frog city. If you
+hear a frog say anything improper you fetch him a whack. Don't allow any
+nonsense. We'll make you Mayor of Frog City."
+
+The men fell to with axes and saws while Harry limbed the logs and
+looked after the Mayor. Their huge muscles flung the sharp axes into the
+timber and gnawed through it with a saw. Many big trees fell before
+noontime when they stopped for luncheon. While they were eating Abe
+said:
+
+"I reckon we better saw out a few boards this afternoon. Need 'em for
+the doors. We'll tote a couple of logs up on the side o' that knoll, put
+'em on skids an' whip 'em up into boards with the saw."
+
+Samson took hold of the middle of one of the logs and raised it from the
+ground.
+
+"I guess we can carry 'em," he said.
+
+"Can ye shoulder it?" Abe asked.
+
+"Easy," said Samson as he raised an end of the log, stepped beneath it
+and, resting its weight on his back, soon got his shoulder near its
+center and swung it clear of the ground and walked with it to the
+knollside where he let it fall with a resounding thump that shook the
+ground. Abe stopped eating and watched every move in this remarkable
+performance. The ease with which the big Vermonter had so defied the law
+of gravitation with that unwieldly stick amazed him.
+
+"That thing'll weigh from seven to eight hundred pounds," said he. "I
+reckon you're the stoutest man in this part o' the state an' I'm quite a
+man myself. I've lifted a barrel o' whisky and put my mouth to the bung
+hole. I never drink it."
+
+"Say," he added as he sat down and began eating a doughnut. "If you ever
+hit anybody take a sledge hammer or a crowbar. It wouldn't be decent to
+use your fist."
+
+"Don't talk when you've got food in your mouth," said Joe who seemed to
+have acquired a sense of responsibility for the manners of Abe.
+
+"I reckon you're right," Abe laughed. "A man's ideas ought not to be
+mingled with cheese and doughnuts."
+
+"Once in a while I like to try myself in a lift," said Samson. "It feels
+good. I don't do it to show off. I know there's a good many men stouter
+than I be. I guess you're one of 'em."
+
+"No, I'm too stretched out--my neck is too far from the ground," Abe
+answered. "I'm like a crowbar. If I can get my big toe or my fingers
+under anything I can pry some."
+
+After luncheon he took off his shoes and socks.
+
+"When I'm working hard I always try to give my feet a rest and my brain
+a little work at noontime," he remarked. "My brain is so far behind the
+procession I have to keep putting the gad on it. Give me twenty minutes
+of Kirkham and I'll be with you again."
+
+He lay down on his back under a tree with his book in hand and his feet
+resting on the tree trunk well above him. Soon he was up and at work
+again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When they were getting ready to go home that afternoon Joe got into a
+great hurry to see his mother. It seemed to him that ages had elapsed
+since he had seen her--a conviction which led to noisy tears.
+
+Abe knelt before him and comforted the boy. Then he wrapped him in his
+jacket and swung him in the air and started for home with Joe astride
+his neck.
+
+Samson says in his diary: "His tender play with the little lad gave me
+another look at the man Lincoln."
+
+"Some one proposed once that we should call that stream the Minnehaha,"
+said Abe as he walked along. "After this Joe and I are going to call it
+the Minneboohoo."
+
+The women of the little village had met at a quilting party at ten
+o'clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell. There Sarah had had a seat at the
+frame and heard all the gossip of the countryside. . . .
+
+So the day passed with them and was interrupted by the noisy entrance of
+Joe, soon after candlelight, who climbed on the back of his mother's
+chair and kissed her and in breathless eagerness began to relate the
+history of his own day.
+
+That ended the quilting party and Sarah and Mrs. Rutledge and her
+daughter Ann joined Samson and Abe and Harry Needles who were waiting
+outside and walked to the tavern with them.
+
+John McNeil, whom the Traylors had met on the road near Niagara Falls
+and who had shared their camp with them, arrived on the stage that
+evening. . . . Abe came in, soon after eight o'clock, and was introduced
+to the stranger. All noted the contrast between the two young men as
+they greeted each other. Abe sat down for a few minutes and looked sadly
+into the fire but said nothing. He rose presently, excused himself and
+went away.
+
+Soon Samson followed him. Over at Offut's store he did not find Abe, but
+Bill Berry was drawing liquor from the spigot of a barrel set on blocks
+in a shed connected with the rear end of the store and serving it to a
+number of hilarious young Irishmen. The young men asked Samson to join
+them.
+
+"No, thank you. I never touch it," he said.
+
+"We'll come over here an' learn ye how to enjoy yerself some day," one
+of them said.
+
+"I'm pretty well posted on that subject now," Samson answered.
+
+It is likely that they would have begun his schooling at once but when
+they came out into the store and saw the big Vermonter standing in the
+candlelight their laughter ceased for a moment. Bill was among them
+with a well-filled bottle in his hand.
+
+He and the others got into a wagon which had been waiting at the door
+and drove away with a wild Indian whoop from the lips of one of the
+young men.
+
+Samson sat down in the candlelight and Abe in a moment arrived.
+
+"I'm getting awful sick o' this business," said Abe.
+
+"I kind o' guess you don't like the whisky part of it," Samson remarked,
+as he felt a piece of cloth.
+
+"I hate it," Abe went on. "It don't seem respectable any longer."
+
+"Back in Vermont we don't like the whisky business."
+
+"You're right, it breeds deviltry and disorder. In my youth I was
+surrounded by whisky. Everybody drank it. A bottle or a jug of liquor
+was thought to be as legitimate a piece of merchandise as a pound of tea
+or a yard of calico. That's the way I've always thought of it. But
+lately I've begun to get the Yankee notion about whisky. When it gets
+into bad company it can raise the devil."
+
+Soon after nine o'clock Abe drew a mattress filled with corn husks from
+under the counter, cleared away the bolts of cloth and laid it where
+they had been and covered it with a blanket.
+
+"This is my bed," said he. "I'll be up at five in the morning. Then I'll
+be making tea here by the fireplace to wash down some jerked meat and a
+hunk o' bread. At six or a little after I'll be ready to go with you
+again. Jack Kelso is going to look after the store to-morrow."
+
+He began to laugh.
+
+"Ye know when I went out of the tavern that little vixen stood peekin'
+into the window--Bim, Jack's girl," said Abe. "I asked her why she
+didn't go in and she said she was scared. 'Who you 'fraid of?' I asked.
+'Oh, I reckon that boy,' says she. And honestly her hand trembled when
+she took hold of my arm and walked to her father's house with me."
+
+Abe snickered as he spread another blanket. "What a cut-up she is! Say,
+we'll have some fun watching them two I reckon," he said.
+
+The logs were ready two days after the cutting began. Martin Waddell and
+Samuel Hill sent teams to haul them. John Cameron and Peter Lukins had
+brought the window sash and some clapboards from Beardstown in a small
+flat boat. Then came the day of the raising--a clear, warm day early in
+September. All the men from the village and the near farms gathered to
+help make a home for the newcomers. Samson and Jack Kelso went out for a
+hunt after the cutting and brought in a fat buck and many grouse for the
+bee dinner, to which every woman of the neighborhood made a contribution
+of cake or pie or cookies or doughnuts.
+
+"What will be my part?" Samson had inquired of Kelso.
+
+"Nothing but a jug of whisky and a kind word and a house warming," Kelso
+had answered.
+
+They notched and bored the logs and made pins to bind them and cut those
+that were to go around the fireplace and window spaces. Strong, willing
+and well-trained hands hewed and fitted the logs together. Alexander
+Ferguson lined the fireplace with a curious mortar made of clay in which
+he mixed grass for a binder. This mortar he rolled into layers called
+"cats," each eight inches long and three inches thick. Then he laid them
+against the logs and held them in place with a woven network of sticks.
+The first fire--a slow one--baked the clay into a rigid stonelike sheath
+inside the logs and presently the sticks were burned away. The women had
+cooked the meats by an open fire and spread the dinner on a table of
+rough boards resting on poles set in crotches. At noon one of them
+sounded a conch shell. Then with shouts of joy the men hurried to the
+fireside and for a moment there was a great spluttering over the wash
+basins. Before they ate every man except Abe and Samson "took a pull at
+the jug--long or short"--to quote a phrase of the time.
+
+It was a cheerful company that sat down upon the grass around the table
+with loaded plates. Their food had its extra seasoning of merry jests
+and loud laughter. Sarah was a little shocked at the forthright
+directness of their eating, no knives or forks or napkins being needed
+in that process. Having eaten, washed and packed away their dishes the
+women went home at two. Before they had gone Samson's ears caught a
+thunder of horses' feet in the distance. Looking in its direction he saw
+a cloud of dust in the road and a band of horsemen riding toward them at
+full speed. Abe came to him and said:
+
+"I see the boys from Clary's Grove are coming. If they get mean let me
+deal with 'em. It's my responsibility. I wouldn't wonder if they had
+some of Offut's whisky with them."
+
+The boys arrived in a cloud of dust and a chorus of Indian whoops and
+dismounted and hobbled their horses. They came toward the workers, led
+by burly Jack Armstrong, a stalwart, hard-faced blacksmith of about
+twenty-two with broad, heavy shoulders, whose name has gone into
+history. They had been drinking some but no one of them was in the least
+degree off his balance. They scuffled around the jug for a moment in
+perfect good nature and then Abe and Mrs. Waddell provided them with the
+best remnants of the dinner. They were rather noisy. Soon they went up
+on the roof to help with the rafters and the clapboarding. They worked
+well a few minutes and suddenly they came scrambling down for another
+pull at the jug. They were out for a spree and Abe knew it and knew
+further that they had reached the limit of discretion.
+
+"Boys, there are ladies here and we've got to be careful," he said. "Did
+I ever tell you what Uncle Jerry Holman said of his bull calf? He said
+the calf was such a _suckcess_ that he didn't leave any milk for the
+family and that while the calf was growin' fat the children was growin'
+poor. In my opinion you're about fat enough for the present. Let's stick
+to the job till four o'clock. Then we'll knock off for refreshments."
+
+The young revelers gathered in a group and began to whisper together.
+Samson writes that it became evident then they were going to make
+trouble and says:
+
+          "We had left the children at Rutledge's in the
+          care of Ann. I went to Sarah and told her she had
+          better go on and see if they were all right.
+
+          "'Don't you get in any fight,' she said, which
+          shows that the women knew what was in the air.
+
+          "Sarah led the way and the others followed her."
+
+Those big, brawny fellows from the grove when they got merry were
+looking always for a chance to get mad at some man and turn him into a
+plaything. A victim had been a necessary part of their sprees. Many a
+poor fellow had been fastened in a barrel and rolled down hill or nearly
+drowned in a ducking for their amusement. A chance had come to get mad
+and they were going to make the most of it. They began to growl with
+resentment. Some were wigging their leader Jack Armstrong to fight Abe.
+One of them ran to his horse and brought a bottle from his saddlebag. It
+began passing from mouth to mouth. Jack Armstrong got the bottle before
+it was half emptied, drained it and flung it high in the air. Another
+called him a hog and grappled him around the waist and there was a
+desperate struggle which ended quickly. Armstrong got a hold on the neck
+of his assailant and choked him until he let go. This was not enough for
+the sturdy bully of Clary's Grove. He seized his follower and flung him
+so roughly on the ground that the latter lay for a moment stunned.
+Armstrong had got his blood warm and was now ready for action. With a
+wild whoop he threw off his coat, unbuttoned his right shirtsleeve and
+rolled it to the shoulder and declared in a loud voice, as he swung his
+arm in the air, that he could "outjump, outhop, outrun, throw down, drag
+out an' lick any man in New Salem."
+
+In a letter to his father Samson writes:
+
+          "Abe was working at my elbow. I saw him drop his
+          hammer and get up and make for the ladder. I knew
+          something was going to happen and I followed him.
+          In a minute every one was off the roof and out of
+          the building. I guess they knew what was coming.
+          The big lad stood there swinging his arm and
+          yelling like an Injun. It was a big arm and
+          muscled and corded up some but I guess if I'd
+          shoved the calico off mine and held it up he'd a
+          pulled down his sleeve. I suppose the feller's arm
+          had a kind of a mule's kick in it, but, good
+          gracious! If he'd a seen as many arms as you an' I
+          have that have growed up on a hickory helve he'd a
+          known that his was nothing to brag of. I didn't
+          know just how good a man Abe was and I was kind o'
+          scairt for a minute. I never found it so hard work
+          to do nothin' as I did then. Honest my hands kind
+          o' ached. I wanted to go an' cuff that feller's
+          ears an' grab hold o' him an' toss him over the
+          ridge pole. Abe went right up to him an' said:
+
+          "'Jack, you ain't half so bad or half so cordy as
+          ye think ye are. You say you can throw down any
+          man here. I reckon I'll have to show ye that
+          you're mistaken. I'll rassle with ye. We're
+          friends an' we won't talk about lickin' each
+          other. Le's have a friendly rassle.'
+
+          "In a second the two men were locked together.
+          Armstrong had lunged at Abe with a yell. There was
+          no friendship in the way he took hold. He was
+          going to do all the damage he could in any way he
+          could. He tried to butt with his head and ram his
+          knee into Abe's stomach as soon as they came
+          together. Half-drunk Jack is a man who would bite
+          your ear off. It was no rassle; it was a fight.
+          Abe moved like lightning. He acted awful limber
+          an' well-greased. In a second he had got hold of
+          the feller's neck with his big right hand and
+          hooked his left into the cloth on his hip. In that
+          way he held him off and shook him as you've seen
+          our dog shake a woodchuck. Abe's blood was hot. If
+          the whole crowd had piled on him I guess he would
+          have come out all right, for when he's roused
+          there's something in Abe more than bones and
+          muscles. I suppose it's what I feel when he speaks
+          a piece. It's a kind of lightning. I guess it's
+          what our minister used to call the power of the
+          spirit. Abe said to me afterwards that he felt as
+          if he was fighting for the peace and honor of New
+          Salem.
+
+          "A friend of the bully jumped in and tried to
+          trip Abe. Harry Needles stood beside me. Before I
+          could move he dashed forward and hit that feller
+          in the middle of his forehead and knocked him
+          flat. Harry had hit Bap McNoll the cock fighter. I
+          got up next to the kettle then and took the scum
+          off it. Fetched one of them devils a slap with the
+          side of my hand that took the skin off his face
+          and rolled him over and over. When I looked again
+          Armstrong was going limp. His mouth was open and
+          his tongue out. With one hand fastened to his
+          right leg and the other on the nape of his neck
+          Abe lifted him at arm's length and gave him a toss
+          in the air. Armstrong fell about ten feet from
+          where Abe stood and lay there for a minute. The
+          fight was all out of him and he was kind of dazed
+          and sick. Abe stood up like a giant and his face
+          looked awful solemn.
+
+          "'Boys, if there's any more o' you that want
+          trouble you can have some off the same piece,' he
+          said.
+
+          "They hung their heads and not one of them made a
+          move or said a word. Abe went to Armstrong and
+          helped him up.
+
+          "'Jack, I'm sorry that I had to hurt you,' he
+          said. 'You get on to your horse and go home.'
+
+          "'Abe, you're a better man than me,' said the
+          bully, as he offered his hand to Abe. 'I'll do
+          anything you say.'"
+
+So the Clary's Grove gang was conquered. They were to make more trouble
+but not again were they to imperil the foundations of law and order in
+the little community of New Salem.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[7] From _A Man For the Ages_. Copyright, 1919, by the Bobbs-Merrill
+Company. Used by special permission of the publishers.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VIII.--The End of the Trail[8]
+
+_By Clarence E. Mulford_
+
+          _Buck Peters, foreman of Bar-20 Ranch had many
+          cowboys; Pete Wilson, Red Connors, Billy Williams,
+          Johnny Nelson, and a goodly number more, but chief
+          among them was Hopalong Cassidy. Many interesting
+          stories are told about him in "Bar-20 Days" but
+          none of his thrilling experiences ever ended as
+          did the one recited in this most unusual story,
+          "The End of the Trail."_--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+WHEN one finds on his ranch the carcasses of two cows on the same day,
+and both are skinned, there can be only one conclusion. The killing and
+skinning of two cows out of herds that are numbered by thousands need
+not, in themselves, bring lines of worry to any foreman's brow; but
+there is the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the losses going
+higher unless a sharp lesson be given upon the folly of fooling with a
+very keen and active buzz-saw,--and it was the determination of the
+outfit of the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as quickly as
+circumstances would permit.
+
+It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band of
+shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend,
+some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was easy. The
+Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend--that was a
+matter which concerned only the ranches near that town--so long as no
+vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had so sifted, and
+Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging out there, was due
+to receive a shock before long.
+
+About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson
+tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot,
+having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts for
+the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to walk, he hated
+still more to get shot, and most of all he hated to have to admit that
+his rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had seen the thief at work
+and, too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before announcing
+his displeasure, had missed the first shot. When he dragged himself out
+from under his deceased horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a
+small cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north of him.
+After delivering a short and bitter monologue he struck out for the
+ranch and arrived in a very hot and wrathful condition. It was
+contagious, that condition, and before long the entire outfit was in
+the saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his wound was so
+slight as not to bar him from the chase. The shock was on the way, and
+as events proved, was to be one long to linger in the minds of the
+inhabitants of Perry's Bend and the surrounding range.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke
+drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its
+upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the
+other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within
+a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged
+board which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar was a
+rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely--the lower
+part was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large round
+table, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tables
+were located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there were
+half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention was
+directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly lettered
+sign on the wall, reading: "Gents will look for a box first," which the
+"gents" sometimes did. The majority of the "gents" preferred to aim at
+various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the
+outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed.
+
+On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave your
+guns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, still
+called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of
+the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons had
+been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent
+with their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they could
+not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the
+long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their
+accuracy.
+
+Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas
+and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his
+first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner
+of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree. With
+the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he
+reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing
+"right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach. His
+proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke
+earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to
+five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised
+several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings
+and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where "Kansas" was;
+and the name stuck.
+
+The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and
+cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was
+only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the
+Law, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too glad to
+have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells
+scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand in
+a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully,
+they would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in their
+ability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner.
+This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, and
+so he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performed
+as soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends
+were fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become a
+little more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble.
+
+On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of
+the _habitués_ had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the
+card-players already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There
+was some laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More
+whispering went on under that roof than in all the other places in town
+put together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were
+"trimmed" in "frame-up" at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find
+assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been
+taken from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the
+trap door which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion.
+It was true, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of
+refuge under the floor: it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully
+disposed of.
+
+It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing
+was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two
+punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care.
+
+"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then
+walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny
+stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting
+lightly on his belt not far from the holster.
+
+Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Lookin' fer
+something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar.
+Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him
+as he watched for the first hostile move.
+
+"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in
+one swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered,
+backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towards
+Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in the
+Oasis.
+
+As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eyes asked a
+question.
+
+"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied.
+
+"Did you look all over? Behind th' bar?" Edwards asked, slowly. "He
+can't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it,
+an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him."
+
+"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door.
+"You didn't look behind th' bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that's
+where he is!"
+
+"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding
+head decided it.
+
+In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinner
+of other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. "What's up
+now, Harlan?"
+
+The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his one
+redeeming trait. "Did you say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box across
+the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leaned
+over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself on
+his face. "Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here."
+
+But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and he
+prefaced his remarks with a curse. "_I_ know what's up! They want Jerry
+Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, th' bullies!"
+
+"What did he do? Why do they want him?" asked the man who had wanted
+trust.
+
+"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch
+houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that,"
+replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in
+demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger.
+His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated to
+divvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally.
+
+"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced the first speaker. "Ten
+years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had
+his own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water fer it. Where are th'
+little herds now? Where are th' cows that we used to own?" he cried,
+hotly. "What happens to a maverick-hunter, nowadays? If a man helps
+hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on much
+longer, an' that's shore."
+
+Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead right!
+_I_ was a little cattle owner onct, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of
+us!" Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small
+herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before,
+and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been
+lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were
+banked in the East under Harlan's name.
+
+The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and
+nodded. "It's all right Jerry. But get a move on!"
+
+"Here, _you_!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door,
+"_Lively!_"
+
+Jerry was halfway to the proprietor when the front door swung open and
+Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and
+immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny.
+Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and
+self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat
+the fugitive on the draw.
+
+"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly,
+watching both Jerry and Harlan.
+
+The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan
+they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and
+his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting
+to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from
+Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny
+fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice
+in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he
+gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself
+into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral.
+
+When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way
+to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan
+and the others. Finding that he could not get through, Hopalong sprang
+on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive
+at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and
+anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at
+heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side.
+
+Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd to
+stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men
+senseless on the floor. "Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted,
+savagely. "Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean!
+Now climb over an' get in line--quick!"
+
+Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did--did I--get him?"
+
+"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied. "You'll come
+'round if you keep quiet." He arose, his face hard with the desire to
+kill. "I'm coming back for _you_, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An'
+all th' rest of you pups, too!"
+
+"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny.
+
+"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong, picking him up in
+his arms and moving carefully towards the door. "We'll get him, Johnny;
+an' all th' rest, too, when"--the voice died out in the direction of
+Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped out and to
+one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon.
+
+"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered.
+
+"There's going to be some few funerals around here before many hours
+pass."
+
+When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow
+punchers taking care of Johnny. "Where's Hopalong?" he asked.
+
+"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson. "Hey, youngster, you let
+them bandages alone! Hear me?"
+
+"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. "I
+come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in th'
+dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard him
+cuss an' I emptied my gun after him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly
+saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep side of the
+cliff to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom,
+foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend
+where the angry water flung itself against the ragged bulwark of rock
+and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman appeared,
+bending low in the saddle for better protection against the storm. He
+rode along the edge of the stream on the farther bank, opposite the
+steep bluff on the northern side, forcing his wounded and jaded horse to
+keep fetlock deep in the water which swirled and sucked about its legs.
+He was trying his hardest to hide his trail. Lower down the hard, rocky
+ground extended to the water's edge, and if he could delay his pursuers
+for an hour or so, he felt that, even with his tired horse, he would
+have more than an even chance.
+
+But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of
+the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds,
+peered intently and then waved his sombrero to an unseen companion. A
+puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked away, the report of
+the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's horse reared and plunged into
+the deep water and with its rider was swept rapidly towards the bend,
+the way they had come.
+
+"That makes th' fourth time I've missed that coyote!" angrily exclaimed
+Hopalong as Red Connors joined him.
+
+The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling
+its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive,
+gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water
+as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the
+bank and fell exhausted behind a bowlder.
+
+"Well, th' coyote is afoot, anyhow," said Red, with great satisfaction.
+
+"Yes; but how are we going to get to him?" asked Hopalong. "We can't get
+th' cayuses down here, an' we can't swim _that_ water without them. And
+if we could, he'd pot us easy."
+
+"There's a way out of it somewhere," Red replied, disappearing over the
+edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate.
+
+"Hey! Come back here, you chump!" cried Hopalong, running forward.
+"He'll get you, shore!"
+
+"That's a chance I've got to take if I get him," was the reply.
+
+A puff of smoke sailed from behind the bowlder on the other bank and
+Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend.
+Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind
+toyed with the heavy, water-soaked _reata_ as though it were a string.
+As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water
+and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached
+their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back
+involuntarily.
+
+"He's some shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of
+smoke above the bowlder. "I reckon I must have hit him harder than I
+thought in Harlan's. Gee! he's wild as blazes!" he ejaculated as a
+bullet hummed high above his head and struck sharply against the rock
+wall.
+
+"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying to rope that rock
+over there. If I could anchor to that, th' current would push us over
+quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing."
+
+"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier
+as he rests from his fight with th' water," Hopalong remarked, and added
+quickly, "Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her
+from there, all right."
+
+"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every
+shot--Gee! I could 'most feel th' wind of that one. An' blamed if it
+ain't stopped raining. Come on."
+
+They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their
+horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed
+before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could
+believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone
+again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening
+stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail.
+
+It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared upon
+the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard
+ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that
+vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing
+the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in
+their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust,
+"I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down th' river just to have
+th' laugh on us." Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though
+continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him
+forward on a run.
+
+"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't
+that a house?"
+
+"Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What
+did you think it might be?"
+
+"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission."
+
+"Ah, g'wan yorself! What's a mission doing up here?" Red snapped.
+
+"What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?" hotly rejoined
+Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. "There! See th' cross?"
+
+"Shore enough!"
+
+"An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just th' same.
+Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this
+time."
+
+"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't."
+
+"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get
+him, not nohow," declared Hopalong.
+
+"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously.
+
+"Reckon you never run up agin' a mission real hard," Hopalong responded,
+his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and
+they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was
+concerned.
+
+"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively.
+
+"Well, you ain't no _kid_."
+
+"You let _me_ do th' talking; _I'll_ get him."
+
+"All right; an' I'll do th' laughing," snickered Hopalong, at the door.
+"Sic 'em, Red!"
+
+The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his
+heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his
+left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the
+room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the
+dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of
+burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe in
+Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling of
+guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply
+shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all
+three at once. . . .
+
+Red listened intently and then grinned. "Hear that? They're playing
+dominoes in there--come on!"
+
+"Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they
+speaks."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Hanged if I can tell--I've heard it somewhere, that's all."
+
+"Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote can
+get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off while
+we've been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some
+questions."
+
+Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he
+turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no
+sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, and
+he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started
+forward again.
+
+"Look here, stranger," he remarked, with quiet emphasis, "we're after
+that cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?"
+
+The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another trick. "_Habla
+española?_" he asked, experimentally.
+
+"You have ridden far?" replied the monk in perfect English.
+
+"All th' way from th' Bend," Red replied, relieved. "We're after Jerry
+Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, judgin' from th' tracks."
+
+"And if you capture him?"
+
+"He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting."
+
+"I see; you will kill him."
+
+"Shore's it's wet outside."
+
+"I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment."
+
+"Ya-as?" asked Red with a rising inflection.
+
+"You will not want him now," replied the monk.
+
+Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled.
+
+"There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out," ordered
+Red, grimly.
+
+The monk turned to Hopalong. "Do you, too, want him?"
+
+Hopalong nodded.
+
+"My friends, he is safe from your punishment."
+
+Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments,
+smiling triumphantly. "There are tracks coming in, but there ain't none
+going away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore have to
+rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?"
+
+"You are right--he is here, and he is not here."
+
+"We're waiting," Red replied, grinning.
+
+"When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on
+seeing him?"
+
+"We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too."
+
+As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was heard,
+and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his
+mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped him and
+briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men outside. The
+monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward, opened
+the chapel door, saying, "Follow me."
+
+The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual
+dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow
+window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn
+rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain
+beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain and
+the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the
+wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the
+stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirgelike chorus.
+
+At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the
+white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon
+them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin,
+which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous
+Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. "Give eternal rest to
+them, O Lord,"--the words seeming to become a part of the room. The
+ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the roof
+between the assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the
+responses in a low Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of
+the censer chains added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of
+the incense, wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep
+twilight of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the
+candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic odor.
+
+As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around
+the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body
+and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew.
+
+From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and
+grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and
+carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as
+ghosts.
+
+"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low
+voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the
+guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in
+peace."
+
+Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small,
+well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long a
+time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to
+hear more or less turmoil and confusion.
+
+_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung
+slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward;
+six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past him,
+and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense.
+Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their
+sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed.
+
+"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the
+mastery as the others cantered up.
+
+"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward
+the procession.
+
+Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow that
+glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!"
+
+Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red."
+
+"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided.
+
+Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession.
+
+"I had to look twict to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy,
+like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported.
+
+"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear
+Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and
+looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, _you!_ Yes, _you!_ Come
+out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here
+all night."
+
+Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they
+rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and
+looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought.
+
+Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. "Gettin'
+glory, Hoppy?"
+
+Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy,
+losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead,
+whistling softly.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[8] From _Bar-20 Days_. Copyright, 1911, by A. C. McClurg and Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IX.--Dey Ain't No Ghosts[9]
+
+_By Ellis Parker Butler_
+
+
+ONCE 'pon a time dey was a li'l black boy whut he name was Mose. An'
+whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git
+powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a
+buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an'
+dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar in de clearin' by de shanty an' down
+de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
+
+An' whin de night come erlong, dey ain't no sounds at all whut kin be
+heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out,
+"Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous an' scary, an' de owls, whut mourn
+out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de
+wind, whut mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous, trembulous an'
+scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l black boy
+whut he name was Mose.
+
+'Ca'se dat li'l black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in de
+dark _at_ all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go outen de
+house at night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody can
+see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'! An' who know but
+whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him? An'
+dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l black boy powerful bad, 'ca'se yever'body
+knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.
+
+So whin dat li'l black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep he
+eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob
+butter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin
+he go outer de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny
+plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful hard to keep eyes whut am
+de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.
+
+So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat li'l black Mose he jes mek up he
+mind he ain't gwine outen de shack at all. He cogitate he gwine stay
+right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek
+notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey
+mourn out, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
+De eyes ob dat li'l black Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut
+set on de mantel by side de clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'!
+
+So dat all right. Li'l black Mose he scrooge back in de corner by de
+fireplace, an' he 'low he gwine stay dere till he gwine _to_ bed. But
+bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally Ann,
+whut is her husban', he draps in an' Zack Badget an' de school-teacher
+whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a powerful lot ob
+folks drap in. An' li'l black Mose he seen dat gwine be one s'prise
+party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat.
+
+So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy," an' some ob dem say:
+"Why, dere's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l Mose?" An' he so please he jes grin
+an' grin, 'ca'se he ain't reckon whut gwine happen. So bimeby Sally Ann,
+whut live up de road, she say, "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en lest we got
+a jack-o'-lantern." An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
+Diggs's house, she 'low, "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en _at_ all 'thout
+we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l black Mose he stop a-grinnin', an'
+he scrooge so far back in de corner he 'most scrooge frough de wall. But
+dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say, "Mose, go on down to de
+pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."
+
+"I ain't want to go," say li'l black Mose.
+
+"Go on erlong wid yo'," say he ma, right commandin'.
+
+"I ain't want to go," say Mose ag'in.
+
+"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask.
+
+"'Ca'se I's afraid ob de ghosts," say li'l black Mose, an' dat de
+particular truth an' no mistake.
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts," say de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
+Diggs's house, right peart.
+
+"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say Zack Badget, whut dat 'feared ob
+ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l black Mose's house ef de
+school-teacher ain't ercompany him.
+
+"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say li'l black Mose's ma.
+
+"Wha' yo' pick up dat nonsense?" say he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'lows: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey
+'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all spiled. So dat li'l
+black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de
+pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step outen de shanty an' he stan' on
+de doorstep twell he get he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob he
+ma's washtub, mostly, an' he say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he put one
+foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step.
+
+An' de rain-dove say, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
+
+An' de owl mourn out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
+
+An' de wind sob out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder an' he shut he
+eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick up he foots an' run.
+Yas, sah, he run right peart fast. An' he say: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey
+ain't no ghosts." An' he run erlong de paff whut lead by de
+buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat
+buryin'-ground at all.
+
+No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an'
+mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' bimeby somefin'
+jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de arm, which mek him run jest a bit more
+faster. An' bimeby somefin' jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de cheek, which mek
+him run erbout as fast as he can. An' bimeby somefin' _grab_ li'l Mose
+by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight an' struggle an' cry out: "Dey
+ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't nuffin' but de wild
+brier whut grab him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de leaf ob a tree whut
+brush he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut
+brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an' he ain't lost no
+time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves dey signerfy whut
+ain't no good. So he scoot past dat buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an'
+dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' dat grabeyard in de hollow,
+twell he come to de pumpkin-patch, an' he rotch down an' tek erhold ob
+de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An' he right smart scared. He jes
+de mostest scared li'l black boy whut yever was. He ain't gwine open he
+eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' de owls go,
+"Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+
+He jes speculate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he hair don't stand on
+ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he
+goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low, "Dey ain't no
+ghosts," an' wish he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way.
+So he rotch down, an' he rotch down, twell he git a good hold on dat
+pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes
+yank dat stem wid all he might.
+
+"_Let loosen my head!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
+
+Dat li'l black boy whut he name is Mose he jump 'most outen he skin. He
+open he eyes an' he 'gin to shake like de aspen tree, 'ca'se whut dat
+a-standin' right dar behind him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, dat
+de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head.
+Ain't go no head _at_ all. Li'l black Mose he jest drap on he knees an'
+he beg an' pray:
+
+"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg. "Ah ain't mean no harm
+at all."
+
+"Whut for you try to take my head?" as' de ghost in dat fearsome voice
+whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg li'l Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo' head,
+an' I ain't know you was dar _at_ all. 'Scuse me!"
+
+"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say de ghost. "Ah got somefin'
+powerful _im_portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah
+ain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf,
+an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk _at_ all."
+
+An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got no
+mouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin
+li'l black Mose he look, he see dat ghost ain't go no head _at_ all.
+Nary head.
+
+So de ghost say:
+
+"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick dat
+ixact pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No,
+sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see you
+no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful _im_portant to say unto
+yo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot it on de place whar my head
+ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk
+fo' so long Ah'm right hongry to say somefin'!"
+
+So li'l black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bent down,
+an' li'l black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right
+off dat pumpkin head 'gin to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an'
+right off dat pumpkin head 'gin to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like
+a jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start to speak. Yas, sah,
+dass so.
+
+"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" _in_quire li'l black Mose.
+
+"Ah want to tell yo'," say de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be
+skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like de smoke in July. He
+ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes
+dissipate outen de air, an' he gone _in_tirely.
+
+So li'l Mose he grab up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot. An' whin
+he come to de grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as yever,
+on'y faster, whin he reckon, he'll pick up a club _in_ case he gwine
+have trouble. An' he rotch down an' rotch down, an' tek hold of a lively
+appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab dat hunk of
+wood. . . .
+
+"_Let loosen my leg!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
+
+Dat li'l black boy 'most jump outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in de paff
+is six 'mendjus big ghosts, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. So
+li'l black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat bigges'
+ghost, an' he say:
+
+"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg."
+
+An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah,
+dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say:
+
+"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l black boy. Whut we gwine do fo' to
+_re_ward him fo' politeness?"
+
+"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghosts."
+
+So de bigges' ghost he say:
+
+"Ah gwine tell yo' somethin' important whut yever'body don't know: Dey
+_ain't_ no ghosts."
+
+An' whin he say dat, de ghosts jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l black
+Mose he proceed up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank at de roots,
+an' when de wind go "Oo-_oo_-oo-o-o," an' de owl go, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
+an' de rain-doves go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" he jes tremble an' shake. An'
+bimeby he come to de cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' he shore is
+mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined up along
+de road, an' he 'low he ain't gwine spind no more time palaverin' wid
+ghostes. So he step offen de road fo' to go round erbout, an' he step on
+a pine-stump whut lay right dar.
+
+"_Git offen my chest!_" say a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat
+stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest,
+'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l
+black Mose he hop offen dat stump right peart. Yes, _sah;_ right peart.
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l black Mose beg an' pleed, an' de
+ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step on
+de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But bimeby they 'low they let him go
+'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say, "Mose, you
+Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a
+misabul li'l tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should remimber one
+thing mos' particular'."
+
+"Ya-yas, sah," say dat li'l black boy; "Ah'll remimber. What is dat Ah
+got to remimber?"
+
+De captain ghost he swell up, an' he swell up, twell he as big as a
+house, an' he say in a voice whut shake de ground:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+So li'l black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise up an' mek a
+bow, an' he proceed toward home right libely. He do, indeed.
+
+An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin whin he come to de aidge ob de
+buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se
+de kentry round about am so populate he ain't able to go frough. Yas,
+sah, seem like all de ghostes in de world havin' de conferince right
+dar. Seem like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a convintion on
+dat spot. An' dat li'l black Mose so skeered he jes fall down on e' old
+log whut dar an' screech an' moan! An' all on a suddent de log up and
+spoke to li'l Mose:
+
+"_Get offen me! Get offen me!_" yell dat log.
+
+So li'l black Mose he git offen dat log, an' no mistake.
+
+An' soon as he git offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l black Mose he
+see dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise,
+all de congregation crowd round li'l black Mose, an' dey am about leben
+millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en
+convintion whut li'l black Mose interrup. Right dar am all de sperits in
+de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de
+world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world,
+an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l black Mose, dey
+all gnash dey teef an' grin 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's
+lunchtime. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step on top
+ob li'l Mose's head, an' he say:
+
+"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note
+who is prisint. De firs' business whut come before de convintion am:
+whut we gwine do to a li'l black boy whut stip on de king an' maul all
+ober de king an' treat de king dat disdespictful."
+
+An' li'l black Mose jes moan an' sob:
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm _at_ all."
+
+But nobody ain't pay no attintion to him at all, 'ca'se yevery one
+lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up
+an' spoke.
+
+"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min _an'_ ladies," he say, "dis am a
+right bad case ob _lazy majesty_, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin
+yevery li'l black boy whut choose gwine wander round at night an' stip
+on de king of ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no time
+for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no time
+do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin but de
+truth."
+
+An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey canfabulate out loud
+erbout it, an' de noise soun like de rain-doves goin', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+an' de owls goin', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de wind goin',
+"You-_you_-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no
+mistake.
+
+So de king ob de ghosts, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place he hand
+on de head ob li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he
+say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
+
+An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on
+de head ob li'l black Mose, and he hand feel like a toadstool in de cool
+ob de day, an' he say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
+
+An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place he hand on de head ob
+li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like ye yunner side ob a lizard, an'
+he say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white
+_as_ snow.
+
+An' a perticklar bent-up hobgoblin he put hand on de head ob li'l black
+Mose, an' he mek dat same _re_mark, and dat whole convintion ob ghostes
+an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yever-thing, which am more 'n a millium,
+pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow outen de
+cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." Yas,
+sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it soun like de wind whin it moan
+frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' yevery hair
+whut on li'l black Mose's head turn white. Dat whut happen whin a li'l
+black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat's so he ain't
+gwine fergit to remimber dey ain't no ghosts. 'Ca'se ef a li'l black boy
+gwine imaginate dey _is_ ghostes, he gwine be skeered in de dark. An'
+dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.
+
+So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler
+whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l black Mose he ain' see 'ca'se for to
+remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch down, an' he raise up de
+pumpkin, an' he perambulate right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift up
+de latch, an' he open de do', an' he yenter in. An' he say:
+
+"Yere's de pumpkin."
+
+An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' Mistah
+Sally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut
+board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whut
+come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack,
+'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves
+gwine "Ooo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" and
+de wind it gwine, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' yever'body powerful skeered.
+'Ca'se li'l black Mose he come a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes
+whin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yever'body gwine imaginate dat de
+ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l black Mose
+he turn he white head, an' he look roun' an' peer roun', an' he say:
+
+"Whut you all skeered fo'?"
+
+'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want to be skeered, too. Dat's natural.
+But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say:
+
+"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"
+
+So li'l black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low:
+
+"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l black Mose he gwine be so
+upotish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an'
+gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at
+Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say:
+
+"Huh; whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner way?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kinder
+suck he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low:
+
+"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain't no ghosts whin
+yever'body know dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc'
+Silas Diggs's house, she tek note de hair ob li'l black Mose's head am
+plumb white, an' she tek note li'l black Mose's face am de color of
+wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm round dat li'l black boy, an' she jes
+snuggle him up, an' she say:
+
+"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How you
+know dey ain't no ghosts?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he kinder lean up 'g'inst de school-teacher whut
+board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low:
+
+"'Ca'se--'ca'se--'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ral
+ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yever was
+in de whole worl', an' yevery ghost say de same thing: 'Dey ain't no
+ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost
+an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, who
+does?"
+
+"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say de school-teacher. An' she say:
+"I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I know.
+Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey _ain'_ no ghosts."
+
+So yever'body 'low dat o cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' de
+ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No,"
+'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he
+done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So he
+say to li'l black Mose:
+
+"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live down de
+lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"
+
+"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "I done met up wid him."
+
+"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say Zack
+Badget.
+
+"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "he done tell me perzactly dat."
+
+"Well, if _he_ tol' you dey ain' no ghosts," say Zack Badget, "I got to
+'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout it. I
+know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met up
+wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout
+it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey ain't no ghosts, dey ain't no
+ghosts."
+
+So yever'body say:
+
+"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' dat mek li'l black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se he ain' lek
+ghostes. He reckon he gwine be a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sence
+he know dey ain't no ghosts, an' he reckon he ain' gwine be skeered of
+nuffin' never no more. He ain't gwine min' de dark, an' he ain't gwine
+min' de rain-doves whut go, "Ooo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de
+owls whut go, "Who-_who_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind whut go,
+"You-_you_-o-o-o!" nor nuffin, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence
+he know fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say:
+
+"Well, time fo' a li'l black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de
+ladder to de loft to bed."
+
+An' li'l black Mose he 'low he gwine wait a bit. He 'low he gwine jes
+wait a li'l bit. He 'low he gwine be no trouble _at_ all ef he jes been
+let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So
+he ma she say:
+
+"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut you skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he scrooge, an' he twist, an' he pucker up he mouf,
+an' he rub he eyes, an' prisintly he say right low:
+
+"I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+"Den what am yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.
+
+"Nuffin'," say de li'l black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feel
+kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't."
+
+Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[9] Copyright, 1913, by the Century Company. Reprinted by special
+permission of the author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+X.--The Night Operator[10]
+
+_By Frank L. Packard_
+
+
+TODDLES, in the beginning, wasn't exactly a railroad man--for several
+reasons. First he wasn't a man at all; second, he wasn't, strictly
+speaking, on the company's pay roll; third, which is apparently
+irrelevant, everybody said he was a bad one; and fourth--because Hawkeye
+nicknamed him Toddles.
+
+Toddles had another name--Christopher Hyslop Hoogan--but Big Cloud never
+lay awake at nights losing any sleep over that. On the first run that
+Christopher Hyslop Hoogan ever made, Hawkeye looked him over for a
+minute, said, "Toddles," shortlike--and, shortlike, that settled the
+matter so far as the Hill Division was concerned. His name was Toddles.
+
+Piecemeal, Toddles wouldn't convey anything to you to speak of. You'd
+have to see Toddles coming down the aisle of a car to get him at
+all--and then the chances are you'd turn around after he'd gone by and
+stare at him, and it would be even money that you'd call him back and
+fish for a dime to buy something by way of excuse. Toddles got a good
+deal of business that way. Toddles had a uniform and a regular run all
+right, but he wasn't what he passionately longed to be--a legitimate,
+dyed-in-the-wool railroader. His pay check, plus commissions, came from
+the News Company down East that had the railroad concession. Toddles was
+a newsboy. In his blue uniform and silver buttons, Toddles used to stack
+up about the height of the back of the car seats as he hawked his wares
+along the aisles; and the only thing that was big about him was his
+head, which looked as though it had got a whopping big lead on his
+body--and didn't intend to let the body cut the lead down any. This
+meant a big cap, and, as Toddles used to tilt the vizor forward, the tip
+of his nose, bar his mouth which was generous, was about all one got of
+his face. Cap, buttons, magazines and peanuts, that was Toddles--all
+except his voice. Toddles had a voice that would make you jump if you
+were nervous the minute he opened the car door, and if you weren't
+nervous you would be before he had reached the other end of the
+aisle--it began low down somewhere on high G and went through you shrill
+as an east wind, and ended like the shriek of a brake-shoe with
+everything the Westinghouse equipment had to offer cutting loose on a
+quick stop.
+
+Hawkeye? That was what Toddles called his beady-eyed conductor in
+retaliation. Hawkeye used to nag Toddles every chance he got, and, being
+Toddles' conductor, Hawkeye got a good many chances. In a word, Hawkeye,
+carrying the punch on the local passenger, that happened to be the run
+Toddles was given when the News Company sent him out from the East, used
+to think he got a good deal of fun out of Toddles--only his idea of fun
+and Toddles' idea of fun were as divergent as the poles, that was all.
+
+Toddles, however, wasn't anybody's fool, not by several degrees--not
+even Hawkeye's. Toddles hated Hawkeye like poison; and his hate, apart
+from daily annoyances, was deep-seated. It was Hawkeye who had dubbed
+him "Toddles." And Toddles repudiated the name with his heart, his
+soul--and his fists.
+
+Toddles wasn't anybody's fool, whatever the division thought, and he was
+right down to the basic root of things from the start. Coupled with the
+stunted growth that nature in a miserly mood had doled out to him, none
+knew better than himself that the name of "Toddles," keeping that nature
+stuff patently before everybody's eyes, damned him in his aspirations
+for a bona fide railroad career. Other boys got a job and got their feet
+on the ladder as call-boys, or in the roundhouse; Toddles got--a grin.
+Toddles pestered everybody for a job. He pestered Carleton, the super.
+He pestered Tommy Regan, the master mechanic. Every time that he saw
+anybody in authority Toddles spoke up for a job, he was in deadly
+earnest--and got a grin. Toddles with a basket of unripe fruit and stale
+chocolates and his "best-seller" voice was one thing; but Toddles as
+anything else was just--Toddles.
+
+Toddles repudiated the name, and did it forcefully. Not that he couldn't
+take his share of a bit of guying, but because he felt that he was face
+to face with a vital factor in the career he longed for--so he fought.
+And if nature had been niggardly in one respect, she had been generous
+in others; Toddles, for all his size, possessed the heart of a lion and
+the strength of a young ox, and he used both, with black and bloody
+effect, on the eyes and noses of the call-boys and younger element who
+called him Toddles. He fought it all along the line--at the drop of the
+hat--at a whisper of "Toddles." There wasn't a day went by that Toddles
+wasn't in a row; and the women, the mothers of the defeated warriors
+whose eyes were puffed and whose noses trickled crimson, denounced him
+in virulent language over their washtubs and the back fences of Big
+Cloud. You see, they didn't understand him, so they called him a "bad
+one," and, being from the East and not one of themselves, "a New York
+gutter snipe."
+
+But, for all that, the name stuck. Up and down through the Rockies it
+was--Toddles. Toddles, with the idea of getting a lay-over on a siding,
+even went to the extent of signing himself in full--Christopher Hyslop
+Hoogan--every time his signature was in order; but the official
+documents in which he was concerned, being of a private nature between
+himself and the News Company, did not, in the very nature of things,
+have much effect on the Hill Division. Certainly the big fellows never
+knew he had any name but Toddles--and cared less. But they knew him as
+Toddles, all right! All of them did, every last one of them! Toddles was
+everlastingly and eternally bothering them for a job. Any kind of a job,
+no matter what, just so it was real railroading, and so a fellow could
+line up with everybody else when the pay car came along, and look
+forward to being something some day.
+
+Toddles, with time, of course, grew older, up to about seventeen or so,
+but he didn't grow any bigger--not enough to make it noticeable! Even
+Toddles' voice wouldn't break--it was his young heart that did all the
+breaking there was done. Not that he ever showed it. No one ever saw a
+tear in the boy's eyes. It was clenched fists for Toddles, clenched
+fists and passionate attack. And therein, while Toddles had grasped the
+basic truth that his nickname militated against his ambitions, he erred
+in another direction that was equally fundamental, if not more so.
+
+And here, it was Bob Donkin, the night dispatcher, as white a man as his
+record after years of train-handling was white, a railroad man from the
+ground up if there ever was one, and one of the best, who set
+Toddles--but we'll come to that presently. We've got our "clearance"
+now, and we're off with "rights" through.
+
+No. 83, Hawkeye's train--and Toddles'--scheduled Big Cloud on the
+eastbound run at 9.05; and, on the night the story opens, they were
+about an hour away from the little mountain town that was the divisional
+point, as Toddles, his basket of edibles in the crook of his arm, halted
+in the forward end of the second-class smoker to examine again the
+fistful of change that he dug out of his pants pocket with his free
+hand.
+
+Toddles was in an unusually bad humor, and he scowled. With exceeding
+deftness he separated one of the coins from the others, using his
+fingers like the teeth of a rake, and dropped the rest back jingling
+into his pocket. The coin that remained he put into his mouth, and bit
+on it--hard. His scowl deepened. Somebody had presented Toddles with a
+lead quarter.
+
+It wasn't so much the quarter, though Toddles' salary wasn't so big as
+some people's who would have felt worse over it, it was his _amour
+propre_ that was touched--deeply. It wasn't often that any one could put
+so bald a thing as lead money across on Toddles. Toddles' mind harked
+back along the aisles of the cars behind him. He had only made two sales
+that round, and he had changed a quarter each time--for the pretty girl
+with the big picture hat, who had giggled at him when she bought a
+package of chewing gum; and the man with the three-carat diamond tie-pin
+in the parlor car, a little more than on the edge of inebriety, who had
+got on at the last stop, and who had bought a cigar from him.
+
+Toddles thought it over for a bit; decided he wouldn't have a fuss with
+a girl anyway, balked at a parlor car fracas with a drunk, dropped the
+coin back into his pocket, and went on into the combination baggage and
+express car. Here, just inside the door, was Toddles', or, rather, the
+News Company's chest. Toddles lifted the lid; and then his eyes shifted
+slowly and traveled up the car. Things were certainly going badly with
+Toddles that night.
+
+There were four men in the car: Bob Donkin, coming back from a holiday
+trip somewhere up the line; MacNicoll, the baggage-master; Nulty, the
+express messenger--and Hawkeye. Toddles' inventory of the contents of
+the chest had been hurried--but intimate. A small bunch of six bananas
+was gone, and Hawkeye was munching them unconcernedly. It wasn't the
+first time the big, hulking, six-foot conductor had pilfered the boy's
+chest, not by many--and never paid for the pilfering. That was Hawkeye's
+idea of a joke.
+
+Hawkeye was talking to Nulty, elaborately simulating ignorance of
+Toddles' presence--and he was talking about Toddles.
+
+"Sure," said Hawkeye, his mouth full of banana, "he'll be a great
+railroad man some day! He's the stuff they're made of! You can see it
+sticking out all over him! He's only selling peanuts now till he grows
+up and----"
+
+Toddles put down his basket and planted himself before the conductor.
+
+"You pay for those bananas," said Toddles in a low voice--which was
+high.
+
+"When'll he grow up?" continued Hawkeye, peeling more fruit. "I don't
+know--you've got me. The first time I saw him two years ago, I'm hanged
+if he wasn't bigger than he is now--guess he grows backwards. Have a
+banana?" He offered one to Nulty, who refused it.
+
+"You pay for those bananas, you big stiff!" squealed Toddles
+belligerently.
+
+Hawkeye turned his head slowly and turned his little beady, black eyes
+on Toddles, then he turned with a wink to the others, and for the first
+time in two years offered payment. He fished into his pocket and handed
+Toddles a twenty-dollar bill--there always was a mean streak in Hawkeye,
+more or less of a bully, none too well liked, and whose name on the pay
+roll, by the way, was Reynolds.
+
+"Take fifteen cents out of that," he said, with no idea that the boy
+could change the bill.
+
+For a moment Toddles glared at the yellow-back, then a thrill of unholy
+glee came to Toddles. He could just about make it, business all around
+had been pretty good that day, particularly on the run west in the
+morning.
+
+Hawkeye went on with the exposition of his idea of humor at Toddles'
+expense; and Toddles went back to his chest and his reserve funds.
+Toddles counted out eighteen dollars in bills, made a neat pile of four
+quarters--the lead one on the bottom--another neat pile of the odd
+change, and returned to Hawkeye. The lead quarter wouldn't go very far
+toward liquidating Hawkeye's long-standing indebtedness--but it would
+help some.
+
+Queer, isn't it--the way things happen? Think of a man's whole life,
+aspirations, hopes, ambitions, everything, pivoting on--a lead quarter!
+But then they say that opportunity knocks once at the door of every man;
+and, if that be true, let it be remarked in passing that Toddles wasn't
+deaf!
+
+Hawkeye, making Toddles a target for a parting gibe, took up his lantern
+and started through the train to pick up the fates from the last stop.
+In due course he halted before the inebriated one with the glittering
+tie-pin in the smoking compartment of the parlor car.
+
+"Ticket, please," said Hawkeye.
+
+"Too busy to buysh ticket," the man informed him, with heavy confidence.
+"Whash fare Loon Dam to Big Cloud?"
+
+"One-fifty," said Hawkeye curtly.
+
+The man produced a roll of bills, and from the roll extracted a
+two-dollar note.
+
+Hawkeye handed him back two quarters, and started to punch a cash-fare
+slip. He looked up to find the man holding out one of the quarters
+insistently, if somewhat unsteadily.
+
+"What's the matter?" demanded Hawkeye brusquely.
+
+"Bad," said the man.
+
+A drummer grinned; and an elderly gentleman, from his magazine, looked
+up inquiringly over his spectacles.
+
+"Bad!" Hawkeye brought his elbow sharply around to focus his lamp on the
+coin; then he leaned over and rang it on the window sill--only it
+wouldn't ring. It was indubitably bad. Hawkeye, however, was dealing
+with a drunk--and Hawkeye always did have a mean streak in him.
+
+"It's perfectly good," he asserted gruffly.
+
+The man rolled an eye at the conductor that mingled a sudden shrewdness
+and anger, and appealed to his fellow travelers. The verdict was against
+Hawkeye, and Hawkeye ungraciously pocketed the lead piece and handed
+over another quarter.
+
+"Shay," observed the inebriated one insolently, "shay, conductor, I
+don't like you. You thought I was--hic!--s'drunk I wouldn't know--eh?
+Thash where you fooled yerself!"
+
+"What do you mean?" Hawkeye bridled virtuously for the benefit of the
+drummer and the old gentleman with the spectacles.
+
+And then the other began to laugh immoderately.
+
+"Same ol' quarter," said he. "Same--hic!--ol' quarter back again. Great
+system--peanut boy--conductor--hic! Pass it off on one--other passes it
+off on some one else. Just passed it off on--hic!--peanut boy for a
+joke. Goin' to give him a dollar when he comes back."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you!" snapped Hawkeye ominously. "And you mean to
+insinuate that I deliberately tried to----"
+
+"Sure!" declared the man heartily.
+
+"You're a liar!" announced Hawkeye, spluttering mad. "And what's more,
+since it came from you, you'll take it back!" He dug into his pocket for
+the ubiquitous lead piece.
+
+"Not--hic!--on your life!" said the man earnestly. "You hang on to it,
+old top. I didn't pass it off on _you_."
+
+"Haw!" exploded the drummer suddenly. "Haw--haw, haw!"
+
+And the elderly gentleman smiled.
+
+Hawkeye's face went red, and then purple.
+
+"Go 'way!" said the man petulantly. "I don't like you. Go 'way! Go an'
+tell peanuts I--hic!--got a dollar for him."
+
+And Hawkeye went--but Toddles never got the dollar. Hawkeye went out of
+the smoking compartment of the parlor car with the lead quarter in his
+pocket--because he couldn't do anything else--which didn't soothe his
+feelings any--and he went out mad enough to bite himself. The drummer's
+guffaw followed him, and he thought he even caught a chuckle from the
+elderly party with the magazine and spectacles.
+
+Hawkeye was mad; and he was quite well aware, painfully well aware that
+he had looked like a fool, which is about one of the meanest feelings
+there is to feel; and, as he made his way forward through the train, he
+grew madder still. That change was the change from his twenty-dollar
+bill. He had not needed to be told that the lead quarter had come from
+Toddles. The only question at all in doubt was whether or not Toddles
+had put the counterfeit coin over on him knowingly and with malice
+aforethought. Hawkeye, however, had an intuition deep down inside of him
+that there wasn't any doubt even about that, and as he opened the door
+of the baggage car his intuition was vindicated. There was a grin on the
+faces of Nulty, MacNicoll and Bob Donkin that disappeared with
+suspicious celerity at sight of him as he came through the door.
+
+There was no hesitation then on Hawkeye's part. Toddles, equipped for
+another excursion through the train with a stack of magazines and books
+that almost hid him, received a sudden and vicious clout on the side of
+the ear.
+
+"You'd try your tricks on me, would you?" Hawkeye snarled. "Lead
+quarters--eh?" Another clout. "I'll teach you, you blasted little runt!"
+
+And with the clouts, the stack of carefully balanced periodicals went
+flying over the floor; and with the clouts, the nagging, and the
+hectoring, and the bullying, that had rankled for close on two years in
+Toddles' turbulent soul, rose in a sudden all-possessing sweep of fury.
+Toddles was a fighter--with the heart of a fighter. And Toddles' cause
+was just. He couldn't reach the conductor's face--so he went for
+Hawkeye's legs. And the screams of rage from his high-pitched voice, as
+he shot himself forward, sounded like a cageful of Australian cockatoos
+on the rampage.
+
+Toddles was small, pitifully small for his age; but he wasn't an infant
+in arms--not for a minute. And in action Toddles was as near to a wild
+cat as anything else that comes handy by way of illustration. Two legs
+and one arm he twined and twisted around Hawkeye's legs; and the other
+arm, with a hard and knotty fist on the end of it, caught the conductor
+a wicked jab in the region of the bottom button of the vest. The brass
+button peeled the skin off Toddles' knuckles, but the jab doubled the
+conductor forward, and coincident with Hawkeye's winded grunt, the
+lantern in his hand sailed ceilingwards, crashed into the center lamps
+in the roof of the car, and down in a shower of tinkling glass, dripping
+oil and burning wicks, came the wreckage to the floor.
+
+There was a yell from Nulty; but Toddles hung on like grim death.
+Hawkeye was bawling fluent profanity and seeing red. Toddles heard one
+and sensed the other--and he clung grimly on. He was all doubled up
+around Hawkeye's knees, and in that position Hawkeye couldn't get at him
+very well; and, besides, Toddles had his own plan of battle. He was
+waiting for an extra heavy lurch of the car.
+
+It came. Toddles' muscles strained legs and arms and back in concert,
+and for an instant across the car they tottered, Hawkeye staggering in a
+desperate attempt to maintain his equilibrium--and then down--speaking
+generally, on a heterogeneous pile of express parcels; concretely, with
+an eloquent squnch, on a crate of eggs, thirty dozen of them, at forty
+cents a dozen.
+
+Toddles, over his rage, experienced a sickening sense of disaster, but
+still he clung; he didn't dare let go. Hawkeye's fists, both in an
+effort to recover himself and in an endeavor to reach Toddles, were
+going like a windmill; and Hawkeye's threats were something terrifying
+to listen to. And now they rolled over, and Toddles was underneath; and
+then they rolled over again; and then a hand locked on Toddles' collar,
+and he was yanked, terrier-fashion, to his feet.
+
+His face white and determined, his fists doubled, Toddles waited for
+Hawkeye to get up--the word "run" wasn't in Toddles' vocabulary. He
+hadn't long to wait.
+
+Hawkeye lunged up, draped in the broken crate--a sight. The road always
+prided itself on the natty uniforms of its train crews, but Hawkeye
+wasn't dressed in uniform then--mostly egg yolks. He made a dash for
+Toddles, but he never reached the boy. Bob Donkin was between them.
+
+"Cut it out!" said Donkin coldly, as he pushed Toddles behind him. "You
+asked for it, Reynolds, and you got it. Now cut it out!"
+
+And Hawkeye "cut it out." It was pretty generally understood that Bob
+Donkin never talked much for show, and Bob Donkin was bigger than
+Toddles, a whole lot bigger, as big as Hawkeye himself. Hawkeye "cut it
+out."
+
+Funny, the egg part of it? Well, perhaps. But the fire wasn't. True,
+they got it out with the help of the hand extinguishers before it did
+any serious damage, for Nulty had gone at it on the jump; but while it
+lasted the burning oil on the car floor looked dangerous. Anyway, it was
+bad enough so that they couldn't hide it when they got into Big
+Cloud--and Hawkeye and Toddles went on the carpet for it the next
+morning in the super's office.
+
+Carleton, "Royal" Carleton, reached for a match, and, to keep his lips
+straight, clamped them firmly on the amber mouthpiece of his brier, and
+stumpy, big-paunched Tommy Regan, the master mechanic, who was sitting
+in a chair by the window, reached hurriedly into his back pocket for his
+chewing and looked out of the window to hide a grin, as the two came in
+and ranged themselves in front of the super's desk--Hawkeye, six feet
+and a hundred and ninety pounds, with Toddles trailing him, mostly cap
+and buttons and no weight at all.
+
+Carleton didn't ask many questions--he'd asked them before--of Bob
+Donkin--and the dispatcher hadn't gone out of his way to invest the
+conductor with any glorified halo. Carleton, always a strict
+disciplinarian, said what he had to say and said it quietly; but he
+meant to let the conductor have the worst of it, and he did--in a way
+that was all Carleton's own. Two years' picking on a youngster didn't
+appeal to Carleton, no matter who the youngster was. Before he was half
+through he had the big conductor squirming. Hawkeye was looking for
+something else--besides a galling and matter-of-fact impartiality that
+accepted himself and Toddles as being on exactly the same plane and
+level.
+
+"There's a case of eggs," said Carleton at the end. "You can divide up
+the damage between you. And I'm going to change your runs, unless you've
+got some good reason to give me why I shouldn't?"
+
+He waited for an answer.
+
+Hawkeye, towering, sullen, his eyes resting bitterly on Regan, having
+caught the master mechanic's grin, said nothing; Toddles, whose head
+barely showed over the top of Carleton's desk, and the whole of him
+sizing up about big enough to go into the conductor's pocket, was
+equally silent--Toddles was thinking of something else.
+
+"Very good," said Carleton suavely, as he surveyed the ridiculous
+incongruity before him. "I'll change your runs, then. I can't have you
+two _men_ brawling and prize-fighting every trip."
+
+There was a sudden sound from the window, as though Regan had got some
+of his blackstrap juice down the wrong way.
+
+Hawkeye's face went black as thunder.
+
+Carleton's face was like a sphinx.
+
+"That'll do, then," he said. "You can go, both of you."
+
+Hawkeye stamped out of the room and down the stairs. But Toddles stayed.
+
+"Please, Mr. Carleton, won't you give me a job on----" Toddles stopped.
+
+So had Regan's chuckle. Toddles, the irrepressible, was at it again--and
+Toddles after a job, any kind of a job, was something that Regan's
+experience had taught him to fly from without standing on the order of
+his flight. Regan hurried from the room.
+
+Toddles watched him go--kind of speculatively, kind of reproachfully.
+Then he turned to Carleton.
+
+"Please give me a job, Mr. Carleton," he pleaded. "Give me a job, won't
+you?"
+
+It was only yesterday on the platform that Toddles had waylaid the super
+with the same demand--and about every day before that as far back as
+Carleton could remember. It was hopelessly chronic. Anything convincing
+or appealing about it had gone long ago--Toddles said it parrot-fashion
+now. Carleton took refuge in severity.
+
+"See here, young man," he said grimly, "you were brought into this
+office for a reprimand and not to apply for a job! You can thank your
+stars and Bob Donkin you haven't lost the one you've got. Now, get out!"
+
+"I'd make good if you gave me one," said Toddles earnestly. "Honest, I
+would, Mr. Carleton."
+
+"Get out!" said the super, not altogether unkindly. "I'm busy."
+
+Toddles swallowed a lump in his throat--but not until after his head was
+turned and he'd started for the door so the super couldn't see it.
+Toddles swallowed the lump--and got out. He hadn't expected anything
+else, of course. The refusals were just as chronic as the demands. But
+that didn't make each new one any easier for Toddles. It made it worse.
+
+Toddles' heart was heavy as he stepped out into the hall, and the iron
+was in his soul. He was seventeen now, and it looked as though he never
+would get a chance--except to be a newsboy all his life. Toddles
+swallowed another lump. He loved railroading; it was his one ambition,
+his one desire. If he could ever get a chance, he'd show them! He'd show
+them that he wasn't a joke, just because he was small!
+
+Toddles turned at the head of the stairs to go down, when somebody
+called his name.
+
+"Here--Toddles! Come here!"
+
+Toddles looked over his shoulder, hesitated, then marched in through the
+open door of the dispatchers' room. Bob Donkin was alone there.
+
+"What's your name--Toddles?" inquired Donkin, as Toddles halted before
+the dispatcher's table.
+
+Toddles froze instantly--hard. His fists doubled; there was a smile on
+Donkin's face. Then his fists slowly uncurled; the smile on Donkin's
+face had broadened, but there wasn't any malice in the smile.
+
+"Christopher Hyslop Hoogan," said Toddles, unbending.
+
+Donkin put his hand quickly to his mouth--and coughed.
+
+"Um-m!" said he pleasantly. "Super hard on you this morning--Hoogan?"
+
+And with the words Toddles' heart went out to the big dispatcher:
+"Hoogan"--and a man-to-man tone.
+
+"No," said Toddles cordially. "Say, I thought you were on the night
+trick."
+
+"Double-shift--short-handed," replied Donkin. "Come from New York, don't
+you?"
+
+"Yes," said Toddles.
+
+"Mother and father down there still?"
+
+It came quick and unexpected, and Toddles stared for a moment. Then he
+walked over to the window.
+
+"I haven't got any," he said.
+
+There wasn't any sound for an instant, save the clicking of the
+instruments; then Donkin spoke again--a little gruffly:
+
+"When are you going to quit making a fool of yourself?"
+
+Toddles swung from the window, hurt. Donkin, after all, was like all the
+rest of them.
+
+"Well?" prompted the dispatcher.
+
+"You go to blazes!" said Toddles bitterly, and started for the door.
+
+Donkin halted him.
+
+"You're only fooling yourself, Hoogan," he said coolly. "If you wanted
+what you call a real railroad job as much as you pretend you do, you'd
+get one."
+
+"Eh?" demanded Toddles defiantly; and went back to the table.
+
+"A fellow," said Donkin, putting a little sting into his words, "never
+got anywhere by going around with a chip on his shoulder fighting
+everybody because they called him Toddles, and making a nuisance of
+himself with the Big Fellows until they got sick of the sight of him."
+
+It was a pretty stiff arraignment. Toddles choked over it, and the angry
+blood flushed to his cheeks.
+
+"That's all right for you!" he spluttered out hotly. "You don't look too
+small for the train crews or the roundhouse, and they don't call you
+Toddles so's nobody'll forget it. What'd _you_ do?"
+
+"I'll tell you what I'd do," said Donkin quietly. "I'd make everybody
+on the division wish their own name was Toddles before I was through
+with them, and I'd _make_ a job for myself."
+
+Toddles blinked helplessly.
+
+"Getting right down to a cash fare," continued Donkin, after a moment,
+as Toddles did not speak, "they're not so far wrong, either, about you
+sizing up pretty small for the train crews or the roundhouse, are they?"
+
+"No-o," admitted Toddles reluctantly; "but----"
+
+"Then why not something where there's no handicap hanging over you?"
+suggested the dispatcher--and his hand reached out and touched the
+sender. "The key, for instance?"
+
+"But I don't know anything about it," said Toddles, still helplessly.
+
+"That's just it," returned Donkin smoothly. "You never tried to learn."
+
+Toddles' eyes widened, and into Toddles' heart leaped a sudden joy. A
+new world seemed to open out before him in which aspirations, ambitions,
+longings all were a reality. A key! That _was_ real railroading, the
+top-notch of railroading, too. First an operator, and then a dispatcher,
+and--and--and then his face fell, and the vision faded.
+
+"How'd I get a chance to learn?" he said miserably. "Who'd teach me?"
+
+The smile was back on Donkin's face as he pushed his chair from the
+table, stood up, and held out his hand--man-to-man fashion.
+
+"I will," he said. "I liked your grit last night, Hoogan. And if you
+want to be a railroad man, I'll make you one--before I'm through. I've
+some old instruments you can have to practice with, and I've nothing to
+do in my spare time. What do you say?"
+
+Toddles didn't say anything. For the first time since Toddles' advent to
+the Hill Division, there were tears in Toddles' eyes for some one else
+to see.
+
+Donkin laughed.
+
+"All right, old man, you're on. See that you don't throw me down. And
+keep your mouth shut; you'll need all your wind. It's work that counts,
+and nothing else. Now chase yourself! I'll dig up the things you'll
+need, and you can drop in here and get them when you come off your run
+to-night."
+
+Spare time! Bob Donkin didn't have any spare time those days! But that
+was Donkin's way. Spence sick, and two men handling the dispatching
+where three had handled it before, didn't leave Bob Donkin much spare
+time--not much. But a boost for the kid was worth a sacrifice. Donkin
+went at it as earnestly as Toddles did--and Toddles was in deadly
+earnest.
+
+When Toddles left the dispatcher's office that morning with Donkin's
+promise to teach him the key, Toddles had a hazy idea that Donkin had
+wings concealed somewhere under his coat and was an angel in disguise;
+and at the end of two weeks he was sure of it. But at the end of a month
+Bob Donkin was a god! Throw Bob Donkin down! Toddles would have sold
+his soul for the dispatcher.
+
+It wasn't easy, though; and Bob Donkin wasn't an easy-going taskmaster,
+not by long odds. Donkin had a tongue, and on occasions could use it.
+Short and quick in his explanations, he expected his pupil to get it
+short and quick; either that, or Donkin's opinion of him. But Toddles
+stuck. He'd have crawled on his knees for Donkin anywhere, and he worked
+like a major--not only for his own advancement, but for what he came to
+prize quite as much, if not more, Donkin's approval.
+
+Toddles, mindful of Donkin's words, didn't fight so much as the days
+went by, though he found it difficult to swear off all at once; and on
+his runs he studied his Morse code, and he had the "calls" of every
+station on the division off by heart right from the start. Toddles
+mastered the "sending" by leaps and bounds; but the "taking" came
+slower, as it does for everybody--but even at that, at the end of six
+weeks, if it wasn't thrown at him too fast and hard, Toddles could get
+it after a fashion.
+
+Take it all around, Toddles felt like whistling most of the time; and,
+pleased with his own progress, looked forward to starting in presently
+as a full-fledged operator.
+
+He mentioned the matter to Bob Donkin--once. Donkin picked his words and
+spoke fervently. Toddles never brought the subject up again.
+
+And so things went on. Late summer turned to early fall, and early fall
+to still sharper weather, until there came the night that the operator
+at Blind River muddled his orders and gave No. 73, the westbound fast
+freight, her clearance against the second section of the eastbound
+Limited that doomed them to meet somewhere head-on in the Glacier Cañon;
+the night that Toddles--but there's just a word or two that comes
+before.
+
+When it was all over, it was up to Sam Beale, the Blind River operator,
+straight enough. Beale blundered. That's all there was to it; that
+covers it all--he blundered. It would have finished Beale's railroad
+career forever and a day--only Beale played the man, and the instant he
+realized what he had done, even while the tail lights of the freight
+were disappearing down the track and he couldn't stop her, he was
+stammering the tale of his mistake over the wire, the sweat beads
+dripping from his wrist, his face gray with horror, to Bob Donkin under
+the green-shaded lamp in the dispatchers' room at Big Cloud, miles away.
+
+Donkin got the miserable story over the chattering wire--got it before
+it was half told--cut Beale out and began to pound the Gap call. And as
+though it were before him in reality, that stretch of track, fifteen
+miles of it, from Blind River to the Gap, unfolded itself like a grisly
+panorama before his mind. There wasn't a half mile of tangent at a
+single stretch in the whole of it. It swung like the writhings of a
+snake, through cuts and tunnels, hugging the cañon walls, twisting this
+way and that. Anywhere else there might be a chance, one in a thousand
+even, that they would see each other's headlights in time--here it was
+disaster quick and absolute.
+
+Donkin's lips were set in a thin, straight line. The Gap answered him;
+and the answer was like the knell of doom. He had not expected anything
+else; he had only hoped against hope. The second section of the Limited
+had pulled out of the Gap, eastbound, two minutes before. The two trains
+were in the open against each other's orders.
+
+In the next room, Carleton and Regan, over their pipes, were at their
+nightly game of pedro. Donkin called them--and his voice sounded strange
+to himself. Chairs scraped and crashed to the floor, and an instant
+later the super and the master mechanic were in the room.
+
+"What's wrong, Bob?" Carleton flung the words from him in a single
+breath.
+
+Donkin told them. But his fingers were on the key again as he talked.
+There was still one chance, worse than the thousand-to-one shot; but it
+was the only one. Between the Gap and Blind River, eight miles from the
+Gap, seven miles from Blind River, was Cassil's Siding. But there was no
+night man at Cassil's, and the little town lay a mile from the station.
+It was ten o'clock--Donkin's watch lay face up on the table before
+him--the day man at Cassil's went off at seven--the chance was that the
+day man _might_ have come back to the station for something or other!
+
+Not much of a chance? No--not much! It was a possibility, that was all;
+and Donkin's fingers worked--the seventeen, the life and death--calling,
+calling on the night trick to the day man at Cassil's Siding.
+
+Carleton came and stood at Donkin's elbow, and Regan stood at the other;
+and there was silence now, save only for the key that, under Donkin's
+fingers, seemed to echo its stammering appeal about the room like the
+sobbing of a human soul.
+
+"CS--CS--CS," Donkin called; and then, "the seventeen," and then, "hold
+second Number Two." And then the same thing over and over again.
+
+And there was no answer.
+
+It had turned cold that night and there was a fire in the little heater.
+Donkin had opened the draft a little while before, and the sheet-iron
+sides now began to purr red-hot. Nobody noticed it. Regan's kindly,
+good-humored face had the stamp of horror in it, and he pulled at his
+scraggly brown mustache, his eyes seemingly fascinated by Donkin's
+fingers. Everybody's eyes, the three of them, were on Donkin's fingers
+and the key. Carleton was like a man of stone, motionless, his face set
+harder than face was ever carved in marble.
+
+It grew hot in the room; but Donkin's fingers were like ice on the key,
+and, strong man though he was, he faltered.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he whispered--and never a prayer rose more fervently from
+lips than those three broken words.
+
+Again he called, and again, and again. The minutes slipped away. Still
+he called--with the life and death--the "seventeen"--called and called.
+And there was no answer save that echo in the room that brought the
+perspiration streaming down from Regan's face, a harder light into
+Carleton's eyes and a chill like death into Donkin's heart.
+
+Suddenly Donkin pushed back his chair; and his fingers, from the key,
+touched the crystal of his watch.
+
+"The second section will have passed Cassil's now," he said in a
+curious, unnatural, matter-of-fact tone. "It'll bring them together
+about a mile east of there--in another minute."
+
+And then Carleton spoke--master railroader, "Royal" Carleton, it was up
+to him then, all the pity of it, the ruin, the disaster, the lives out,
+all the bitterness to cope with as he could. And it was in his eyes, all
+of it. But his voice was quiet. It rang quick, peremptory, his
+voice--but quiet.
+
+"Clear the line, Bob," he said. "Plug in the round-house for the
+wrecker--and tell them to send uptown for the crew."
+
+Toddles? What did Toddles have to do with this? Well, a good deal, in
+one way and another. We're coming to Toddles now. You see, Toddles,
+since his fracas with Hawkeye, had been put on the Elk River local run
+that left Big Cloud at 9.45 in the morning for the run west, and
+scheduled Big Cloud again on the return trip at 10.10 in the evening.
+
+It had turned cold that night, after a day of rain. Pretty cold--the
+thermometer can drop on occasions in the late fall in the mountains--and
+by eight o'clock, where there had been rain before, there was now a thin
+sheeting of ice over everything--very thin--you know the kind--rails and
+telegraph wires glistening like the decorations on a Christmas
+tree--very pretty--and also very nasty running on a mountain grade.
+Likewise, the rain, in a way rain has, had dripped from the car roofs to
+the platforms--the local did not boast any closed vestibules--and had
+also been blown upon the car steps with the sweep of the wind, and,
+having frozen, it stayed there. Not a very serious matter; annoying,
+perhaps, but not serious, demanding a little extra caution, that was
+all.
+
+Toddles was in high fettle that night. He had been getting on famously
+of late; even Bob Donkin had admitted it. Toddles, with his stack of
+books and magazines, an unusually big one, for a number of the new
+periodicals were out that day, was dreaming rosy dreams to himself as he
+started from the door of the first-class smoker to the door of the
+first-class coach. In another hour now he'd be up in the dispatcher's
+room at Big Cloud for his nightly sitting with Bob Donkin. He could see
+Bob Donkin there now; and he could hear the big dispatcher growl at him
+in his bluff way: "Use your head--use your head--_Hoogan!_" It was
+always "Hoogan," never "Toddles." "Use your head"--Donkin was
+everlastingly drumming that into him; for the dispatcher used to
+confront him suddenly with imaginary and hair-raising emergencies, and
+demand Toddles' instant solution. Toddles realized that Donkin was
+getting to the heart of things, and that some day he, Toddles, would be
+a great dispatcher--like Donkin. "Use your head, Hoogan"--that's the way
+Donkin talked--"anybody can learn a key, but that doesn't make a
+railroad man think quick and think _right_. Use your----"
+
+Toddles stepped out on the platform--and walked on ice. But that wasn't
+Toddles' undoing. The trouble with Toddles was that he was walking on
+air at the same time. It was treacherous running, they were nosing a
+curve, and in the cab, Kinneard, at the throttle, checked with a little
+jerk at the "air." And with the jerk, Toddles slipped; and with the
+slip, the center of gravity of the stack of periodicals shifted, and
+they bulged ominously from the middle. Toddles grabbed at them--and his
+heels went out from under him. He ricocheted down the steps, snatched
+desperately at the handrail, missed it, shot out from the train, and,
+head, heels, arms and body going every which way at once, rolled over
+and over down the embankment. And, starting from the point of Toddles'
+departure from the train, the right of way for a hundred yards was
+strewn with "the latest magazines" and "new books just out to-day."
+
+Toddles lay there, a little, curled, huddled heap, motionless in the
+darkness. The tail lights of the local disappeared. No one aboard would
+miss Toddles until they got into Big Cloud--and found him gone. Which is
+Irish for saying that no one would attempt to keep track of a newsboy's
+idiosyncrasies on a train; it would be asking too much of any train
+crew; and, besides, there was no mention of it in the rules.
+
+It was a long while before Toddles stirred; a very long while before
+consciousness crept slowly back to him. Then he moved, tried to get
+up--and fell back with a quick, sharp cry of pain. He lay still, then,
+for a moment. His ankle hurt him frightfully, and his back, and his
+shoulder, too. He put his hand to his face where something seemed to be
+trickling warm--and brought it away wet. Toddles, grim little warrior,
+tried to think. They hadn't been going very fast when he fell off. If
+they had, he would have been killed. As it was, he was hurt, badly hurt,
+and his head swam, nauseating him.
+
+Where was he? Was he near any help? He'd have to get help somewhere,
+or--or with the cold and--and everything he'd probably die out here
+before morning. Toddles shouted out--again and again. Perhaps his voice
+was too weak to carry very far; anyway, there was no reply.
+
+He looked up at the top of the embankment, clamped his teeth, and
+started to crawl. If he got up there, perhaps he could tell where he
+was. It had taken Toddles a matter of seconds to roll down; it took him
+ten minutes of untold agony to get up. Then he dashed his hand across
+his eyes where the blood was, and cried a little with the surge of
+relief. East, down the track, only a few yards away, the green eye of a
+switch lamp winked at him.
+
+Where there was a switch lamp there was a siding, and where there was a
+siding there was promise of a station. Toddles, with the sudden uplift
+upon him, got to his feet and started along the track--two steps--and
+went down again. He couldn't walk, the pain was more than he could
+bear--his right ankle, his left shoulder, and his back--hopping only
+made it worse--it was easier to crawl.
+
+And so Toddles crawled.
+
+It took him a long time even to pass the switch light. The pain made him
+weak, his senses seemed to trail off giddily every now and then, and
+he'd find himself lying flat and still beside the track. It was a white,
+drawn face that Toddles lifted up each time he started on
+again--miserably white, except where the blood kept trickling from his
+forehead.
+
+And then Toddles' heart, stout as it was, seemed to snap. He had reached
+the station platform, wondering vaguely why the little building that
+loomed ahead was dark--and now it came to him in a flash, as he
+recognized the station. It was Cassil's Siding--_and there was no night
+man at Cassil's Siding!_ The switch lights were lighted before the day
+man left, of course. Everything swam before Toddles' eyes. There--there
+was no help here. And yet--yet perhaps--desperate hope came
+again--perhaps there might be. The pain was terrible--all over him.
+And--and he'd got so weak now--but it wasn't far to the door.
+
+Toddles squirmed along the platform, and reached the door finally--only
+to find it shut and fastened. And then Toddles fainted on the threshold.
+
+When Toddles came to himself again, he thought at first that he was up
+in the dispatcher's room at Big Cloud with Bob Donkin pounding away on
+the battered old key they used to practice with--only there seemed to be
+something the matter with the key, and it didn't sound as loud as it
+usually did--it seemed to come from a long way off somehow. And then,
+besides, Bob was working it faster than he had ever done before when
+they were practicing. "Hold second"--second something--Toddles couldn't
+make it out. Then the "seventeen"--yes, he knew that--that was the life
+and death. Bob was going pretty quick, though. Then "CS--CS--CS"--Toddles'
+brain fumbled a bit over that--then it came to him. CS was the call for
+Cassil's Siding. _Cassil's Siding!_ Toddles' head came up with a jerk.
+
+A little cry burst from Toddles' lips--and his brain cleared. He wasn't
+at Big Cloud at all--he was at Cassil's Siding--and he was hurt--and
+that was the sounder inside calling, calling frantically for Cassil's
+Siding--where he was.
+
+The life and death--_the seventeen_--it sent a thrill through Toddles'
+pain-twisted spine. He wriggled to the window. It, too, was closed, of
+course, but he could hear better there. The sounder was babbling madly.
+
+"Hold second----"
+
+He missed it again--and as, on top of it, the "seventeen" came pleading,
+frantic, urgent, he wrung his hands.
+
+"Hold second"--he got it this time--"Number Two."
+
+Toddles' first impulse was to smash in the window and reach the key. And
+then, like a dash of cold water over him, Donkin's words seemed to ring
+in his ears: "Use your head."
+
+With the "seventeen" it meant a matter of minutes, perhaps even seconds.
+Why smash the window? Why waste the moment required to do it simply to
+answer the call? The order stood for itself--"Hold second Number Two."
+That was the second section of the Limited, east-bound. Hold her! How?
+There was nothing--not a thing to stop her with. "Use your head," said
+Donkin in a far-away voice to Toddles' wobbling brain.
+
+Toddles looked up the track--west--where he had come from--to where the
+switch light twinkled green at him--and, with a little sob, he started
+to drag himself back along the platform. If he could throw the switch,
+it would throw the light from green to red, and--and the Limited would
+take the siding. But the switch was a long way off.
+
+Toddles half fell, half bumped from the end of the platform to the right
+of way. He cried to himself with low moans as he went along. He had the
+heart of a fighter, and grit to the last tissue; but he needed it all
+now--needed it all to stand the pain and fight the weakness that kept
+swirling over him in flashes.
+
+On he went, on his hands and knees, slithering from tie to tie--and from
+one tie to the next was a great distance. The life and death, the
+dispatcher's call--he seemed to hear it yet--throbbing, throbbing on the
+wire.
+
+On he went, up the track; and the green eye of the lamp, winking at him,
+drew nearer. And then suddenly, clear and mellow through the mountains,
+caught up and echoed far and near, came the notes of a chime whistle
+ringing down the gorge.
+
+Fear came upon Toddles then, and a great sob shook him. That was the
+Limited coming now! Toddles' fingers dug into the ballast, and he
+hurried--that is, in bitter pain, he tried to crawl a little faster. And
+as he crawled, he kept his eyes strained up the track--she wasn't in
+sight yet around the curve--not yet, anyway.
+
+Another foot, only another foot, and he would reach the siding
+switch--in time--in plenty of time. Again the sob--but now in a burst of
+relief that, for the moment, made him forget his hurts. He was in time!
+
+He flung himself at the switch lever, tugged upon it and then,
+trembling, every ounce of remaining strength seeming to ooze from him,
+he covered his face with his hands. It was _locked_--padlocked.
+
+Came a rumble now--a distant roar, growing louder and louder,
+reverberating down the cañon walls--louder and louder--nearer and
+nearer. "Hold second Number Two. Hold second Number Two"--the
+"seventeen," the life and death, pleading with him to hold Number Two.
+And she was coming now, coming--and--and--the switch was locked. The
+deadly nausea racked Toddles again; there was nothing to do
+now--nothing. He couldn't stop her--couldn't stop her. He'd--he'd
+tried--very hard--and--and he couldn't stop her now. He took his hands
+from his face, and stole a glance up the track, afraid almost, with the
+horror that was upon him, to look.
+
+She hadn't swung the curve yet, but she would in a minute--and come
+pounding down the stretch at fifty miles an hour, shoot by him like a
+rocket to where, somewhere ahead, in some form, he did not know what,
+only knew that it was there, death and ruin and----
+
+"_Use your head!_" snapped Donkin's voice to his consciousness.
+
+Toddles' eyes were on the light above his head. It blinked _red_ at him
+as he stood on the track facing it; the green rays were shooting up and
+down the line. He couldn't swing the switch--but the _lamp_ was
+there--and there was the red side to show just by turning it. He
+remembered then that the lamp fitted into a socket at the top of the
+switch stand, and could be lifted off--if he could reach it!
+
+It wasn't very high--for an ordinary-sized man--for an ordinary-sized
+man had to get at it to trim and fill it daily--only Toddles wasn't an
+ordinary-sized man. It was just nine or ten feet above the rails--just a
+standard siding switch.
+
+Toddles gritted his teeth, and climbed upon the base of the switch--and
+nearly fainted as his ankle swung against the rod. A foot above the base
+was a footrest for a man to stand on and reach up for the lamp, and
+Toddles drew himself up and got his foot on it--and then at his full
+height the tips of his fingers only just touched the bottom of the lamp.
+Toddles cried aloud, and the tears streamed down his face now. Oh, if he
+weren't hurt--if he could only shin up another foot--but--but it was all
+he could do to hang there where he was.
+
+_What was that!_ He turned his head. Up the track, sweeping in a great
+circle as it swung the curve, a headlight's glare cut through the
+night--and Toddles "shinned" the foot. He tugged and tore at the lamp,
+tugged and tore at it, loosened it, lifted it from its socket, sprawled
+and wriggled with it to the ground--and turned the red side of the lamp
+against second Number Two.
+
+The quick, short blasts of a whistle answered, then the crunch and grind
+and scream of biting brake-shoes--and the big mountain racer, the 1012,
+pulling the second section of the Limited that night, stopped with its
+pilot nosing a diminutive figure in a torn and silver-buttoned uniform,
+whose hair was clotted red, and whose face was covered with blood and
+dirt.
+
+Masters, the engineer, and Pete Leroy, his fireman, swung from the
+gangways; Kelly, the conductor, came running up from the forward coach.
+
+Kelly shoved his lamp into Toddles' face--and whistled low under his
+breath.
+
+"Toddles!" he gasped; and then, quick as a steel trap: "What's wrong?"
+
+"I don't know," said Toddles weakly. "There's--there's something wrong.
+Get into the clear--on the siding."
+
+"Something wrong," repeated Kelly, "and you don't----"
+
+But Masters cut the conductor short with a grab at the other's arm that
+was like the shutting of a vise--and then bolted for his engine like a
+gopher for its hole. From down the track came the heavy, grumbling roar
+of a freight. Everybody flew then, and there was quick work done in the
+next half minute--and none too quickly done--the Limited was no more
+than on the siding when the fast freight rolled her long string of
+flats, boxes and gondolas thundering by.
+
+And while she passed, Toddles, on the platform, stammered out his story
+to Kelly.
+
+Kelly didn't say anything--then. With the express messenger and a
+brakeman carrying Toddles, Kelly kicked in the station door, and set his
+lamp down on the operator's table.
+
+"Hold me up," whispered Toddles--and, while they held him, he made the
+dispatcher's call.
+
+Big Cloud answered him on the instant. Haltingly, Toddles reported the
+second section "in" and the freight "out"--only he did it very slowly,
+and he couldn't think very much more, for things were going black. He
+got an order for the Limited to run to Blind River and told Kelly, and
+got the "complete"--and then Big Cloud asked who was on the wire, and
+Toddles answered that in a mechanical sort of a way without quite
+knowing what he was doing--and went limp in Kelly's arms.
+
+And as Toddles answered, back in Big Cloud, Regan, the sweat still
+standing out in great beads on his forehead, fierce now in the revulsion
+of relief, glared over Donkin's left shoulder, as Donkin's left hand
+scribbled on a pad what was coming over the wire.
+
+Regan glared fiercely--then he spluttered:
+
+"Who's Christopher Hyslop Hoogan--h'm?"
+
+Donkin's lips had a queer smile on them.
+
+"Toddles," he said.
+
+Regan sat down heavily in his chair.
+
+"_What?_" demanded the super.
+
+"Toddles," said Donkin. "I've been trying to drum a little railroading
+into him--on the key."
+
+Regan wiped his face. He looked helplessly from Donkin to the super, and
+then back again at Donkin.
+
+"But--but what's he doing at Cassil's Siding? How'd he get there--h'm?
+H'm? How'd he get there?"
+
+"I don't know," said Donkin, his fingers rattling the Cassil's Siding
+call again. "He doesn't answer any more. We'll have to wait for the
+story till they make Blind River, I guess."
+
+And so they waited. And presently at Blind River, Kelly, dictating to
+the operator--not Beale, Beale's day man--told the story. It lost
+nothing in the telling--Kelly wasn't that kind of man--he told them what
+Toddles had done, and he left nothing out; and he added that they had
+Toddles on a mattress in the baggage car, with a doctor they had
+discovered amongst the passengers looking after him.
+
+At the end, Carleton tamped down the dottle in the bowl of his pipe
+thoughtfully with his forefinger--and glanced at Donkin.
+
+"Got along far enough to take a station key somewhere?" he inquired
+casually. "He's made a pretty good job of it as the night operator at
+Cassil's."
+
+Donkin was smiling.
+
+"Not yet," he said.
+
+"No?" Carleton's eyebrows went up. "Well, let him come in here with you,
+then, till he has; and when you say he's ready, we'll see what we can
+do. I guess it's coming to him; and I guess"--he shifted his glance to
+the master mechanic--"I guess we'll go down and meet Number Two when she
+comes in, Tommy."
+
+Regan grinned.
+
+"With our hats in our hands," said the big-hearted master mechanic.
+
+Donkin shook his head.
+
+"Don't you do it," he said. "I don't want him to get a swelled head."
+
+Carleton stared; and Regan's hand, reaching into his back pocket for his
+chewing, stopped midway.
+
+Donkin was still smiling.
+
+"I'm going to make a railroad man out of Toddles," he said.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[10] One of a number of stories from book bearing same title, _The Night
+Operator_. Copyright, 1919, by George H. Doran Company. Reprinted by
+special permission of publisher and author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XI.--Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp[11]
+
+_By Ralph Connor_
+
+
+IT was due to a mysterious dispensation of Providence and a good deal to
+Leslie Graeme that I found myself in the heart of the Selkirks for my
+Christmas eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had been my plan to spend
+my Christmas far away in Toronto, with such bohemian and boon companions
+as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly city. But Leslie
+Graeme changed all that, for, discovering me in the village of Black
+Rock, with my traps all packed, waiting for the stage to start for the
+Landing, thirty miles away, he bore down upon me with resistless force,
+and I found myself recovering from my surprise only after we had gone in
+his lumber sleigh some six miles on our way to his camp up in the
+mountains. I was surprised and much delighted, though I would not allow
+him to think so, to find that his old-time power over me was still
+there. He could always in the old varsity days--dear, wild days--make
+me do what he liked. He was so handsome and so reckless, brilliant in
+his class work, and the prince of half backs on the Rugby field, and
+with such power of fascination as would "extract the heart out of a
+wheelbarrow," as Barney Lundy used to say. And thus it was that I found
+myself just three weeks later--I was to have spent two or three days--on
+the afternoon of December 24, standing in Graeme's Lumber Camp No. 2,
+wondering at myself. But I did not regret my changed plans, for in those
+three weeks I had raided a cinnamon bear's den and had wakened up a
+grizzly---- But I shall let the grizzly finish the tale; he probably
+sees more humor in it than I.
+
+The camp stood in a little clearing, and consisted of a group of three
+long, low shanties with smaller shacks near them, all built of heavy,
+unhewn logs, with door and window in each. The grub camp, with cook-shed
+attached, stood in the middle of the clearing; at a little distance was
+the sleeping camp with the office built against it, and about a hundred
+yards away on the other side of the clearing stood the stables, and near
+them the smiddy. The mountains rose grandly on every side, throwing up
+their great peaks into the sky. The clearing in which the camp stood was
+hewn out of a dense pine forest that filled the valley and climbed
+halfway up the mountain sides and then frayed out in scattered and
+stunted trees.
+
+It was one of those wonderful Canadian winter days, bright, and with a
+touch of sharpness in the air that did not chill, but warmed the blood
+like drafts of wine. The men were up in the woods, and the shrill scream
+of the bluejay flashing across the open, the impudent chatter of the red
+squirrel from the top of the grub camp, and the pert chirp of the
+whisky-jack, hopping about on the rubbish-heap, with the long, lone cry
+of the wolf far down the valley, only made the silence felt the more.
+
+As I stood drinking in with all my soul the glorious beauty and the
+silence of mountain and forest, with the Christmas feeling stealing into
+me, Graeme came out from his office, and catching sight of me, called
+out, "Glorious Christmas weather, old chap!" And then, coming nearer,
+"Must you go to-morrow?"
+
+"I fear so," I replied, knowing well that the Christmas feeling was on
+him, too.
+
+"I wish I were going with you," he said quietly.
+
+I turned eagerly to persuade him, but at the look of suffering in his
+face the words died at my lips, for we both were thinking of the awful
+night of horror when all his bright, brilliant life crashed down about
+him in black ruin and shame. I could only throw my arm over his shoulder
+and stand silent beside him. A sudden jingle of bells roused him, and,
+giving himself a little shake, he exclaimed, "There are the boys coming
+home."
+
+Soon the camp was filled with men talking, laughing, chaffing like
+light-hearted boys.
+
+"They are a little wild to-night," said Graeme, "and to-morrow they'll
+paint Black Rock red."
+
+Before many minutes had gone the last teamster was "washed up," and all
+were standing about waiting impatiently for the cook's signal--the
+supper to-night was to be "something of a feed"--when the sound of bells
+drew their attention to a light sleigh drawn by a buckskin broncho
+coming down the hillside at a great pace.
+
+"The preacher, I'll bet, by his driving," said one of the men.
+
+"Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey!" said Blaney, a
+good-natured, jovial Irishman.
+
+"Yes, or for pay-day, more like," said Keefe, a black-browed, villainous
+fellow countryman of Blaney's and, strange to say, his great friend.
+
+Big Sandy McNaughton, a Canadian Highlander from Glengarry, rose up in
+wrath.
+
+"Bill Keefe," said he with deliberate emphasis, "you'll just keep your
+dirty tongue off the minister; and as for your pay, it's little he sees
+of it, or any one else except Mike Slavin, when you's too dry to wait
+for some one to treat you, or perhaps Father Ryan, when the fear of
+hell-fire is on you."
+
+The men stood amazed at Sandy's sudden anger and length of speech.
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's good for you, my bully boy," said Baptiste, a wiry little
+French-Canadian, Sandy's sworn ally and devoted admirer ever since the
+day when the big Scotchman, under great provocation, had knocked him
+clean off the dump into the river and then jumped in for him.
+
+It was not till afterward I learned the cause of Sandy's sudden wrath
+which urged him to such unwonted length of speech. It was not simply
+that the Presbyterian blood carried with it reverence for the minister,
+but that he had a vivid remembrance of how, only a month ago, the
+minister had got him out of Mike Slavin's saloon and out of the clutches
+of Keefe and Slavin and their gang of bloodsuckers.
+
+Keefe started up with a curse. Baptiste sprang to Sandy's side, slapped
+him on the back, and called out:
+
+"You keel him, I'll hit [eat] him up, me."
+
+It looked as if there might be a fight, when a harsh voice said in a
+low, savage tone:
+
+"Stop your row, you fools; settle it, if you want to, somewhere else."
+
+I turned, and was amazed to see old man Nelson, who was very seldom
+moved to speech.
+
+There was a look of scorn on his hard iron-gray face, and of such
+settled fierceness as made me quite believe the tales I had heard of his
+deadly fights in the mines at the coast. Before any reply could be made
+the minister drove up and called out in a cheery voice:
+
+"Merry Christmas, boys! Hello, Sandy! _Comment ça va_, Baptiste? How do
+you do, Mr. Graeme?"
+
+"First rate. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Connor, sometime medical
+student, now artist, hunter, and tramp at large, but not a bad sort."
+
+"A man to be envied," said the minister, smiling. "I am glad to know any
+friend of Mr. Graeme's."
+
+I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good eyes that looked straight
+out at you, a clean-cut, strong face well set on his shoulders, and
+altogether an upstanding, manly bearing. He insisted on going with Sandy
+to the stables to see Dandy, his broncho, put up.
+
+"Decent fellow," said Graeme; "but though he is good enough to his
+broncho, it is Sandy that's in his mind now."
+
+"Does he come out often? I mean, are you part of his parish, so to
+speak?"
+
+"I have no doubt he thinks so; and I'm blowed if he doesn't make the
+Presbyterians of us think so too." And he added after a pause: "A dandy
+lot of parishioners we are for any man. There's Sandy, now, he would
+knock Keefe's head off as a kind of religious exercise; but to-morrow
+Keefe will be sober and Sandy will be drunk as a lord, and the drunker
+he is the better Presbyterian he'll be, to the preacher's disgust." Then
+after another pause he added bitterly: "But it is not for me to throw
+rocks at Sandy. I am not the same kind of fool, but I am a fool of
+several other sorts."
+
+Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the bottom of a dishpan.
+Baptiste answered with a yell. But though keenly hungry, no man would
+demean himself to do other than walk with apparent reluctance to his
+place at the table. At the further end of the camp was a big fireplace,
+and from the door of the fireplace extended the long board tables,
+covered with platters of turkey not too scientifically carved, dishes of
+potatoes, bowls of apple sauce, plates of butter, pies, and smaller
+dishes distributed at regular intervals. Two lanterns hanging from the
+roof and a row of candles stuck into the wall on either side by means of
+slit sticks cast a dim, weird light over the scene.
+
+There was a moment's silence, and at a nod from Graeme Mr. Craig rose
+and said:
+
+"I don't know how you feel about it, men, but to me this looks good
+enough to be thankful for."
+
+"Fire ahead, sir," called out a voice quite respectfully, and the
+minister bent his head and said:
+
+"For Christ the Lord who came to save us, for all the love and goodness
+we have known, and for these Thy gifts to us this Christmas night, our
+Father, make us thankful. Amen."
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's fuss rate," said Baptiste. "Seems lak dat's make me hit
+[eat] more better for sure." And then no word was spoken for a quarter
+of an hour. The occasion was far too solemn and moments too precious for
+anything so empty as words. But when the white piles of bread and the
+brown piles of turkey had for a second time vanished, and after the last
+pie had disappeared, there came a pause and a hush of expectancy,
+whereupon the cook and cookee, each bearing aloft a huge, blazing
+pudding, came forth.
+
+"Hooray!" yelled Blaney; "up wid yez!" and grabbing the cook by the
+shoulders from behind, he faced him about.
+
+Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the cookee in the same
+way, called out: "Squad, fall in! quick march!" In a moment every man
+was in the procession.
+
+"Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel!" shouted Blaney, the appellation
+a concession to the minister's presence; and away went Baptiste in a
+rollicking French song with the English chorus--
+
+          Then blow, ye winds, in the morning,
+            Blow, ye winds, ay oh!
+          Blow, ye winds, in the morning,
+            Blow, blow, blow.
+
+And at each "blow" every boot came down with a thump on the plank floor
+that shook the solid roof. After the second round Mr. Craig jumped upon
+the bench and called out:
+
+"Three cheers for Billy the cook!"
+
+In the silence following the cheers Baptiste was heard to say:
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's mak me feel lak hit dat puddin' all hup meself, me."
+
+"Hear till the little baste!" said Blaney in disgust.
+
+"Batchees," remonstrated Sandy gravely, "ye've more stomach than
+manners."
+
+"Fu sure! but de more stomach, dat's more better for dis puddin',"
+replied the little Frenchman cheerfully.
+
+After a time the tables were cleared and pushed back to the wall and
+pipes were produced. In all attitudes suggestive of comfort the men
+disposed themselves in a wide circle about the fire, which now roared
+and crackled up the great wooden chimney hanging from the roof. The
+lumberman's hour of bliss had arrived. Even old man Nelson looked a
+shade less melancholy than usual as he sat alone, well away from the
+fire, smoking steadily and silently. When the second pipes were well
+a-going one of the men took down a violin from the wall and handed it to
+Lachlan Campbell. There were two brothers Campbell just out from Argyll,
+typical Highlanders: Lachlan, dark, silent, melancholy, with the face of
+a mystic, and Angus, red-haired, quick, impulsive, and devoted to his
+brother, a devotion he thought proper to cover under biting, sarcastic
+speech.
+
+Lachlan, after much protestation, interposed with gibes from his
+brother, took the violin, and in response to the call from all sides
+struck up "Lord Macdonald's Reel."
+
+In a moment the floor was filled with dancers, whooping and cracking
+their fingers in the wildest manner. Then Baptiste did the "Red River
+Jig," a most intricate and difficult series of steps, the men keeping
+time to the music with hands and feet.
+
+When the jig was finished Sandy called for "Lochaber No More," but
+Campbell said:
+
+"No! no! I cannot play that to-night. Mr. Craig will play."
+
+Craig took the violin, and at the first note I knew he was no ordinary
+player. I did not recognize the music, but it was soft and thrilling,
+and got in by the heart till every one was thinking his tenderest and
+saddest thoughts.
+
+After he had played two or three exquisite bits he gave Campbell his
+violin, saying, "Now, 'Lochaber,' Lachlan."
+
+Without a word Lachlan began, not "Lochaber"--he was not ready for that
+yet--but "The Flowers o' the Forest," and from that wandered through
+"Auld Robin Gray" and "The Land o' the Leal," and so got at last to that
+most soul-subduing of Scottish laments, "Lochaber No More." At the first
+strain his brother, who had thrown himself on some blankets behind the
+fire, turned over on his face feigning sleep. Sandy McNaughton took his
+pipe out of his mouth and sat up straight and stiff, staring into
+vacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, drew a short, sharp breath. We had
+often sat, Graeme and I, in our student days, in the drawing-room at
+home, listening to his father wailing out "Lochaber" upon the pipes, and
+I well knew that the awful minor strains were now eating their way into
+his soul.
+
+Over and over again the Highlander played his lament. He had long since
+forgotten us, and was seeing visions of the hills and lochs and glens of
+his far-away native land, and making us, too, see strange things out of
+the dim past. I glanced at old man Nelson, and was startled at the
+eager, almost piteous look in his eyes, and I wished Campbell would
+stop. Mr. Craig caught my eye, and stepping over to Campbell held out
+his hand for the violin. Lingeringly and lovingly the Highlander drew
+out the last strain and silently gave the minister his instrument.
+
+Without a moment's pause, and while the spell of "Lochaber" was still
+upon us, the minister, with exquisite skill, fell into the refrain of
+that simple and beautiful camp-meeting hymn, "The Sweet By-and-By."
+After playing the verse through once he sang softly the refrain. After
+the first verse the men joined in the chorus; at first timidly, but by
+the time the third verse was reached they were shouting with throats
+full open, "We shall meet on that beautiful shore." When I looked at
+Nelson the eager light had gone out of his eyes, and in its place was a
+kind of determined hopelessness, as if in this new music he had no part.
+
+After the voices had ceased Mr. Craig played again the refrain, more and
+more softly and slowly; then laying the violin on Campbell's knees, he
+drew from his pocket his little Bible and said:
+
+"Men, with Mr. Graeme's permission I want to read you something this
+Christmas eve. You will all have heard it before, but you will like it
+none the less for that."
+
+His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as he read the eternal
+story of the angels and the shepherds and the Babe. And as he read, a
+slight motion of the hand or a glance of an eye made us see, as he was
+seeing, that whole radiant drama. The wonder, the timid joy, the
+tenderness, the mystery of it all, were borne in upon us with
+overpowering effect. He closed the book, and in the same low, clear
+voice went on to tell us how, in his home years ago, he used to stand on
+Christmas eve listening in thrilling delight to his mother telling him
+the story, and how she used to make him see the shepherds and hear the
+sheep bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory used to make
+his heart jump.
+
+"I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because a boy told me they
+were ghosts; but my mother told me better, and I didn't fear them any
+more. And the Baby, the dear little Baby--we all love a baby." There was
+a quick, dry sob; it was from Nelson. "I used to peek through under to
+see the little one in the straw, and wonder what things swaddling
+clothes were. Oh, it was so real and so beautiful!" He paused, and I
+could hear the men breathing.
+
+"But one Christmas eve," he went on in a lower, sweeter tone, "there was
+no one to tell me the story, and I grew to forget it and went away to
+college, and learned to think that it was only a child's tale and was
+not for men. Then bad days came to me and worse, and I began to lose my
+grip of myself, of life, of hope, of goodness, till one black Christmas,
+in the slums of a far-away city, when I had given up all and the devil's
+arms were about me, I heard the story again. And as I listened, with a
+bitter ache in my heart--for I had put it all behind me--I suddenly
+found myself peeking under the shepherds' arms with a child's wonder at
+the Baby in the straw. Then it came over me like great waves that His
+name was Jesus, because it was He that should save men from their sins.
+Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon my ears, and before I knew I had
+called out, 'Oh! can He save me?' It was in a little mission meeting on
+one of the side streets, and they seemed to be used to that sort of
+thing there, for no one was surprised; and a young fellow leaned across
+the aisle to me and said: 'Why, you just bet He can!' His surprise that
+I should doubt, his bright face and confident tone, gave me hope that
+perhaps it might be so. I held to that hope with all my soul,
+and"--stretching up his arms, and with a quick glow in his face and a
+little break in his voice--"He hasn't failed me yet; not once, not
+once!"
+
+He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal like making a fool of
+myself, for in those days I had not made up my mind about these things.
+Graeme, poor old chap, was gazing at him with a sad yearning in his dark
+eyes; big Sandy was sitting very stiff and staring harder than ever into
+the fire; Baptiste was trembling with excitement; Blaney was openly
+wiping the tears away, but the face that held my eyes was that of old
+man Nelson. It was white, fierce, hungry-looking, his sunken eyes
+burning, his lips parted as if to cry. The minister went on.
+
+"I didn't mean to tell you this, men; it all came over me with a rush;
+but it is true, every word, and not a word will I take back. And,
+what's more, I can tell you this: what He did for me He can do for any
+man, and it doesn't make any difference what's behind him, and"--leaning
+slightly forward, and with a little thrill of pathos vibrating in his
+voice--"oh, boys, why don't you give Him a chance at you? Without Him
+you'll never be the men you want to be, and you'll never get the better
+of that that's keeping some of you now from going back home. You know
+you'll never go back till you're the men you want to be." Then, lifting
+up his face and throwing back his head, he said, as if to himself,
+"Jesus! He shall save His people from their sins," and then, "Let us
+pray."
+
+Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands; Baptiste and Blaney
+dropped on their knees; Sandy, the Campbells, and some others stood up.
+Old man Nelson held his eye steadily on the minister.
+
+Only once before had I seen that look on a human face. A young fellow
+had broken through the ice on the river at home, and as the black water
+was dragging his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there came
+over his face that same look. I used to wake up for many a night after
+in a sweat of horror, seeing the white face with its parting lips and
+its piteous, dumb appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down.
+
+Nelson's face brought it all back; but during the prayer the face
+changed and seemed to settle into resolve of some sort, stern, almost
+gloomy, as of a man with his last chance before him.
+
+After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a Christmas dinner next
+day in Black Rock. "And because you are an independent lot, we'll charge
+you half a dollar for dinner and the evening show." Then leaving a
+bundle of magazines and illustrated papers on the table--a godsend to
+the men--he said good-by and went out.
+
+I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into the sleigh first and
+waited while he said good-by to Graeme, who had been hard hit by the
+whole service and seemed to want to say something. I heard Mr. Craig say
+cheerfully and confidently: "It's a true bill: try Him."
+
+Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while that interesting broncho was
+attempting with great success to balance himself on his hind legs, came
+to say good-by.
+
+"Come and see me first thing, Sandy."
+
+"Aye! I know; I'll see ye, Mr. Craig," said Sandy earnestly as Dandy
+dashed off at a full gallop across the clearing and over the bridge,
+steadying down when he reached the hill.
+
+"Steady, you idiot!"
+
+This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side spring into the deep
+snow, almost upsetting us. A man stepped out from the shadow. It was old
+man Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh and, ignoring my presence
+completely, said:
+
+"Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this? Will it work?"
+
+"Do you mean," said Craig, taking him up promptly, "can Jesus Christ
+save you from your sins and make a man of you?"
+
+The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on the other's face.
+
+"Well, here's His message to you: 'The Son of Man is come to seek and to
+save that which was lost.'"
+
+"To me? To me?" said the old man eagerly.
+
+"Listen; this, too, is His word: 'Him that cometh unto Me I will in no
+wise cast out.' That's for you, for here you are, coming."
+
+"You don't know me, Mr. Craig. I left my baby fifteen years ago
+because----"
+
+"Stop!" said the minister. "Don't tell me, at least not to-night;
+perhaps never. Tell Him who knows it all now and who never betrays a
+secret. Have it out with Him. Don't be afraid to trust Him."
+
+Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, and said in a husky
+voice:
+
+"If this is no good, it's hell for me."
+
+"If it is no good," replied Craig almost sternly, "it's hell for all of
+us."
+
+The old man straightened himself up, looked up at the stars, then back
+at Mr. Craig, then at me, and drawing a deep breath said:
+
+"I'll try Him." As he was turning away the minister touched him on the
+arm and said quietly:
+
+"Keep an eye on Sandy to-morrow."
+
+Nelson nodded and we went on; but before we took the next turn I looked
+back and saw what brought a lump into my throat. It was old man Nelson
+on his knees in the snow, with his hands spread upward to the stars,
+and I wondered if there was any One above the stars and nearer than the
+stars who could see. And then the trees hid him from my sight.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[11] From _Black Rock_. Reprinted by special permission of publisher,
+The Fleming H. Revell Company.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XII.--The Story That the Keg Told Me
+
+_By Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray_
+
+          _The author is "Adirondack Murray" because he,
+          more than any other man, rediscovered for the past
+          and present generation the wonderful Adirondack
+          Woods. We are grateful to Mr. Archibald Rutledge
+          for having shortened the story, and to Mr.
+          Murray's publishers, De Wolfe and Fiske Company,
+          for permission to print it in the abbreviated
+          form._--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+IT was near the close of a sultry day in midsummer, which I had spent in
+exploring a part of the shore line of the lake where I was camping, and
+wearied with the trip I had made, I was returning toward the camp.
+
+The lake was a very secluded sheet of water hidden away between the
+mountains, not marked on the map, whose very existence was unsuspected
+by me until I had a few days before accidentally stumbled upon it.
+Indeed, in all the world there is hardly another sheet of water so
+likely to escape the eye, not only of the tourist and the sportsman, but
+also of the hunter and the trapper. Day by day as I paddled over the
+lake or explored its shores the conviction grew upon me that the place
+had never before been visited by any human being. The more I examined
+and explored, the more this belief grew upon me. The thought was ever
+with me. But on this afternoon as I was paddling leisurely along, my
+paddle struck some curious object in the water. I reached down and
+lifted it into the boat. It was a Keg!
+
+Amazed, I sat looking at this proof that my lake was not so unknown as I
+had supposed it to be. Where had it come from? How did it get here? Who
+brought it, and for what purpose? These and similar questions I put to
+myself as I paddled onward toward my camp.
+
+After having built my camp fire I seated myself with my back against a
+pine; it was then that my gaze again fell on the Keg, which I had
+brought up from the boat and had set on the ground across the fire from
+me. I sat wondering where it had come from, and what had become of him
+who must once have handled it. . . . It may be that I was awake; it may
+be that I was asleep; but as I was thus looking steadily and curiously
+at the Keg, it seemed to change its appearance. It was no longer a Keg:
+it was a man! A queer little man he was, with strange little legs, and
+the funniest little body, and the tiniest little face! Then, standing
+bold upright, and looking at me with eyes that glistened like black
+beads, the miraculous Keg-Man opened his mouth and began to talk!
+
+"I desire to tell you my story," it said; "the story of the man who
+brought me here; why he did it, and what became of him; how he lived and
+died.
+
+"The earliest remembrance I have of myself is of the cooper's shop where
+I was made. Although I look worn now, I can recall the time when all my
+staves were smooth and clean, so that the oak-grain showed clearly from
+the top to the bottom of me, and my steel hoops were strong and bright.
+The cooper made me on his honor and took a deal of honest pride in
+putting me together, as every workman should in doing his work. I
+remember that when I was finished and the cooper had sanded me off and
+oiled me, he set me up on a bench and said to his apprentice boy:
+'There, that Keg will last till the Judgment Day, and well on toward
+night at that.' I wondered at that.
+
+"One day a few weeks later a man came into the shop and said, 'Have you
+a good strong keg for sale?'
+
+"He put the question in such a half-spiteful, half-suspicious way that I
+eyed him curiously. And a very peculiar man I saw. He was not more than
+forty years old, of good height and strongly built. He was a gentleman,
+evidently, although his face was darkly tanned and his clothes were old
+and threadbare. His mouth was small. His lips were thin, and had a look
+of being drawn tightly over his teeth. His chin was long, his jaws large
+and strong. His hair was thin and brown. But the remarkable feature of
+his face was his eyes. They were blue-gray in color, small, and deeply
+set under his arching eye-brows. How hard and steel-like they were, and
+restless as a rat's! And what an intense look of suspicion there was in
+them; a half-scared, defiant look, as if their owner felt every one to
+be his enemy. Ah, what eyes they were! I came to know them well
+afterward, and to know what the wild, strange light in them meant; but
+of that by and by.
+
+"'Have you a good strong keg for sale?' he shouted to my master, who
+turned round and looked squarely at the questioner.
+
+"'Yes, I have, Mr. Roberts. Do you want one?'
+
+"'Yes!' returned the other; 'but I want a strong one--_strong_, do you
+hear?'
+
+"'Here's a keg,' said my master, tapping me with his mallet, 'that I
+made with my own hands from the very best stuff. It will last as long as
+steel and white oak staves will last.'
+
+"The price was paid with a muttered protest and Roberts hoisted me under
+his arm and bore me from the shop.
+
+"As we hurried along, I noticed that my new master spoke to no one, and
+that people looked at him coldly or wonderingly. At last we came to a
+common-looking house set back from the road, with a very high fence
+built around it and a heavy padlock on the front gate. There were great
+strong wooden shutters at every window. My master entered the house and
+set me down on the floor, then went to the door and locked it, drawing
+two large iron bars across it. He went to every window to see if it was
+fastened.
+
+Carrying a candle in one hand and a great bludgeon in the other, he
+examined every room, every closet, the attic, and the cellar. After this
+he came back to me, set me on a table, started one of my hoops, and took
+out one of my heads. From a cupboard he got a large sheepskin, and with
+a pair of shears fitted me with a lining of it. I must say that he did
+it with cleverness, and he seemed well pleased with his work.
+
+"When he had done all this, he brought his bludgeon and laid it on the
+table beside me; also he laid there a large knife. Then he went to the
+chimney and brought the ash-pail, which was full of ashes; from the
+cupboard he brought an earthen jar; from under the bed he fetched a bag;
+from the cellar he returned with a sack, all damp and moldy. When he had
+all these side by side near the table, he sat down. Then out of the
+ash-pail he took a small pot, and having carefully blown the ashes off,
+he turned it bottom-upward on the table. And what do you think was in
+it?
+
+"Gold coins! Some red and some yellow, but all gold!
+
+"He emptied each of the other receptacles, and out there flowed heaps of
+gold coins almost without number! How they gleamed and glistened! How
+they clinked and jingled! And how the deep and narrow eyes of my master
+glittered, but how the lips drew apart in a wild smile!
+
+"It was a fearful sight to see him playing with the gold and to hear him
+laugh over his treasure. It was dreadful to think that a human soul
+could love money so. And he did love it--madly, with all the strength of
+his nature.
+
+"He would take up a coin and look at it as a father might look upon the
+face of a favorite child. Ah, me, 'twas dreadful! He would take up a
+piece and say to it, 'Thou art better to me than a wife'; and to
+another, 'Thou art dearer than father or mother!' Ah, such blasphemy as
+I heard that night! How the sweet and blessed things of human life were
+derided, and the things that are divine and holy sneered at!
+
+"At length he fell to counting his gold; and for a long, long time he
+counted, until his hands shook, and his eyes gleamed as if he were mad.
+When he had counted all, he jumped from his seat, shouting like a
+maniac, 'Sixteen thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars!' Again and
+again he shouted this in wild triumph.
+
+"After a while he sobered down, and inside of me he began to pack away
+his treasures--carefully, caressingly, as a mother might lay her
+children to sleep. When I was full to the brim with shining gold, he put
+my head on, fitted the upper hoop on snugly, and then put me in the bed.
+The great knife he slipped under the pillow. Then, blowing out the
+light, he lay down beside me with one arm thrown about me. So the
+miser, clasping me to his heart, fell asleep.
+
+"Day after day, night after night, this selfsame performance was
+repeated. My master did little work; indeed, he did not seem eager to
+increase his store, but merely to hold it safely. But about this he was
+so anxious that he was in a fever of excitement all the time. For days
+he would not leave the house. Never was he free from the fear of losing
+his money. And this suspicion had poisoned his whole life, had made him
+hate his kind and lose all belief in the love and the goodness of God,
+that he had once professed.
+
+"One day in summer he left the front door open. I was drowsing, when
+suddenly I heard him give a frightened yell. In the doorway stood a man
+and a woman. The man was the village pastor, and the woman, I soon
+learned, was my master's wife. For a moment my master stood looking
+angrily at them. Then he said abruptly, 'Why did you come here?'
+
+"'John,' said the woman, 'your child Mary is dying; and I thought that
+you, her father, would want to see her before she passed away.' Her
+voice choked, and her breast heaved with sobs.
+
+"'Dying, is she?' said my master brutally. 'I don't believe it. You are
+simply after my gold. You might as well get away from here,' he added
+with a threatening look.
+
+"'John,' returned the woman, great tears coming to her eyes, 'I never in
+my life lied to you. Mary is dying, and I could not let her go without
+giving you a chance to see her. Last night in her delirium she begged
+for you. She wants you, John; she wants to say good-by to you!'
+
+"But my master remained unmoved. The sinister look in the eyes, the
+doggedness of the face did not change. He stared at them; then he
+shouted in frenzy: 'You lie! You want my money! Everybody wants it!
+Everybody loves it! There isn't an honest man in the world! All are
+thieves! All are lovers of gold! I know by your looks that you love it,'
+he went on; 'and you can't fool me by your tears and your preaching. You
+get out of this house!' he suddenly shrieked, 'or I will kill you,--both
+of you!' He swore a terrible oath and stepped back to seize the heavy
+bludgeon on the table. The woman cried out in fear and turned away
+weeping. But the parson stood his ground.
+
+"'John Roberts,' he said, 'thou art a doomed man. The lust of gold that
+destroys so many is in thee strong and mighty, and only God can save
+thee, nor He against thy will. Repent, or thou shalt perish in a lonely
+place, on a dark night, with none to help thee or hear thy cries; and
+all thy gold shall perish with thee.' So saying, he turned and slowly
+left the house.
+
+"For a moment my master stood glaring at the retreating forms of those
+who had come to him as friends, but whom he had treated as enemies; then
+he rushed for the door and locked it. After that he lifted me tenderly
+upon the table, laughed softly, patted me with his hands, and stroked me
+caressingly. 'My gold,' he kept repeating, 'my precious, precious gold!'
+And as night came on, he poured out the gold and counted the glittering
+pieces. Again and again he counted his treasure until deep midnight had
+settled over all.
+
+"But when he awoke in the morning he was very nervous. All day long he
+neither opened the door nor unbarred the shutters. All the while he kept
+muttering to himself as if planning some crafty plot. I could not know
+what all this might mean, but I caught enough of his talk to understand
+that he was more than ever suspicious of losing his money, was fearing
+all man-kind more and more, and was trying to devise some scheme whereby
+he could find a place where no one could molest him or try to steal his
+gold. 'They will get it yet,' he kept saying, 'unless I can go where no
+one can find me.' Then he would curse his kind.
+
+"At last, after hours of muttering and tramping back and forth in the
+darkened house, he suddenly seemed to find his decision. I shall never
+forget the terrible expression of evil triumph on his face as he paused
+before me and shouted:
+
+"'I'll go! Go where they can never find me! I want to be alone with my
+money, where I can spread it out and see it shine! I will go where there
+is not a man!'
+
+"After my master had said that, he made no further remarks; but he
+began with eager haste to pack a few things for his journey. He put me
+in a sack in which I could neither see nor hear what was happening; and
+that was all I knew for many a day. But all the while I felt myself
+being _carried, carried, carried_! One day I realized that I had been
+put in a boat; then we went on and on, day after day. Finally the boat
+was stopped and I was carried ashore. Then for the first time in many a
+long day I was taken from the bag. Again I saw the world about me. But
+how different were my surroundings from those of my old home! Where was
+I? I was on the very point of land off which you found me this evening.
+
+"For the first few weeks of our stay on the shores of this lonely lake,
+things continued almost as they had been at home. The gold was my
+master's single thought. He seemed happy, almost joyous, in the thought
+that he and I were at last out of the reach of men. Most of his time was
+spent looking at his gold. Every morning and every evening he would take
+me down to that point yonder where the sun shines clearly, and there
+would pour the treasure out in a great pile. He always did this
+exultingly. And his greatest pleasure was to play with the yellow coins,
+to count them over and over, and to laugh to himself in a satisfied way.
+
+"But after a time I could see that a change was coming over my master.
+He grew grave and quiet. No, more, as he poured out his gold, did he
+chuckle and laugh to himself. All his movements seemed listless. He
+counted his money less frequently, and when he did so it was in a
+half-hearted manner. One day I even saw him go away and leave the yellow
+heap lying on the sands. At last one day he came, packed the gold in me,
+and put in my head with the greatest care. Moreover, when he went back
+to the camp, he left me there on the beach! I felt very strange and
+lonely, and the night seemed long indeed.
+
+"At last the daybreak came, and glad I was to see it. But it was not
+until near sunset that my master came down to the point where I was. His
+face was as I had never seen it before. It was the countenance of a man
+who had suffered much, and who was still suffering. He came to me,
+paused before me, and said: 'For thee, thou cursed gold, I have wasted
+my life and ruined my soul!'
+
+"For some time he stood thus looking at me; then he began to walk up and
+down the strip of beach, wringing his hands and beating his breast. 'Oh,
+if I could only do it!' he kept saying; 'if I could only do it! If I
+could, there might be hope, even for me. Lord, help me to do it! Lord,
+help me!'
+
+"After many hours of this, which I knew to be mental torment for my poor
+wretched master, when he was exhausted in body and in mind, he came back
+along the sands toward me. To my astonishment he knelt down beside me,
+he placed his hands together, he lifted his face skyward. My master
+prayed!
+
+"'Lord of the great world,' he said, 'come to my aid or I am lost. In
+Thy great mercy, save me! Hear where no man may hear, hear Thou my cry;
+Thou Lord of heavenly mercy, lend me thine aid!'
+
+"He paused, and over his face I seemed to see the dawning of a deep
+peace. He rose to his feet, lifted me, and bore me down to the boat.
+Then he slowly paddled away toward the center of the lake, repeating his
+prayer. At last he checked the boat; then, having looked toward the sky,
+he said in a low, sweet voice, 'Lord, Thou hast given me grace and
+strength.' At that he lifted me high above his head----"
+
+There was a crash as if pieces of wood were falling together and my eyes
+opened with a snap. My fire had smoldered down. The Keg, heated by the
+fire, had tumbled inward, and lay there in a confused heap.
+
+"What a queer dream," I said to myself. I was really beginning to
+believe that these things had happened. I rose to my feet and stepped
+down to the edge of the lonely water. I am not ashamed to say that my
+blood was chilled at what I saw. As I looked across the lake, within
+twenty feet of where I had found the Keg, there was a boat with a man
+sitting motionless in it!
+
+When that mysterious canoe appeared on the bosom of the lonely lake, I
+thought that I was looking upon a vision of a spectral nature. In spite
+of all my belief that I was alone on this remote beach, there sat the
+man in the boat, only a few rods off shore. He was as a mirage, as
+silent as the very lake itself. A few eerie moments passed; then the
+boat began to move slowly toward me, gently propelled by a skillful
+paddle. As it approached, the light of the full moon streaming upon it
+made it easy for me to study its occupants. Near the bow I could discern
+a hound crouching. In the stern sat the paddler, his rifle across his
+knees.
+
+"Hello, the camp there!" shouted the man in the boat.
+
+"Hello!" I called, glad enough to find that my strange visitor was no
+apparition.
+
+The canoe came ashore, I greeted the boatman, and together we walked up
+toward the camp, the hound following us in a leisurely fashion. There I
+replenished the fire. Then for a moment the stranger and I stood and
+looked at each other. He was over six feet in height, but so
+symmetrically proportioned in his physical stature that, great as it
+was, he was neither awkward nor ungainly. But for the fact that his eye
+had lost its earlier brightness and that his hair was sprinkled with
+threads of gray, it would have been impossible to believe that he had
+reached three-score years and ten, for his form was still erect, his
+step elastic, and his voice clear and strong. His features were regular
+and strong, giving proof of the man's self-reliant and indomitable
+character. Years, perhaps a lifetime of activity in the woods and on the
+lakes, had bronzed the man. From beneath heavy eyebrows looked eyes
+gray in color and baffling in depth. The man's whole appearance
+attracted me singularly.
+
+"Thank ye for your welcome, mister," he began. "I shouldn't have dropped
+in on ye at this onseemly hour, but the line of your smoke caught my eye
+as I was turning the point yonder. I didn't expect to find a human being
+on these shores. I ax your pardon for comin' in on ye, but I have
+memories of this spot that made me think strange things when I saw your
+camp. I am John Norton, the trapper. And who might you be, young man?"
+
+"I am Henry Herbert," I replied; "but just call me plain Henry."
+
+"Well, Henry," began the old trapper, "I am going to call you that. When
+men meet in the woods they don't put on any airs. I have been in these
+woods sixty-two years, and they have been a home for me, for my father
+and mother are gone, and I have never had wife nor child of my own. And
+I have heard of you, Henry. Ye be no stranger to me. For ten years back
+I have heard how you like to travel the woods and the waters by
+yourself, larning things that Nature does not tell about in crowds. I
+have heard, too, that you be a good shot, and that you know the ways of
+outwitting the trout and the pickerel. Hearing about you this way, I
+knew some day that I would come across your trail; but I never thought
+to run agin you to-night, for I'd no idee that mortal man knowed this
+lake, save me--save me and that other. . . ."
+
+The old man paused, seated himself on the end of a log, and gazed into
+the fire with a solemn look on his face.
+
+I did not feel like breaking in on his meditations, whatever they might
+be. I was silent out of deference to his memories.
+
+"This lake," John Norton said at length, "this lake is a strange place.
+I have been here for eleven years. No other place in all this wide
+country makes me feel as this place does."
+
+Again he fell into a reverie. I, meanwhile, busied myself with supper;
+and as soon as this was prepared, the two of us enjoyed it as only
+woodmen can.
+
+"If you know me," I said, "we are no strangers to each other, for I know
+you. Who draws the steadiest bead with a rifle; who is the best boatman
+who ever feathered paddle, and who is as honest a man as ever drew
+breath?--who, but John Norton, whom I have always been wanting to meet.
+No man could be as welcome to my camp."
+
+"Well, well," laughed the old man, "when you're at home you must be one
+of them detective fellows. I see we aren't no strangers to each other.
+And if while in these woods old John Norton can teach you any trick of
+huntin' or of fishin' or of trappin', be sure he will do so for the
+welcome you have give him."
+
+So we sat on either side of the fire, silent for a few moments. Then the
+old trapper said:
+
+"I am thinking of the things that happened here long years agone.
+Strange things have come to pass on this very point. It is eleven year
+this very night that me and the hound slept here, and a solemn night it
+was, too. . . . God of heaven, man, what is that?"
+
+The old man's startled ejaculation brought me to my feet as if a panther
+were upon me. Glancing at the spot he had indicated by look and gesture,
+I beheld only the shattered portion of the Keg. Not knowing what to make
+of the trapper's excited action, I said: "That? That is only a Keg I
+picked up in the lake this evening."
+
+John Norton rose in silence to his feet and went over to where the
+staves lay. One of these he picked up and held contemplatively in his
+hand.
+
+"The ways of the Lord are past the knowing of mortals," he said. "But
+perhaps in the long run He brings the wrong to the right, and so makes
+the evil in the world to praise him. Henry," said the Old Trapper,
+looking keenly at me, "I have a mind to tell you the story of the man
+who owned that Keg. A strange tale it be, but a true one, and the
+teachings of it be solemn."
+
+Eagerly I urged him to give me the story, a part of which, at least, I
+felt that I already knew.
+
+"It was eleven year agone, in this very month, that I came down the
+inlet yonder into the lake. The moon was nigh her full, and everything
+looked solemn and white just as it do now. Lord knows I little thought
+to meet a man in these solitudes when I run agin what I am telling ye
+of.
+
+"I was paddling down this side of the lake when I heard the strangest
+sounds I ever heard coming out of a bird or beast. Ye better believe,
+Henry, that I sot and listened until I was nothing but ears. But nary a
+thing could I make out of it. After awhile I said I would try to ambush
+the creetur and find out what mouth had a language that old John Norton
+couldn't understand. As I got nearer the shore, my boat just drifting in
+the moonlight, I heerd a kind of crawling sound as if the brute was
+a-trailing himself on the ground. The shake of a bush give me the line
+on him, and I felt sure that in a minute I could let the lead drive
+where it ought to go. I had my rifle to my face, when by the Lord of
+marcy, Henry, I diskivered I had ambushed a man!
+
+"And, Henry," he continued, "the words of the man was words of prayer.
+Never in my life was I taken so unawares or was so unbalanced as when I
+heard the voice of that man I had mistook for an animal break out in
+prayer. For a minute the blood stopped in my heart and my hair moved in
+my scalp; then I shook like a man with the chills. I had come that nigh
+being a murderer, Henry!
+
+"How that man prayed! He prayed for help as one calls to a comrade when
+his boat has gone down under him in the rapids, and he knows he must
+have help or die. This man's soul was struggling hard, I tell ye. The
+words of his cry come out of his mouth like the words of one who is
+surely lost unless somebody saves him. It's dreadful for a man to live
+in such a way that he has to pray in that fashion; for we ought to live,
+Henry, so that it is cheerful-like to meet the Lord, and pleasant to
+hold converse with Him.
+
+"I sot in my boat till his praying was done; then I hugged myself close
+in under the bushes, for I heard him coming down toward the shore. And
+he did come, and come close to me; and in his arms he carried something
+very heavy. In a moment I heard him shove a boat out from the bushes;
+then, getting in, he pushed off into the lake. He held for the center of
+it; and when he had come nigh to the middle of it, he laid his paddle
+down, and lifted something into the air. This he turned upside down, and
+out streamed into the water something that glinted in the moonlight.
+After that, he come paddling back for the shore. Myself--I kept shy of
+the man that night, but the next morning I went to the stranger's camp.
+
+"There was nothing in sight but an old ragged tent, sagging at every
+seam. I called aloud so that mayhap the man would answer me. But no
+answer came. I walked up to the tent and drew aside the rotten flap.
+And, Henry, there lay the man senseless before me! I thought he was
+dead, and I onkivered my head. But the hound here knowed better, for he
+began to wag his tail. I went in, and found that the man was still
+breathing. I lifted him in my arms, Henry, and bore him out of the foul
+air of that tent, taking him down to the warm sunshine on the point.
+
+"For a long while I thought he was going to die in my arms. He just lay
+there lifeless-like, a-looking across the lake with eyes half-shut. But
+the sun and air revived him; and after a long while he stirs and says:
+
+"'Old man, who are you who are so kind to me?'
+
+"I tells him I was John Norton, the trapper.
+
+"'I am John Roberts,' he says, 'and I haven't a friend on the earth, nor
+do I deserve one. Old man, you cannot understand, because you have lived
+an innocent life, but I am a sinner--a wretched sinner. And my moments
+here are numbered. I will tell you of my crimes; I will confess them,
+for they lie heavy on my heart.
+
+"'John Norton, I was a miser; I had a heart with a passion for gold. For
+the evil love of money I turned my face away from my kind. My wife I
+deserted. My only child I refused, with curses, to see, even when she
+sent for me as she lay dying. John Norton, I gave all for gold. And the
+more I loved it, the more I hated man. With my dreadful lust there grew
+suspicion of every one. All ties of affection were severed. I lived
+alone, hoarding my gold and gloating over it.
+
+"'At last I fled from the habitations of men, bringing my gold, my god,
+with me in a Keg. Here on this lonely shore I thought to be happy, far
+from my own kind, far from any danger that my precious treasure be
+stolen. But, John Norton--and a dying man is speaking--for all my
+counting of the bright gold on the sands here, and my dancing about it
+as a devil might, laughing and singing--I was unhappy. I knew that God
+was watching me and was disapproving. I could not but think of my wife
+and child. The thought of them began to make the gold hateful to me. Ah,
+then, old man, I began to pray the Lord to deliver me! It was a bitter
+struggle I fought, but at length He rescued me. He gave me strength,
+John Norton, to overcome the Wicked One; He gave me strength to break
+away from my sin; He gave me strength last night to pour every piece of
+gold that had been for me both love and life, into the lake there. I
+shall never see it more, and I am happy.'
+
+"After that, he lay silent-like, looking up at the blue sky. Then his
+eyes closed, and I thought him sleeping. But suddenly he started up, 'A
+light, a light! I see a light!' Then, Henry, he sank back into my arms
+and spoke no more. I hope my passing may be as peaceful as his, and my
+face as calm as was his after his battle of life was over.
+
+"The next day I buried him up yonder under them hemlocks--having no one
+to help me, but doing it respectful-like, as all such should be done.
+There he lies, Henry, the man who was the owner of that Keg--John
+Roberts--the miser who repented before it was too late. Nor do I doubt,"
+he added, in his kindly tone, "but he's been forgiven by those he
+wronged."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
+
+Words that have varied hyphenation: a-way, clean-cut, camp-fire,
+east-bound, round-house.
+
+Page 32, "Naggar" changed to "Nagger" (to find Nagger)
+
+Page 200, "Skinney" changed to "Skinny" (Skinny soon returned)
+
+Page 237, "Toodles" changed to "Toddles" (Toddles swung from)
+
+Page 243, "pur" changed to "purr" (began to purr)
+
+Page 270, "But" changed to "but" (but the face)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAMPFIRE STORIES ***
+
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Franklin K. Mathiews
+
+Release Date: August 29, 2008 [EBook #26475]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAMPFIRE STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 315px;">
+<img src="images/i_cover.jpg" width="315" height="500" alt="Cover" title="Cover" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK<br />
+OF CAMPFIRE STORIES</h1>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;">
+<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="314" height="500" alt="THERE, STANDING KNEE-DEEP IN THE WATER, WAS THE BIGGEST AND BLACKEST MOOSE IN THE WORLD" title="THERE, STANDING KNEE-DEEP IN THE WATER, WAS THE BIGGEST AND BLACKEST MOOSE IN THE WORLD" />
+<span class="caption">THERE, STANDING KNEE-DEEP IN THE WATER, WAS THE BIGGEST AND BLACKEST MOOSE IN THE WORLD</span>
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h1>THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK<br />
+OF CAMPFIRE STORIES</h1>
+
+<h3>
+EDITED<br />
+WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES<br />
+
+
+<br />BY</h3>
+
+<h2>FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>
+CHIEF SCOUT LIBRARIAN,<br />
+BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+PUBLISHED FOR<br />
+
+<big>THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA</big></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 130px;">
+<img src="images/emblem.png" width="130" height="150" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY<br />
+INCORPORATED<br />
+NEW YORK             1933<br /></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY<br />
+<br />
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+<br /><br />
+
+<div class="blockquot2">All rights reserved. This book, or parts
+thereof, must not be reproduced in any
+form without permission of the publishers.</div>
+<br /><br /><br />
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION</h2>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> campfire for ages has been the place of council
+and friendship and story-telling. The mystic glow of
+the fire quickens the mind, warms the heart, awakens
+memories of happy, glowing tales that fairly leap to the
+lips. The Boy Scouts of America has incorporated the
+"campfire" in its program for council and friendship
+and story-telling. In one volume, the <i>Boy Scouts Book
+of Campfire Stories</i> makes available to scoutmasters and
+other leaders a goodly number of stories worthy of
+their attention, and when well told likely to arrest and
+hold the interest of boys in their early teens, when "stirs
+the blood&mdash;to bubble in the veins."</p>
+
+<p>At this time, when the boy is growing so rapidly in
+brain and body, he can have no better teacher than some
+mighty woodsman. Now should be presented to him
+stirring stories of the adventurous lives of men who
+live in and love the out-of-doors. Says Professor
+George Walter Fiske: "Let him emulate savage woodcraft;
+the woodsman's keen, practiced vision; his steadiness
+of nerve; his contempt for pain, hardship and the
+weather; his power of endurance, his observation and
+heightened senses; his delight in out-of-door sports and
+joys and unfettered happiness with untroubled sleep
+under the stars; his calmness, self-control, emotional
+steadiness; his utter faithfulness in friendships; his
+honesty, his personal bravery."</p>
+
+<p>The Editor likes to think that quite a few of the
+stories found in the <i>Boy Scouts Book of Campfire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>
+Stories</i> present companions for the mind of this hardy
+sort, and hopes, whether boys read or are told these
+stories, they will prove to be such as exalt and inspire
+while they thrill and entertain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align='left'><img src="images/i_spine.jpg" width="88" height="498" alt="Book Spine" title="Book Spine" />
+</td><td align='left'><div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><h2>CONTENTS</h2></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Silverhorns</span></td><td align='right'><i>Henry van Dyke</i> <a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Wild Horse Hunter</span></td><td align='right'><i>Zane Grey</i> <a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Hydrophobic Skunk</span></td><td align='right'><i>Irvin S. Cobb</i> <a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Ole Virginia</span></td><td align='right'><i>Stewart Edward White</i> <a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Weight of Obligation</span></td><td align='right'><i>Rex Beach</i> <a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">That Spot</span></td><td align='right'><i>Jack London</i> <a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">When Lincoln Licked a Bully</span></td><td align='right'><i>Irving Bacheller</i> <a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The End of the Trail</span></td><td align='right'><i>Clarence E. Mulford</i> <a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Dey Ain't No Ghosts</span></td><td align='right'><i>Ellis Parker Butler</i> <a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Night Operator</span></td><td align='right'><i>Frank L. Packard</i> <a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp</span></td><td align='right'><i>Ralph Connor</i> <a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Story That the Keg Told Me</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><i>Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray</i> <a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i011.png" width="500" height="222" alt="Moose" title="Moose" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>I.&mdash;Silverhorns<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Henry van Dyke</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE railway station of Bathurst, New Brunswick,
+did not look particularly merry at two
+o'clock of a late September morning. There
+was an easterly haze driving in from the Baie des
+Chaleurs and the darkness was so saturated with chilly
+moisture that an honest downpour of rain would have
+been a relief. Two or three depressed and somnolent
+travelers yawned in the waiting room, which smelled
+horribly of smoky lamps. The telegraph instrument
+in the ticket office clicked spasmodically for a minute,
+and then relapsed into a gloomy silence. The imperturbable
+station master was tipped back against the
+wall in a wooden armchair, with his feet on the table,
+and his mind sunk in an old Christmas number of the
+<i>Cowboy Magazine</i>. The express agent, in the baggage-room,
+was going over his last week's waybills and
+accounts by the light of a lantern, trying to locate an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
+error, and sighing profanely to himself as he failed
+to find it. A wooden trunk tied with rope, a couple of
+dingy canvas bags, a long box marked "Fresh Fish!
+Rush!" and two large leather portmanteaus with brass
+fittings were piled on the luggage truck at the far end
+of the platform; and beside the door of the waiting
+room, sheltered by the overhanging eaves, was a neat
+traveling bag, with a gun case and a rod case leaning
+against the wall. The wet rails glittered dimly northward
+and southward away into the night. A few
+blurred lights glimmered from the village across the
+bridge.</div>
+
+<p>Dudley Hemenway had observed all these features
+of the landscape with silent dissatisfaction, as he
+smoked steadily up and down the platform, waiting
+for the Maritime Express. It is usually irritating to
+arrive at the station on time for a train on the Intercolonial
+Railway. The arrangement is seldom mutual;
+and sometimes yesterday's train does not come along
+until to-morrow afternoon. Moreover, Hemenway
+was inwardly discontented with the fact that he was
+coming out of the woods instead of going in. "Coming
+out" always made him a little unhappy, whether
+his expedition had been successful or not. He did not
+like the thought that it was all over; and he had the
+very bad habit, at such times, of looking ahead and
+computing the slowly lessening number of chances that
+were left to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Sixty odd years&mdash;I may get to be that old and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+keep my shooting sight," he said to himself. "That
+would give me a couple of dozen more camping trips.
+It's a short allowance. I wonder if any of them will
+be more lucky than this one. This makes the seventh
+year I've tried to get a moose; and the odd trick has
+gone against me every time."</p>
+
+<p>He tossed away the end of his cigar, which made a
+little trail of sparks as it rolled along the sopping platform,
+and turned to look in through the window of the
+ticket office. Something in the agent's attitude of literary
+absorption aggravated him. He went round to
+the door and opened it.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know or care when this train is coming?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nope," said the man placidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when? What's the matter with her?
+When is she due?"</p>
+
+<p>"Doo twenty minits ago," said the man. "Forty
+minits late down to Moocastle. Git here quatter to
+three, ef nothin' more happens."</p>
+
+<p>"But what has happened? What's wrong with the
+beastly old road, anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Freight car skipped the track," said the man, "up
+to Charlo. Everythin' hung up an' kinder goin' slow
+till they git the line clear. Dunno nothin' more."</p>
+
+<p>With this conclusive statement the agent seemed to
+disclaim all responsibility for the future of impatient
+travelers, and dropped his mind back into the magazine
+again. Hemenway lit another cigar and went into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+the baggage room to smoke with the expressman. It
+was nearly three o'clock when they heard the far-off
+shriek of the whistle sounding up from the south;
+then, after an interval, the puffing of the engine on the
+upgrade; then the faint ringing of the rails, the increasing
+clatter of the train, and the blazing headlight
+of the locomotive swept slowly through the darkness,
+past the platform. The engineer was leaning on one
+arm, with his head out of the cab window, and Hemenway
+nodded as he passed and hurried into the ticket
+office, where the ticktack of a conversation by telegraph
+was soon under way. The black porter of the Pullman
+car was looking out from the vestibule, and when he
+saw Hemenway his sleepy face broadened into a grin
+reminiscent of many generous tips.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy, Mr. Hennigray," he cried; "glad to see
+yo' ag'in, sah! I got yo' section all right, sah!
+Lemme take yo' things, sah! Train gwine to stop
+hy'eh fo' some time yet, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Charles," said Hemenway, "you take my
+things and put them in the car. Careful with that gun
+now! The Lord only knows how much time this
+train's going to lose. I'm going ahead to see the
+engineer."</p>
+
+<p>Angus McLeod was a grizzle-bearded Scotchman
+who had run a locomotive on the Intercolonial ever
+since the road was cut through the woods from New
+Brunswick to Quebec. Every one who traveled often
+on that line knew him, and all who knew him well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+enough to get below his rough crust, liked him for his
+big heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo, McLeod," said Hemenway as he came up
+through the darkness, "is that you?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's nane else," answered the engineer as he stepped
+down from his cab and shook hands warmly. "Hoo
+are ye, Dud, an' whaur hae ye been murderin' the
+innocent beasties noo? Hae ye kilt yer moose yet?
+Ye've been chasin' him these mony years."</p>
+
+<p>"Not much murdering," replied Hemenway. "I
+had a queer trip this time&mdash;away up the Nepisiguit,
+with old McDonald. You know him, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fine do I ken Rob McDonald, an' a guid mon he
+is. Hoo was it that ye couldna slaughter stacks
+o' moose wi' him to help ye? Did ye see nane at
+all?"</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty, and one with the biggest horns in the
+world! But that's a long story, and there's no time
+to tell it now."</p>
+
+<p>"Time to burrn, Dud, nae fear o' it! 'Twill be
+an hour afore the line's clear to Charlo an' they lat us
+oot o' this. Come awa' up into the cab, mon, an' tell
+us yer tale. 'Tis couthy an' warm in the cab, an' I'm
+willin' to leesten to yer bluidy advaintures."</p>
+
+<p>So the two men clambered up into the engineer's
+seat. Hemenway gave McLeod his longest and strongest
+cigar, and filled his own briar-wood pipe. The
+rain was now pattering gently on the roof of the cab.
+The engine hissed and sizzled patiently in the darkness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+The fragrant smoke curled steadily from the
+glowing tip of the cigar; but the pipe went out half a
+dozen times while Hemenway was telling the story of
+Silverhorns.</p>
+
+<p>"We went up the river to the big rock, just below
+Indian Falls. There we made our main camp, intending
+to hunt on Forty-two Mile Brook. There's quite a
+snarl of ponds and bogs at the head of it, and some
+burned hills over to the west, and it's very good moose
+country.</p>
+
+<p>"But some other party had been there before us,
+and we saw nothing on the ponds, except two cow
+moose and a calf. Coming out the next morning we
+got a fine deer on the old wood road&mdash;a beautiful
+head. But I have plenty of deer heads already."</p>
+
+<p>"Bonny creature!" said McLeod. "An' what did
+ye do wi' it, when ye had murdered it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ate it, of course. I gave the head to Billy
+Boucher, the cook. He said he could get ten dollars
+for it. The next evening we went to one of the ponds
+again, and Injun Pete tried to 'call' a moose for me.
+But it was no good. McDonald was disgusted with
+Pete's calling; said it sounded like the bray of a wild
+ass of the wilderness. So the next day we gave up
+calling and traveled the woods over toward the burned
+hills.</p>
+
+<p>"In the afternoon McDonald found an enormous
+moose-track; he thought it looked like a bull's track,
+though he wasn't quite positive. But then, you know,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+a Scotchman never likes to commit himself, except
+about theology or politics."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" grunted McLeod in the darkness, showing
+that the strike had counted.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we went on, following that track through
+the woods, for an hour or two. It was a terrible country,
+I tell you: tamarack swamps, and spruce thickets,
+and windfalls, and all kinds of misery. Presently we
+came out on a bare rock on the burned hillside, and
+there, across a ravine, we could see the animal lying
+down, just below the trunk of a big dead spruce that
+had fallen. The beast's head and neck were hidden
+by some bushes, but the fore shoulder and side were
+in clear view, about two hundred and fifty yards away.
+McDonald seemed to be inclined to think that it was a
+bull and that I ought to shoot. So I shot, and knocked
+splinters out of the spruce log. We could see them
+fly. The animal got up quickly, and looked at us for
+a moment, shaking her long ears; then the huge unmitigated
+cow vamoosed into the brush. McDonald remarked
+that it was 'a varra fortunate shot, almaist
+providaintial!' And so it was; for if it had gone six
+inches lower, and the news gotten out at Bathurst,
+it would have cost me a fine of two hundred dollars."</p>
+
+<p>"Ye did weel, Dud," puffed McLeod; "varra weel
+indeed&mdash;for the coo!"</p>
+
+<p>"After that," continued Hemenway, "of course my
+nerve was a little shaken, and we went back to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+main camp on the river, to rest over Sunday. That
+was all right, wasn't it, Mac!"</p>
+
+<p>"Aye!" replied McLeod, who was a strict member
+of the Presbyterian church at Moncton. "That was
+surely a varra safe thing to do. Even a hunter, I'm
+thinkin', wouldna like to be breakin' twa commandments
+in the ane day&mdash;the foorth and the saxth!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not. It's enough to break one, as you do
+once a fortnight when you run your train into Rivi&egrave;re
+du Loup Sunday morning. How's that, you old Calvinist?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dudley, ma son," said the engineer, "dinna airgue
+a point that ye canna understond. There's guid an'
+suffeecient reasons for the train. But ye'll ne'er be
+claimin' that moose huntin' is a wark o' necessity or
+maircy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, of course not; but then, you see, barring
+Sundays, we felt that it was necessary to do all we
+could to get a moose, just for the sake of our reputations.
+Billy, the cook, was particularly strong about
+it. He said that an old woman in Bathurst, a kind of
+fortune teller, had told him that he was going to have
+'la bonne chance' on this trip. He wanted to try
+his own mouth at 'calling.' He had never really done
+it before. But he had been practicing all winter in
+imitation of a tame cow moose that Johnny Moreau
+had, and he thought he could make the sound 'b'en
+bon.' So he got the birch-bark horn and gave us a
+sample of his skill. McDonald told me privately that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+it was 'nae sa bad; a deal better than Pete's feckless
+bellow.' We agreed to leave the Indian to keep the
+camp (after locking up the whisky flask in my bag),
+and take Billy with us on Monday to 'call' at Hogan's
+Pond.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a small bit of water, about three quarters of a
+mile long and four hundred yards across, and four
+miles back from the river. There is no trail to it, but a
+blazed line runs part of the way, and for the rest you
+follow up the little brook that runs out of the pond.
+We stuck up our shelter in a hollow on the brook,
+half a mile below the pond, so that the smoke of our
+fire would not drift over the hunting ground, and
+waited till five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we went
+up to the pond, and took our position in a clump of
+birch trees on the edge of the open meadow that runs
+round the east shore. Just at dark Billy began to call,
+and it was beautiful. You know how it goes. Three
+short grunts, and then a long ooooo-aaaa-ooooh, winding
+up with another grunt! It sounded lonelier than
+a love-sick hippopotamus on the house top. It rolled
+and echoed over the hills as if it would wake the dead.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a fine moon shining, nearly full, and a
+few clouds floating by. Billy called, and called, and
+called again. The air grew colder and colder; light
+frost on the meadow grass; our teeth were chattering,
+fingers numb.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we heard a bull give a short bawl, away off
+to the southward. Presently we could hear his horns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+knock against the trees, far up on the hill. McDonald
+whispered, 'He's comin',' and Billy gave another call.</p>
+
+<p>"But it was another bull that answered, back of the
+north end of the pond, and pretty soon we could hear
+him rapping along through the woods. Then everything
+was still. 'Call agen,' says McDonald, and Billy
+called again.</p>
+
+<p>"This time the bawl came from another bull, on top
+of the western hill, straight across the pond. It seemed
+to start up the other two bulls, and we could hear all
+three of them thrashing along, as fast as they could
+come, towards the pond. 'Call agen, a wee one,' says
+McDonald, trembling with joy. And Billy called a
+little seducing call, with two grunts at the end.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, at that, a cow and a calf came rushing
+down through the brush not two hundred yards away
+from us, and the three bulls went splash into the water,
+one at the south end, one at the north end, and one on
+the west shore. 'Land,' whispers McDonald, 'it's a
+meenadgerie!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Dud," said the engineer, getting down to open the
+furnace door a crack, "this is mair than murder ye're
+comin' at; it's a buitchery&mdash;or else it's juist a pack o'
+lees."</p>
+
+<p>"I give you my word," said Hemenway, "it's all
+true as the catechism. But let me go on. The cow
+and the calf only stayed in the water a few minutes,
+and then ran back through the woods. But the three
+bulls went sloshing around in the pond as if they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+looking for something. We could hear them, but we
+could not see any of them, for the sky had clouded
+up, and they kept far away from us. Billy tried another
+short call, but they did not come any nearer.
+McDonald whispered that he thought the one in the
+south end might be the biggest, and he might be feeding,
+and the two others might be young bulls, and they
+might be keeping away because they were afraid of
+the big one. This seemed reasonable; and I said
+that I was going to crawl around the meadow to the
+south end. 'Keep near a tree,' says Mac; and I
+started.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a deep trail, worn by animals, through
+the high grass; and in this I crept along on my hands
+and knees. It was very wet and muddy. My boots
+were full of cold water. After ten minutes I came to
+a little point running out into the pond, and one young
+birch growing on it. Under this I crawled, and rising
+up on my knees looked over the top of the grass and
+bushes.</p>
+
+<p>"There, in a shallow bay, standing knee-deep in
+the water, and rooting up the lily stems with his long,
+pendulous nose, was the biggest and blackest bull moose
+in the world. As he pulled the roots from the mud
+and tossed up his dripping head I could see his horns&mdash;four
+and a half feet across, if they were an inch,
+and the palms shining like tea trays in the moonlight.
+I tell you, old Silverhorns was the most beautiful monster
+I ever saw.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But he was too far away to shoot by that dim
+light, so I left my birch tree and crawled along toward
+the edge of the bay. A breath of wind must have
+blown across me to him, for he lifted his head, sniffed,
+grunted, came out of the water, and began to trot
+slowly along the trail which led past me. I knelt on
+one knee and tried to take aim. A black cloud came
+over the moon. I couldn't see either of the sights on
+the gun. But when the bull came opposite to me,
+about fifty yards off, I blazed away at a venture.</p>
+
+<p>"He reared straight up on his hind legs&mdash;it looked
+as if he rose fifty feet in the air&mdash;wheeled, and went
+walloping along the trail, around the south end of the
+pond. In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by,
+Silverhorns!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a
+fresh cigar. "Fegs! Ah doot Sir Walter himsel'
+couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the way ye
+didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm
+joyfu' to be hearin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not
+the end, by a long shot. There's worse to follow.
+The next morning we returned to the pond at day-break,
+for McDonald thought I might have wounded
+the moose. We searched the bushes and the woods
+where he went out very carefully, looking for drops
+of blood on his trail."</p>
+
+<p>"Bluid!" groaned the engineer. "Hech, mon,
+wouldna that come nigh to mak' ye greet, to find the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+beast's red bluid splashed over the leaves, and think o'
+him staggerin' on thro' the forest, drippin' the heart
+oot o' him wi' every step?"</p>
+
+<p>"But we didn't find any blood, you old sentimentalist.
+That shot in the dark was a clear miss. We followed
+the trail by broken bushes and footprints, for
+half a mile, and then came back to the pond and turned
+to go down through the edge of the woods to the camp.</p>
+
+<p>"It was just after sunrise. I was walking a few
+yards ahead, McDonald next, and Billy last. Suddenly
+he looked around to the left, gave a low whistle
+and dropped to the ground, pointing northward.
+Away at the head of the pond, beyond the glitter of
+the sun on the water, the big blackness of Silverhorns'
+head and body was pushing through the bushes, dripping
+with dew.</p>
+
+<p>"Each of us flopped down behind the nearest shrub
+as if we had been playing squat tag. Billy had the
+birch-bark horn with him, and he gave a low, short
+call. Silverhorns heard it, turned, and came parading
+slowly down the western shore, now on the sand beach,
+now splashing through the shallow water. We could
+see every motion and hear every sound. He marched
+along as if he owned the earth, swinging his huge head
+from side to side and grunting at each step.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, we were just in the edge of the woods,
+strung along the south end of the pond, Billy nearest
+the west shore, where the moose was walking, McDonald
+next, and I last, perhaps fifteen yards farther to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+east. It was a fool arrangement, but we had no time
+to think about it. McDonald whispered that I should
+wait until the moose came close to us and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"So I waited. I could see him swagger along the
+sand and step out around the fallen logs. The nearer
+he came the bigger his horns looked; each palm was
+like an enormous silver fish fork with twenty prongs.
+Then he went out of my sight for a minute as he passed
+around a little bay in the southwest corner, getting
+nearer and nearer to Billy. But I could still hear his
+steps distinctly&mdash;slosh, slosh, slosh&mdash;thud, thud, thud
+(the grunting had stopped)&mdash;closer came the sound,
+until it was directly behind the dense green branches
+of a fallen balsam tree, not twenty feet away from
+Billy. Then suddenly the noise ceased. I could hear
+my own heart pounding at my ribs, but nothing else.
+And of Silverhorns not hair nor hide was visible. It
+looked as if he must be a Boojum, and had the power
+to 'softly and silently vanish away.'</p>
+
+<p>"Billy and Mac were beckoning to me fiercely and
+pointing to the green balsam top. I gripped my rifle
+and started to creep toward them. A little twig, about
+as thick as the tip of a fishing rod, cracked under my
+knee. There was a terrible crash behind the balsam,
+a plunging through the underbrush and a rattling
+among the branches, a lumbering gallop up the hill
+through the forest, and Silverhorns was gone into the
+invisible.</p>
+
+<p>"He had stopped behind the tree because he smelled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+the grease on Billy's boots. As he stood there, hesitating,
+Billy and Mac could see his shoulder and his
+side through a gap in the branches&mdash;a dead-easy shot.
+But so far as I was concerned, he might as well have
+been in Alaska. I told you that the way we had placed
+ourselves was a fool arrangement. But McDonald
+would not say anything about it, except to express his
+conviction that it was not predestinated we should get
+that moose."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah dinna ken ould Rob had sae much theology
+aboot him," commented McLeod. "But noo I'm
+thinkin' ye went back to yer main camp, an' lat puir
+Seelverhorrns live oot his life?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not much, did we! For now we knew that he
+wasn't badly frightened by the adventure of the night
+before, and that we might get another chance at him.
+In the afternoon it began to rain; and it poured for
+forty-eight hours. We covered in our shelter before
+a smoky fire, and lived on short rations of crackers
+and dried prunes&mdash;it was a hungry time."</p>
+
+<p>"But wasna there slathers o' food at the main
+camp? Ony fule wad ken enough to gae doon to the
+river an' tak' a guid fill-up."</p>
+
+<p>"But that wasn't what we wanted. It was Silverhorns.
+Billy and I made McDonald stay, and Thursday
+afternoon, when the clouds broke away, we went
+back to the pond to have a last try at turning our
+luck.</p>
+
+<p>"This time we took our positions with great care,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+among some small spruces on a joint that ran out
+from the southern meadow. I was farthest to the
+west; McDonald (who had also brought his gun) was
+next; Billy, with the horn, was farthest away from
+the point where he thought the moose would come
+out. So Billy began to call, very beautifully. The
+long echoes went bellowing over the hills. The afternoon
+was still and the setting sun shone through a light
+mist, like a ball of red gold.</p>
+
+<p>"Fifteen minutes after sundown Silverhorns gave a
+loud bawl from the western ridge and came crashing
+down the hill. He cleared the bushes two or three
+hundred yards to our left with a leap, rushed into the
+pond, and came wading around the south shore toward
+us. The bank here was rather high, perhaps four feet
+above the water, and the mud below it was deep, so
+that the moose sank in to his knees. I give you my
+word, as he came along there was nothing visible to
+Mac and me except his ears and his horns. Everything
+else was hidden below the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"There were we behind our little spruce trees.
+And there was Silverhorns, standing still now, right in
+front of us. And all that Mac and I could see were
+those big ears and those magnificent antlers, appearing
+and disappearing as he lifted and lowered his head.
+It was a fearful situation. And there was Billy, with
+his birch-bark hooter, forty yards below us&mdash;he could
+see the moose perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>"I looked at Mac, and he looked at me. He whispered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
+something about predestination. Then Billy
+lifted his horn and made ready to give a little soft
+grunt, to see if the moose wouldn't move along a bit,
+just to oblige us. But as Billy drew in his breath, one
+of those fool flies that are always blundering around
+a man's face flew straight down his throat. Instead
+of a call he burst out with a furious, strangling fit of
+coughing. The moose gave a snort, and a wild leap
+in the water, and galloped away under the bank, the
+way he had come. Mac and I both fired at his vanishing
+ears and horns, but of course&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"All Aboooard!" The conductor's shout rang
+along the platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Line's clear," exclaimed McLeod, rising. "Noo
+we'll be off! Wull ye stay here wi' me, or gang awa'
+back to yer bed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here," answered Hemenway, not budging from
+his place on the bench.</p>
+
+<p>The bell clanged, and the powerful machine puffed
+out on its flaring way through the night. Faster and
+faster came the big explosive breaths, until they
+blended in a long steady roar, and the train was sweeping
+northward at forty miles an hour. The clouds had
+broken; the night had grown colder; the gibbous moon
+gleamed over the vast and solitary landscape. It was
+a different thing to Hemenway, riding in the cab of
+the locomotive, from an ordinary journey in the passenger
+car or an unconscious ride in the sleeper. Here
+he was on the crest of motion, at the forefront of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+speed, and the quivering engine with the long train
+behind it seemed like a living creature leaping along
+the track. It responded to the labor of the fireman
+and the touch of the engineer almost as if it could
+think and feel. Its pace quickened without a jar; its
+great eye pierced the silvery space of moonlight with
+a shaft of blazing yellow; the rails sang before it and
+trembled behind it; it was an obedient and joyful monster,
+conquering distance and devouring darkness.</p>
+
+<p>On the wide level barrens beyond the T&ecirc;te-&aacute;-Gouche
+River the locomotive reached its best speed, purring
+like a huge cat and running smoothly. McLeod leaned
+back on his bench with a satisfied air.</p>
+
+<p>"She's doin' fine, the nicht," said he. "Ah'm
+thinkin', whiles, o' yer auld Seelverhorrns. Whaur is
+he noo? Awa' up on Higan' Pond, gallantin' around
+i' the licht o' the mune wi' a lady moose, an' the gladness
+juist bubblin' in his hairt. Ye're no sorry that
+he's leevin' yet, are ye, Dud?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," answered Hemenway slowly, between the
+puffs of his pipe, "I can't say I'm sorry that he's alive
+and happy, though I'm not glad that I lost him. But
+he did his best, the old rogue; he played a good game,
+and he deserved to win. Where he is now nobody can
+tell. He was traveling like a streak of lightning when
+I last saw him. By this time he may be&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What's yon?" cried McLeod, springing up. Far
+ahead, in the narrow apex of the converging rails
+stood a black form, motionless, mysterious. McLeod<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+grasped the whistle cord. The black form loomed
+higher in the moonlight and was clearly silhouetted
+against the horizon&mdash;a big moose standing across the
+track. They could see his grotesque head, his shadowy
+horns, high, sloping shoulders. The engineer pulled
+the cord. The whistle shrieked loud and long.</p>
+
+<p>The moose turned and faced the sound. The glare
+of the headlight fascinated, challenged, angered him.
+There he stood defiant, front feet planted wide apart,
+head lowered, gazing steadily at the unknown enemy
+that was rushing toward him. He was the monarch
+of the wilderness. There was nothing in the world
+that he feared, except those strange-smelling little
+beasts on two legs who crept around through the woods
+and shot fire out of sticks. This was surely not one
+of those treacherous animals, but some strange new
+creature that dared to shriek at him and try to drive
+him out of its way. He would not move. He would
+try his strength against this big yellow-eyed beast.</p>
+
+<p>"Losh!" cried McLeod; "he's gaun' to fecht us!"
+and he dropped the cord, grabbed the levers, and threw
+the steam off and the brakes on hard. The heavy train
+slid groaning and jarring along the track. The moose
+never stirred. The fire smoldered in his small narrow
+eyes. His black crest was bristling. As the engine
+bore down upon him, not a rod away, he reared high
+in the air, his antlers flashing in the blaze, and struck
+full at the headlight with his immense fore feet. There
+was a shattering of glass, a crash, a heavy shock, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+the train slid on through the darkness, lit only by the
+moon.</p>
+
+<p>Thirty or forty yards beyond, the momentum was
+exhausted and the engine came to a stop. Hemenway
+and McLeod clambered down and ran back, with the
+other trainmen and a few of the passengers. The
+moose was lying in the ditch beside the track, stone
+dead and frightfully shattered. But the great head
+and the vast spreading antlers were intact.</p>
+
+<p>"Seelverhorrns, sure enough!" said McLeod, bending
+over him. "He was crossin' frae the Nepisiguit
+to the Jacquet; but he didna get across. Weel, Dud,
+are ye glad? Ye hae kilt yer first moose!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Hemenway, "it's my first moose. But
+it's your first moose, too. And I think it's our last.
+Ye gods, what a fighter!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i031.png" width="500" height="341" alt="On the trail" title="On the trail" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>II.&mdash;The Wild-Horse Hunter<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Zane Grey</i></h3>
+
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<div class='cap'>Three wild-horse hunters made camp one
+night beside a little stream in the Sevier Valley,
+five hundred miles, as a crow flies, from
+Bostil's Ford.</div>
+
+<p>These hunters had a poor outfit, excepting, of course,
+their horses. They were young men, rangy in build,
+lean and hard from life in the saddle, bronzed like
+Indians, still-faced, and keen-eyed. Two of them appeared
+to be tired out, and lagged at the camp-fire
+duties. When the meager meal was prepared they sat,
+cross-legged, before a ragged tarpaulin, eating and
+drinking in silence.</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+<p>The sky in the west was rosy, slowly darkening.
+The valley floor billowed away, ridged and cut, growing
+gray and purple and dark. Walls of stone, pink
+with the last rays of the setting sun, inclosed the valley,
+stretching away toward a long, low, black mountain
+range.</p>
+
+<p>The place was wild, beautiful, open, with something
+nameless that made the desert different from any other
+country. It was, perhaps, a loneliness of vast stretches
+of valley and stone, clear to the eye, even after sunset.
+That black mountain range, which looked close enough
+to ride to before dark, was a hundred miles distant.</p>
+
+<p>The shades of night fell swiftly, and it was dark by
+the time the hunters finished the meal. Then the camp
+fire had burned low. One of the three dragged
+branches of dead cedars and replenished the fire.
+Quickly it flared up, with the white flame and crackle
+characteristic of dry cedar. The night wind had risen,
+moaning through the gnarled, stunted cedars near by,
+and it blew the fragrant wood smoke into the
+faces of the two hunters, who seemed too tired to
+move.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon a pipe would help me make up my mind,"
+said one.</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, Bill," replied the other, dryly, "your mind's
+made up, else you'd not say smoke."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because there ain't three pipefuls of thet precious
+tobacco left."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Thet's one apiece, then.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. Lin, come an'
+smoke the last pipe with us."</p>
+
+<p>The tallest of the three, he who had brought the firewood,
+stood in the bright light of the blaze. He looked
+the born rider, light, lithe, powerful.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, I'll smoke," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>Then, presently, he accepted the pipe tendered him,
+and, sitting down beside the fire, he composed himself
+to the enjoyment which his companions evidently considered
+worthy of a decision they had reached.</p>
+
+<p>"So this smokin' means you both want to turn
+back?" queried Lin, his sharp gaze glancing darkly
+bright in the glow of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Yep, we'll turn back. An', Gee! the relief I
+feel!" replied one.</p>
+
+<p>"We've been long comin' to it, Lin, an' thet was
+for your sake," replied the other.</p>
+
+<p>Lin slowly pulled at his pipe and blew out the smoke
+as if reluctant to part with it. "Let's go on," he said,
+quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I've had all I want of chasin' thet wild stallion,"
+returned Bill, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>The other spread wide his hands and bent an expostulating
+look upon the one called Lin. "We're two
+hundred miles out," he said. "There's only a little
+flour left in the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt!
+All the hosses except your big Nagger are played out.
+We're already in strange country. An' you know
+what we've heerd of this an' all to the south. It's all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+ca&ntilde;ons, an' somewheres down there is thet awful
+ca&ntilde;on none of our people ever seen. But we've heerd
+of it. An awful cut-up country."</p>
+
+<p>He finished with a conviction that no one could say
+a word against the common sense of his argument.
+Lin was silent, as if impressed.</p>
+
+<p>Bill raised a strong, lean, brown hand in a forcible
+gesture. "We can't ketch Wildfire!"</p>
+
+<p>That seemed to him, evidently, a more convincing
+argument than his comrade's.</p>
+
+<p>"Bill is sure right, if I'm wrong, which I ain't,"
+went on the other. "Lin, we've trailed thet wild stallion
+for six weeks. Thet's the longest chase he ever
+had. He's left his old range. He's cut out his band,
+an' left them, one by one. We've tried every trick
+we know on him. An' he's too smart for us. There's
+a hoss! Why, Lin, we're all but gone to the dogs
+chasin' Wildfire. An' now I'm done, an' I'm glad of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>There was another short silence, which presently
+Bill opened his lips to break.</p>
+
+<p>"Lin, it makes me sick to quit. I ain't denyin' thet
+for a long time I've had hopes of ketchin' Wildfire.
+He's the grandest hoss I ever laid eyes on. I reckon
+no man, onless he was an Arab, ever seen as good a
+one. But now thet's neither here nor there.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.
+We've got to hit the back trail."</p>
+
+<p>"Boys, I reckon I'll stick to Wildfire's tracks," said
+Lin, in the same quiet tone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bill swore at him, and the other hunter grew excited
+and concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"Lin Slone, are you gone plumb crazy over thet red
+hoss?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;reckon," replied Slone. The working of his
+throat as he swallowed could be plainly seen by his
+companions.</p>
+
+<p>Bill looked at his ally as if to confirm some sudden
+understanding between them. They took Slone's attitude
+gravely and they wagged their heads doubtfully.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.
+It was significant of the nature of riders that they
+accepted his attitude and had consideration for his
+feelings. For them the situation subtly changed. For
+weeks they had been three wild-horse wranglers on a
+hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had failed
+to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit
+of their endurance and of the outfit, and it was time to
+turn back. But Slone had conceived that strange and
+rare longing for a horse&mdash;a passion understood, if
+not shared, by all riders. And they knew that he would
+catch Wildfire or die in the attempt. From that moment
+their attitude toward Slone changed as subtly
+as had come the knowledge of his feeling. The gravity
+and gloom left their faces. It seemed they might
+have regretted what they had said about the futility
+of catching Wildfire. They did not want Slone to
+see or feel the hopelessness of his task.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you, Lin," said Bill, "your hoss Nagger's as
+good as when we started."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Aw, he's better," vouchsafed the other rider.
+"Nagger needed to lose some weight. Lin, have you
+got an extra set of shoes for him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No full set. Only three left," replied Lin, soberly.</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, thet's enough. You can keep Nagger shod.
+An' <i>mebbe</i> thet red stallion will get sore feet an' go
+lame. Then you'd stand a chance."</p>
+
+<p>"But Wildfire keeps travelin' the valleys&mdash;the soft
+ground," said Slone.</p>
+
+<p>"No matter. He's leavin' the country, an' he's
+bound to strike sandstone sooner or later. Then, by
+gosh! mebbe he'll wear off them hoofs."</p>
+
+<p>"Say, can't he ring bells offen the rocks?" exclaimed
+Bill.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys, do you think he's leavin' the country?" inquired
+Slone, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure he is," replied Bill. "He ain't the first stallion
+I've chased off the Sevier range. An' I know.
+It's a stallion thet makes for new country, when you
+push him hard."</p>
+
+<p>"Yep, Lin, he's sure leavin'," added the other comrade.
+"Why, he's traveled a bee line for days! I'll
+bet he's seen us many a time. Wildfire's about as
+smart as any man. He was born wild, an' his dam was
+born wild, an' there you have it. The wildest of all
+wild creatures&mdash;a wild stallion, with the intelligence
+of a man! A grand hoss, Lin, but one thet has killed
+stallions all over the Sevier range. A wild stallion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+thet's a killer! I never liked him for thet. Could he
+be broke?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll break him," said Lin Slone, grimly. "It's
+gettin' him thet's the job. I've got patience to break
+a hoss. But patience can't catch a streak of lightnin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Nope; you're right," replied Bill. "If you have
+some luck you'll get him&mdash;mebbe. If he wears out
+his feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow ca&ntilde;on, or
+run him into a bad place where he can't get by you.
+Thet might happen. An' then, with Nagger, you stand
+a chance. Did you ever tire thet hoss?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet."</p>
+
+<p>"An' how fur did you ever run him without a
+break? Why, when we ketched thet sorrel last year
+I rode Nagger myself&mdash;thirty miles, most at a hard
+gallop. An' he never turned a hair!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've beat thet," replied Lin. "He could run hard
+fifty miles&mdash;mebbe more. Honestly, I never seen
+him tired yet. If only he was fast!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, Nagger ain't so slow, come to think of thet,"
+replied Bill, with a grunt. "He's good enough for
+you not to want another hoss."</p>
+
+<p>"Lin, you're goin' to wear out Wildfire, an' then
+trap him somehow&mdash;is thet the plan?" asked the other
+comrade.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't any plan. I'll just trail him, like a
+cougar trails a deer."</p>
+
+<p>"Lin, if Wildfire gives you the slip he'll have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+fly. You've got the best eyes for tracks of any
+wrangler in Utah."</p>
+
+<p>Slone accepted the compliment with a fleeting, doubtful
+smile on his dark face. He did not reply, and no
+more was said by his comrades. They rolled with
+backs to the fire. Slone put on more wood, for the
+keen wind was cold and cutting; and then he lay down,
+his head on his saddle, with a goatskin under him and
+a saddle blanket over him.</p>
+
+<p>All three were soon asleep. The wind whipped the
+sand and ashes and smoke over the sleepers. Coyotes
+barked from near in darkness, and from the valley
+ridge came the faint mourn of a hunting wolf. The
+desert night grew darker and colder.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The Stewart brothers were wild-horse hunters for
+the sake of trades and occasional sales. But Lin Slone
+never traded nor sold a horse he had captured. The
+excitement of the game, and the lure of the desert,
+and the love of a horse were what kept him at the
+profitless work. His type was rare in the uplands.</p>
+
+<p>These were the early days of the settlement of Utah,
+and only a few of the hardiest and most adventurous
+pioneers had penetrated the desert in the southern part
+of that vast upland. And with them came some of
+that wild breed of riders to which Slone and the Stewarts
+belonged. Horses were really more important and
+necessary than men; and this singular fact gave these
+lonely riders a calling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Before the Spaniards came there were no horses in
+the West. Those explorers left or lost horses all over
+the southwest. Many of them were Arabian horses of
+purest blood. American explorers and travelers, at
+the outset of the nineteenth century, encountered countless
+droves of wild horses all over the plains. Across
+the Grand Ca&ntilde;on, however, wild horses were comparatively
+few in number in the early days; and these had
+probably come in by way of California.</p>
+
+<p>The Stewarts and Slone had no established mode of
+catching wild horses. The game had not developed
+fast enough for that. Every chase of horse or drove
+was different; and once in many attempts they met
+with success.</p>
+
+<p>A favorite method originated by the Stewarts was
+to find a water hole frequented by the band of horses
+or the stallion wanted, and to build round this hole a
+corral with an opening for the horses to get in. Then
+the hunters would watch the trap at night, and if the
+horses went in to drink, a gate was closed across the
+opening.</p>
+
+<p>Another method of the Stewarts was to trail a
+coveted horse up on a mesa or highland, places which
+seldom had more than one trail of ascent and descent,
+and there block the escape, and cut lines of cedars, into
+which the quarry was run till captured. Still another
+method, discovered by accident, was to shoot a horse
+lightly in the neck and sting him. This last, called
+creasing, was seldom successful, and for that matter in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+any method ten times as many horses were killed as
+captured.</p>
+
+<p>Lin Slone helped the Stewarts in their own way,
+but he had no especial liking for their tricks. Perhaps
+a few remarkable captures of remarkable horses
+had spoiled Slone. He was always trying what the
+brothers claimed to be impossible. He was a fearless
+rider, but he had the fault of saving his mount, and
+to kill a wild horse was a tragedy for him. He would
+much rather have hunted alone, and he had been alone
+on the trail of the stallion Wildfire when the Stewarts
+had joined him.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Lin Slone awoke next morning and rolled out of
+his blanket at his usual early hour. But he was not
+early enough to say good-by to the Stewarts. They
+were gone.</p>
+
+<p>The fact surprised him and somehow relieved him.
+They had left him more than his share of the outfit,
+and perhaps that was why they had slipped off before
+dawn. They knew him well enough to know that he
+would not have accepted it. Besides, perhaps they felt
+a little humiliation at abandoning a chase which he
+chose to keep up. Anyway, they were gone, apparently
+without breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>The morning was clear, cool, with the air dark like
+that before a storm, and in the east, over the steely
+wall of stone, shone a redness growing brighter.</p>
+
+<p>Slone looked away to the west, down the trail taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+by his comrades, but he saw nothing moving against
+that cedar-dotted waste.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," he said, and he spoke as if he was saying
+good-by to more than comrades.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I won't see Sevier Village soon again&mdash;an'
+maybe never," he soliloquized.</p>
+
+<p>There was no one to regret him, unless it was old
+Mother Hall, who had been kind to him on those rare
+occasions when he got out of the wilderness. Still, it
+was with regret that he gazed away across the red
+valley to the west. Slone had no home. His father
+and mother had been lost in the massacre of a wagon
+train by Indians, and he had been one of the few
+saved and brought to Salt Lake. That had happened
+when he was ten years old. His life thereafter had
+been hard, and but for his sturdy Texas training he
+might not have survived. The last five years he had
+been a horse hunter in the wild uplands of Nevada and
+Utah.</p>
+
+<p>Slone turned his attention to the pack of supplies.
+The Stewarts had divided the flour and the parched
+corn equally, and unless he was greatly mistaken
+they had left him most of the coffee and all of the
+salt.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I hold that decent of Bill an' Abe," said
+Slone, regretfully. "But I could have got along without
+it better 'n they could."</p>
+
+<p>Then he swiftly set about kindling a fire and getting
+a meal. In the midst of his task a sudden ruddy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+brightness fell around him. Lin Slone paused in his
+work to look up.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had risen over the eastern wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he said, and drew a deep breath.</p>
+
+<p>The cold, steely, darkling sweep of desert had been
+transformed. It was now a world of red earth and
+gold rocks and purple sage, with everywhere the endless
+straggling green cedars. A breeze whipped in,
+making the fire roar softly. The sun felt warm on his
+cheek. And at the moment he heard the whistle of
+his horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Good old Nagger!" he said. "I shore won't
+have to track you this mornin'."</p>
+
+<p>Presently he went off into the cedars to find <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Naggar'">Nagger</ins>
+and the mustang that he used to carry a pack. Nagger
+was grazing in a little open patch among the trees, but
+the pack horse was missing. Slone seemed to know
+in what direction to go to find the trail, for he came
+upon it very soon. The pack horse wore hobbles, but
+he belonged to the class that could cover a great deal
+of ground when hobbled. Slone did not expect the
+horse to go far, considering that the grass thereabouts
+was good. But in a wild-horse country it was not
+safe to give any horse a chance. The call of his wild
+brethren was irresistible. Slone, however, found the
+mustang standing quietly in a clump of cedars, and,
+removing the hobbles, he mounted and rode back to
+camp. Nagger caught sight of him and came at his
+call.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This horse Nagger appeared as unique in his class
+as Slone was rare among riders. Nagger seemed of
+several colors, though black predominated. His coat
+was shaggy, almost woolly, like that of a sheep. He
+was huge, raw-boned, knotty, long of body and long
+of leg, with the head of a war charger. His build
+did not suggest speed. There appeared to be something
+slow and ponderous about him, similar to an
+elephant, with the same suggestion of power and endurance.</p>
+
+<p>Slone discarded the pack saddle and bags. The latter
+were almost empty. He roped the tarpaulin on
+the back of the mustang, and, making a small bundle
+of his few supplies, he tied that to the tarpaulin. His
+blanket he used for a saddle blanket on Nagger. Of
+the utensils left by the Stewarts he chose a couple of
+small iron pans, with long handles. The rest he left.
+In his saddle bags he had a few extra horseshoes,
+some nails, bullets for his rifle, and a knife with a heavy
+blade.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a rich outfit for a far country," he mused.
+Slone did not talk very much, and when he did he addressed
+Nagger and himself simultaneously. Evidently
+he expected a long chase, one from which he
+would not return, and light as his outfit was it would
+grow too heavy.</p>
+
+<p>Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope,
+facing the valley and the black, bold, flat mountain to
+the southeast. Some few hundred yards from camp he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize
+the ground.</p>
+
+<p>The clean-cut track of a horse showed in the bare,
+hard sand. The hoof marks were large, almost oval,
+perfect in shape, and manifestly they were beautiful to
+Lin Slone. He gazed at them for a long time, and then
+he looked across the dotted red valley up to the vast
+ridgy steppes, toward the black plateau and beyond.
+It was the look that an Indian gives to a strange country.
+Then Slone slipped off the saddle and knelt to
+scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand had blown
+into the depressions, and some of it was wet and some
+of it was dry. He took his time about examining it,
+and he even tried gently blowing other sand into the
+tracks, to compare that with what was already there.
+Finally he stood up and addressed Nagger.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill
+this mornin'," he said, with satisfaction. "Wildfire
+made that track yesterday, before sunup."</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon Slone remounted and put Nagger to a
+trot. The pack horse followed with an alacrity that
+showed he had no desire for loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>As straight as a bee line Wildfire had left a trail
+down into the floor of the valley. He had not stopped
+to graze, and he had not looked for water. Slone had
+hoped to find a water hole in one of the deep washes
+in the red earth, but if there had been any water there
+Wildfire would have scented it. He had not had a
+drink for three days that Slone knew of. And Nagger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+had not drunk for forty hours. Slone had a canvas
+water bag hanging over the pommel, but it was a
+habit of his to deny himself, as far as possible, till his
+horse could drink also. Like an Indian, Slone ate and
+drank but little.</p>
+
+<p>It took four hours of steady trotting to reach the
+middle and bottom of that wide, flat valley. A network
+of washes cut up the whole center of it, and they
+were all as dry as bleached bone. To cross these
+Slone had only to keep Wildfire's trail. And it was
+proof of Nagger's quality that he did not have to veer
+from the stallion's course.</p>
+
+<p>It was hot down in the lowland. The heat struck
+up, reflected from the sand. But it was a March sun,
+and no more than pleasant to Slone. The wind rose,
+however, and blew dust and sand in the faces of horse
+and rider. Except lizards Slone did not see any living
+things.</p>
+
+<p>Miles of low greasewood and sparse yellow sage
+led to the first almost imperceptible rise of the valley
+floor on that side. The distant cedars beckoned to
+Slone. He was not patient, because he was on the
+trail of Wildfire; but, nevertheless, the hours seemed
+short.</p>
+
+<p>Slone had no past to think about, and the future held
+nothing except a horse, and so his thoughts revolved
+the possibilities connected with this chase of Wildfire.
+The chase was hopeless in such country as he was
+traversing, and if Wildfire chose to roam around valleys<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+like this one Slone would fail utterly. But the
+stallion had long ago left his band of horses, and then,
+one by one his favorite consorts, and now he was alone,
+headed with unerring instinct for wild, untrammeled
+ranges. He had been used to the pure, cold water and
+the succulent grass of the cold desert uplands. Assuredly
+he would not tarry in such barren lands as these.</p>
+
+<p>For Slone an ever-present and growing fascination
+lay in Wildfire's clear, sharply defined tracks. It was
+as if every hoof mark told him something. Once, far
+up the interminable ascent, he found on a ridge top
+tracks showing where Wildfire had halted and turned.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha, Nagger!" cried Slone, exultingly. "Look
+there! He's begun facin' about. He's wonderin' if
+we're still after him. He's worried.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. But we'll
+keep out of sight&mdash;a day behind."</p>
+
+<p>When Slone reached the cedars the sun was low
+down in the west. He looked back across the fifty
+miles of valley to the colored cliffs and walls. He
+seemed to be above them now, and the cool air, with
+tang of cedar and juniper, strengthened the impression
+that he had climbed high.</p>
+
+<p>A mile or more ahead of him rose a gray cliff with
+breaks in it and a line of dark cedars or pi&ntilde;ons on the
+level rims. He believed these breaks to be the mouths
+of ca&ntilde;ons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's trail led
+into the mouth of a narrow ca&ntilde;on with very steep and
+high walls. Nagger snorted his perception of water,
+and the mustang whistled. Wildfire's tracks led to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+point under the wall where a spring gushed forth.
+There were mountain lion and deer tracks also, as well
+as those of smaller game.</p>
+
+<p>Slone made camp here. The mustang was tired.
+But Nagger, upon taking a long drink, rolled in the
+grass as if he had just begun the trip. After eating,
+Slone took his rifle and went out to look for deer.
+But there appeared to be none at hand. He came
+across many lion tracks, and saw, with apprehension,
+where one had taken Wildfire's trail. Wildfire had
+grazed up the ca&ntilde;on, keeping on and on, and he was
+likely to go miles in a night. Slone reflected that as
+small as were his own chances of getting Wildfire, they
+were still better than those of a mountain lion.
+Wildfire was the most cunning of all animals&mdash;a wild
+stallion; his speed and endurance were incomparable;
+his scent as keen as those animals that relied wholly
+upon scent to warn them of danger; and as for sight,
+it was Slone's belief that no hoofed creature, except the
+mountain sheep used to high altitudes, could see as far
+as a wild horse.</p>
+
+<p>It bothered Slone a little that he was getting into a
+lion country. Nagger showed nervousness, something
+unusual for him. Slone tied both horses with long
+halters and stationed them on patches of thick grass.
+Then he put a cedar stump on the fire and went to
+sleep. Upon awakening and going to the spring he
+was somewhat chagrined to see that deer had come
+down to drink early. Evidently they were numerous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+A lion country was always a deer country, for the
+lions followed the deer.</p>
+
+<p>Slone was packed and saddled and on his way before
+the sun reddened the ca&ntilde;on wall. He walked the
+horses. From time to time he saw signs of Wildfire's
+consistent progress. The ca&ntilde;on narrowed and the
+walls grew lower and the grass increased. There was
+a decided ascent all the time. Slone could find no evidence
+that the ca&ntilde;on had ever been traveled by hunters
+or Indians. The day was pleasant and warm and still.
+Every once in a while a little breath of wind would
+bring a fragrance of cedar and pi&ntilde;on, and a sweet hint
+of pine and sage. At every turn he looked ahead, expecting
+to see the green of pine and the gray of sage.
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, coming to a place
+where Wildfire had taken to a trot, he put Nagger to
+that gait, and by sundown had worked up to where
+the ca&ntilde;on was only a shallow ravine. And finally it
+turned once more, to lose itself in a level where straggling
+pines stood high above the cedars, and great,
+dark-green silver spruces stood above the pines. And
+here were patches of sage, fresh and pungent, and long
+reaches of bleached grass. It was the edge of a forest.
+Wildfire's trail went on. Slone came at length
+to a group of pines, and here he found the remains of
+a camp fire, and some flint arrow-heads. Indians had
+been in there, probably having come from the opposite
+direction to Slone's. This encouraged him, for where
+Indians could hunt so could he. Soon he was entering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+a forest where cedars and pi&ntilde;ons and pines began to
+grow thickly. Presently he came upon a faintly defined
+trail, just a dim, dark line even to an experienced
+eye. But it was a trail, and Wildfire had taken it.</p>
+
+<p>Slone halted for the night. The air was cold. And
+the dampness of it gave him an idea there were snow
+banks somewhere not far distant. The dew was already
+heavy on the grass. He hobbled the horses and
+put a bell on Nagger. A bell might frighten lions that
+had never heard one. Then he built a fire and cooked
+his meal.</p>
+
+<p>It had been long since he had camped high up among
+the pines. The sough of the wind pleased him, like
+music. There had begun to be prospects of pleasant
+experience along with the toil of chasing Wildfire.
+He was entering new and strange and beautiful country.
+How far might the chase take him? He did not
+care. He was not sleepy, but even if he had been it
+developed that he must wait till the coyotes ceased
+their barking round his camp fire. They came so close
+that he saw their gray shadows in the gloom. But
+presently they wearied of yelping at him and went
+away. After that the silence, broken only by the wind
+as it roared and lulled, seemed beautiful to Slone. He
+lost completely that sense of vague regret which had
+remained with him, and he forgot the Stewarts. And
+suddenly he felt absolutely free, alone, with nothing
+behind to remember, with wild, thrilling, nameless life
+before him. Just then the long mourn of a timber<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+wolf wailed in with the wind. Seldom had he heard
+the cry of one of those night wanderers. There was
+nothing like it&mdash;no sound like it to fix in the lone
+camper's heart the great solitude and the wild.</p>
+
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>In the early morning when all was gray and the big,
+dark pines were shadowy specters, Slone was awakened
+by the cold. His hands were so numb that he had
+difficulty starting a fire. He stood over the blaze,
+warming them. The air was nipping, clear and thin,
+and sweet with frosty fragrance.</p>
+
+<p>Daylight came while he was in the midst of his
+morning meal. A white frost covered the ground and
+crackled under his feet as he went out to bring in the
+horses. He saw fresh deer tracks. Then he went
+back to camp for his rifle. Keeping a sharp lookout
+for game, he continued his search for the horses.</p>
+
+<p>The forest was open and parklike. There were no
+fallen trees or evidences of fire. Presently he came to
+a wide glade in the midst of which Nagger and the
+pack mustang were grazing with a herd of deer. The
+size of the latter amazed Slone. The deer he had
+hunted back on the Sevier range were much smaller
+than these. Evidently these were mule deer, closely
+allied to the elk. They were so tame they stood facing
+him curiously, with long ears erect. It was sheer murder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+to kill a deer standing and watching like that, but
+Slone was out of meat and hungry and facing a long,
+hard trip. He shot a buck, which leaped spasmodically
+away, trying to follow the herd, and fell at the edge of
+the glade. Slone cut out a haunch, and then, catching
+the horses, he returned to camp, where he packed and
+saddled, and at once rode out on the dim trail.</p>
+
+<p>The wilderness of the country he was entering was
+evident in the fact that as he passed the glade where
+he had shot the deer a few minutes before, there were
+coyotes quarreling over the carcass.</p>
+
+<p>Slone could see ahead and on each side several hundred
+yards, and presently he ascertained that the forest
+floor was not so level as he had supposed. He had entered
+a valley or was traversing a wide, gently sloping
+pass. He went through thickets of juniper, and had
+to go around clumps of quaking asp. The pines grew
+larger and farther apart. Cedars and pi&ntilde;ons had been
+left behind, and he had met with no silver spruces after
+leaving camp. Probably that point was the height of
+a divide. There were banks of snow in some of the
+hollows on the north side. Evidently the snow had
+very recently melted, and it was evident also that the
+depth of snow through here had been fully ten feet,
+judging from the mutilation of the juniper trees where
+the deer, standing on the hard, frozen crust, had
+browsed upon the branches.</p>
+
+<p>The quiet of the forest thrilled Slone. And the only
+movement was the occasional gray flash of a deer or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+coyote across a glade. No birds of any species crossed
+Slone's sight. He came, presently, upon a lion track
+in the trail, made probably a day before. Slone grew
+curious about it, seeing how it held, as he was holding,
+to Wildfire's tracks. After a mile or so he made sure
+the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for a second
+he felt a cold contraction of his heart. Already he
+loved Wildfire, and by virtue of all this toil of travel
+considered the wild horse his property.</p>
+
+<p>"No lion could ever get close to Wildfire," he soliloquized,
+with a short laugh. Of that he was absolutely
+certain.</p>
+
+<p>The sun rose, melting the frost, and a breath of
+warm air, laden with the scent of pine, moved heavily
+under the huge, yellow trees. Slone passed a point
+where the remains of an old camp fire and a pile of deer
+antlers were further proof that Indians visited this
+plateau to hunt. From this camp broader, more deeply
+defined trails led away to the south and east. Slone
+kept to the east trail, in which Wildfire's tracks and
+those of the lion showed clearly. It was about the
+middle of the forenoon when the tracks of the stallion
+and lion left the trail to lead up a little draw where grass
+grew thick. Slone followed, reading the signs of
+Wildfire's progress, and the action of his pursuer, as
+well as if he had seen them. Here the stallion had
+plowed into a snow bank, eating a hole two feet deep;
+then he had grazed around a little; then on and on;
+there his splendid tracks were deep in the soft earth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+Slone knew what to expect when the track of the lion
+veered from those of the horse, and he followed the
+lion tracks. The ground was soft from the late melting
+of snow, and Nagger sunk deep. The lion left a
+plain track. Here he stole steadily along; there he left
+many tracks at a point where he might have halted to
+make sure of his scent. He was circling on the trail
+of the stallion, with cunning intent of ambush. The
+end of this slow, careful stalk of the lion, as told in his
+tracks, came upon the edge of a knoll where he had
+crouched to watch and wait. From this perch he had
+made a magnificent spring&mdash;Slone estimating it to be
+forty feet&mdash;but he had missed the stallion. There
+were Wildfire's tracks again, slow and short, and then
+deep and sharp where in the impetus of fright he had
+sprung out of reach. A second leap of the lion, and
+then lessening bounds, and finally an abrupt turn from
+Wildfire's trail told the futility of that stalk. Slone
+made certain that Wildfire was so keen that as he
+grazed along he had kept to open ground.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire had run for a mile, then slowed down to a
+trot, and he had circled to get back to the trail he had
+left. Slone believed the horse was just so intelligent.
+At any rate, Wildfire struck the trail again, and turned
+at right angles to follow it.</p>
+
+<p>Here the forest floor appeared perfectly level.
+Patches of snow became frequent, and larger as Slone
+went on. At length the patches closed up, and soon
+extended as far as he could see. It was soft, affording<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+difficult travel. Slone crossed hundreds of deer tracks,
+and the trail he was on evidently became a deer runway.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, far down one of the aisles between the
+great pines Slone saw what appeared to be a yellow
+cliff, far away. It puzzled him. And as he went on
+he received the impression that the forest dropped out
+of sight ahead. Then the trees grew thicker, obstructing
+his view. Presently the trail became soggy and he
+had to help his horse. The mustang floundered in the
+soft snow and earth. Cedars and pi&ntilde;ons appeared
+again, making travel still more laborious.</p>
+
+<p>All at once there came to Slone a strange consciousness
+of light and wind and space and void. On the
+instant his horse halted with a snort. Slone quickly
+looked up. Had he come to the end of the world? An
+abyss, a ca&ntilde;on, yawned beneath him, beyond all comparison
+in its greatness. His keen eye, educated to
+desert distance and dimension swept down and across,
+taking in the tremendous truth, before it staggered his
+comprehension. But a second sweeping glance, slower,
+becoming intoxicated with what it beheld, saw gigantic
+cliff steppes and yellow slopes dotted with cedars, leading
+down to clefts filled with purple smoke, and these
+led on and on to a ragged red world of rock, bare, shining,
+bold, uplifted in mesa, dome, peak, and crag, clear
+and strange in the morning light, still and sleeping like
+death.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was the great ca&ntilde;on, which had seemed
+like a hunter's fable rather than truth. Slone's sight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he found that his
+eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away and
+looked again and again, until he was confounded by
+the vastness and grandeur and the vague sadness of the
+scene. Nothing he had ever looked at had affected
+him like this ca&ntilde;on, although the Stewarts had tried
+to prepare him for it.</p>
+
+<p>It was the horse hunter's passion that reminded him
+of his pursuit. The deer trail led down through a
+break in the wall. Only a few rods of it could be seen.
+This trail was passable, even though choked with snow.
+But the depth beyond this wall seemed to fascinate
+Slone and hold him back, used as he was to desert
+trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's hoof brought
+back the old thrill.</p>
+
+<p>"This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting.</p>
+
+<p>He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang
+followed. Slone kept to the wall side of the trail,
+fearing the horses might slip. The snow held firmly
+at first and Slone had no trouble. The gap in the rim
+rock widened to a slope thickly grown over with cedars
+and pi&ntilde;ons and manzanita. This growth made the
+descent more laborious, yet afforded means at least for
+Slone to go down with less danger. There was no
+stopping. Once started, the horses had to keep on.
+Slone saw the impossibility of ever climbing out while
+that snow was there. The trail zigzagged down and
+down. Very soon the yellow wall hung tremendously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+over him, straight up. The snow became thinner and
+softer. The horses began to slip. They slid on their
+haunches. Fortunately the slope grew less steep, and
+Slone could see below where it reached out to comparatively
+level ground. Still, a mishap might yet occur.
+Slone kept as close to Nagger as possible, helping him
+whenever he could do it. The mustang slipped, rolled
+over, and then slipped past Slone, went down the slope
+to bring up in a cedar. Slone worked down to him and
+extricated him. Then the huge Nagger began to slide.
+Snow and loose rock slid with him, and so did Slone.
+The little avalanche stopped of its own accord, and
+then Slone dragged Nagger on down and down, presently
+to come to the end of the steep descent. Slone
+looked up to see that he had made short work of a
+thousand-foot slope. Here cedars and pi&ntilde;ons grew
+thickly enough to make a forest. The snow thinned
+out to patches, and then failed. But the going remained
+bad for a while as the horses sank deep in a
+soft red earth. This eventually grew more solid and
+finally dry. Slone worked out of the cedars to what
+appeared a grassy plateau inclosed by the great green
+and white slope with its yellow wall overhanging, and
+distant mesas and cliffs. Here his view was restricted.
+He was down on the first bench of the great ca&ntilde;on.
+And there was the deer trail, a well-worn path keeping
+to the edge of the slope. Slone came to a deep cut in
+the earth, and the trail headed it, where it began at the
+last descent of the slope. It was the source of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+ca&ntilde;on. He could look down to see the bare, worn
+rock, and a hundred yards from where he stood the
+earth was washed from its rims and it began to show
+depth and something of that ragged outline which told
+of violence of flood. The trail headed many ca&ntilde;ons
+like this, all running down across this bench, disappearing,
+dropping invisibly. The trail swung to the
+left under the great slope, and then presently it climbed
+to a higher bench. Here were brush and grass and
+huge patches of sage, so pungent that it stung Slone's
+nostrils. Then he went down again, this time to come
+to a clear brook lined by willows. Here the horses
+drank long and Slone refreshed himself. The sun had
+grown hot. There was fragrance of flowers he could
+not see and a low murmur of a waterfall that was likewise
+invisible. For most of the time his view was
+shut off, but occasionally he reached a point where
+through some break he saw towers gleaming red in the
+sun. A strange place, a place of silence, and smoky
+veils in the distance. Time passed swiftly. Toward
+the waning of the afternoon he began to climb what
+appeared to be a saddle of land, connecting the ca&ntilde;on
+wall on the left with a great plateau, gold-rimmed and
+pine-fringed, rising more and more in his way as he
+advanced. At sunset Slone was more shut in than for
+several hours. He could tell the time was sunset by the
+golden light on the cliff wall again overhanging him.
+The slope was gradual up to this pass to the saddle,
+and upon coming to a spring and the first pine trees, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+decided to halt for camp. The mustang was almost
+exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon he hobbled the horses in the luxuriant
+grass round the spring, and then unrolled his pack.
+Once as dusk came stealing down, while he was eating
+his meal, Nagger whistled in fright. Slone saw a
+gray, pantherish form gliding away into the shadows.
+He took a quick shot at it, but missed.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a lion country, all right," he said. And then
+he set about building a big fire on the other side of the
+grassy plot, so as to have the horses between fires. He
+cut all the venison into thin strips, and spent an hour
+roasting them. Then he lay down to rest, and he
+said: "Wonder where Wildfire is to-night? Am I
+closer to him? Where's he headin' for?"</p>
+
+<p>The night was warm and still. It was black near
+the huge cliff, and overhead velvety blue, with stars
+of white fire. It seemed to him that he had become
+more thoughtful and observing of the aspects of his
+wild environment, and he felt a welcome consciousness
+of loneliness. Then sleep came to him and the night
+seemed short. In the gray dawn he arose refreshed.</p>
+
+<p>The horses were restive. Nagger snorted a welcome.
+Evidently they had passed an uneasy night.
+Slone found lion tracks at the spring and in sandy
+places. Presently he was on his way up to the notch
+between the great wall and the plateau. A growth of
+thick scrub oak made travel difficult. It had not appeared
+far up to that saddle, but it was far. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+were straggling pine trees and huge rocks that obstructed
+his gaze. But once up he saw that the saddle
+was only a narrow ridge, curved to slope up on both
+sides.</p>
+
+<p>Straight before Slone and under him opened the
+ca&ntilde;on, blazing and glorious along the peaks and ramparts,
+where the rising sun struck, misty and smoky and
+shadowy down in those mysterious depths.</p>
+
+<p>It took an effort not to keep on gazing. But Slone
+turned to the grim business of his pursuit. The trail
+he saw leading down had been made by Indians. It
+was used probably once a year by them; and also by
+wild animals, and it was exceedingly steep and rough.
+Wildfire had paced to and fro along the narrow ridge
+of that saddle, making many tracks, before he had
+headed down again. Slone imagined that the great
+stallion had been daunted by the tremendous chasm,
+but had finally faced it, meaning to put this obstacle
+between him and his pursuers. It never occurred to
+Slone to attribute less intelligence to Wildfire than
+that. So, dismounting, Slone took Nagger's bridle and
+started down. The mustang with the pack was reluctant.
+He snorted and whistled and pawed the
+earth. But he would not be left alone, so he followed.</p>
+
+<p>The trail led down under cedars that fringed a
+precipice. Slone was aware of this without looking.
+He attended only to the trail and to his horse. Only
+an Indian could have picked out that course, and it was
+cruel to put a horse to it. But Nagger was powerful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+sure-footed, and he would go anywhere that Slone led
+him. Gradually Slone worked down and away from
+the bulging rim wall. It was hard, rough work, and
+risky because it could not be accomplished slowly.
+Brush and rocks, loose shale and weathered slope, long,
+dusty inclines of yellow earth, and jumbles of stone&mdash;these
+made bad going for miles of slow, zigzag trail
+down out of the cedars. Then the trail entered what
+appeared to be a ravine.</p>
+
+<p>That ravine became a ca&ntilde;on. At its head it was a
+dry wash, full of gravel and rocks. It began to cut
+deep into the bowels of the earth. It shut out sight of
+the surrounding walls and peaks. Water appeared
+from under a cliff and, augmented by other springs, became
+a brook. Hot, dry, and barren at its beginning,
+this cleft became cool and shady and luxuriant with
+grass and flowers and amber moss with silver blossoms.
+The rocks had changed color from yellow to deep red.
+Four hours of turning and twisting, endlessly down and
+down, over bowlders and banks and every conceivable
+roughness of earth and rock, finished the pack mustang;
+and Slone mercifully left him in a long reach of ca&ntilde;on
+where grass and water never failed. In this place
+Slone halted for the noon hour, letting Nagger have his
+fill of the rich grazing. Nagger's three days in grassy
+upland, despite the continuous travel by day, had improved
+him. He looked fat, and Slone had not yet
+caught the horse resting. Nagger was iron to endure.
+Here Slone left all the outfit except what was on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+saddle, and the sack containing the few pounds of
+meat and supplies, and the two utensils. This sack
+he tied on the back of his saddle, and resumed his
+journey.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he came to a place where Wildfire had
+doubled on his trail and had turned up a side ca&ntilde;on.
+The climb out was hard on Slone, if not on Nagger.
+Once up, Slone found himself upon a wide, barren
+plateau of glaring red rock and clumps of greasewood
+and cactus. The plateau was miles wide, shut in by
+great walls and mesas of colored rock. The afternoon
+sun beat down fiercely. A blast of wind, as if from a
+furnace, swept across the plateau, and it was laden with
+red dust. Slone walked here, where he could have
+ridden. And he made several miles of up-and-down
+progress over this rough plateau. The great walls of
+the opposite side of the ca&ntilde;on loomed appreciably
+closer. What, Slone wondered, was at the bottom of
+this rent in the earth? The great desert river was
+down there, of course, but he knew nothing of it.
+Would that turn back Wildfire? Slone thought grimly
+how he had always claimed Nagger to be part fish and
+part bird. Wildfire was not going to escape.</p>
+
+<p>By and by only isolated mescal plants with long,
+yellow-plumed spears broke the bare monotony of the
+plateau. And Slone passed from red sand and gravel
+to a red, soft shale, and from that to hard, red rock.
+Here Wildfire's tracks were lost, the first time in seven
+weeks. But Slone had his direction down that plateau<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+with the cleavage lines of ca&ntilde;ons to right and left. At
+times Slone found a vestige of the old Indian trail,
+and this made him doubly sure of being right. He did
+not need to have Wildfire's tracks. He let Nagger
+pick the way, and the horse made no mistake in finding
+the line of least resistance. But that grew harder and
+harder. This bare rock, like a file, would soon wear
+Wildfire's hoofs thin. And Slone rejoiced. Perhaps
+somewhere down in this awful chasm he and Nagger
+would have if out with the stallion. Slone began to
+look far ahead, beginning to believe that he might see
+Wildfire. Twice he had seen Wildfire, but only at a
+distance. Then he had resembled a running streak of
+fire, whence his name, which Slone had given him.</p>
+
+<p>This bare region of rock began to be cut up into gullies.
+It was necessary to head them or to climb in and
+out. Miles of travel really meant little progress
+straight ahead. But Slone kept on. He was hot and
+Nagger was hot, and that made hard work easier.
+Sometimes on the wind came a low thunder. Was it a
+storm or an avalanche slipping or falling water? He
+could not tell. The sound was significant and haunting.</p>
+
+<p>Of one thing he was sure&mdash;that he could not have
+found his back trail. But he divined he was never to
+retrace his steps on this journey. The stretch of
+broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of
+outline, darker in color, weirder in aspect and progress
+across it grew slower, more dangerous. There were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+many places Nagger should not have been put to&mdash;where
+a slip meant a broken leg. But Slone could not
+turn back. And something besides an indomitable
+spirit kept him going. Again the sound resembling
+thunder assailed his ears, louder this time. The plateau
+appeared to be ending in a series of great capes
+or promontories. Slone feared he would soon come
+out upon a promontory from which he might see the
+impossibility of further travel. He felt relieved down
+in the gullies, where he could not see far. He climbed
+out of one, presently, from which there extended a
+narrow ledge with a slant too perilous for any horse.
+He stepped out upon that with far less confidence than
+Nagger. To the right was a bulge of low wall, and
+a few feet to the left a dark precipice. The trail here
+was faintly outlined, and it was six inches wide and
+slanting as well. It seemed endless to Slone, that
+ledge. He looked only down at his feet and listened
+to Nagger's steps. The big horse trod carefully, but
+naturally, and he did not slip. That ledge extended in
+a long curve, turning slowly away from the precipice,
+and ascending a little at the further end. Slone drew
+a deep breath of relief when he led Nagger up on level
+rock.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a strange yet familiar sound halted Slone,
+as if he had been struck. The wild, shrill, high-pitched,
+piercing whistle of a stallion! Nagger neighed a blast
+in reply and pounded the rock with his iron-shod hoofs.
+With a thrill Slone looked ahead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There, some few hundred yards distant, on a promontory,
+stood a red horse.</p>
+
+<p>"It's Wildfire!" breathed Slone, tensely.</p>
+
+<p>He could not believe his sight. He imagined he was
+dreaming. But as Nagger stamped and snorted defiance
+Slone looked with fixed and keen gaze, and
+knew that beautiful picture was no lie.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire was as red as fire. His long mane, wild
+in the wind, was like a whipping, black-streaked flame.
+Silhouetted there against that ca&ntilde;on background he
+seemed gigantic, a demon horse, ready to plunge into
+fiery depths. He was looking back over his shoulder,
+his head very high, and every line of him was instinct
+with wildness. Again he sent out that shrill, air-splitting
+whistle. Slone understood it to be a clarion
+call to Nagger. If Nagger had been alone Wildfire
+would have killed him. The red stallion was a killer
+of horses. All over the Utah ranges he had left the
+trail of a murderer. Nagger understood this, too, for
+he whistled back in rage and terror. It took an iron
+arm to hold him. Then Wildfire plunged, apparently
+down, and vanished from Slone's sight.</p>
+
+<p>Slone hurried onward, to be blocked by a huge
+crack in the rocky plateau. This he had to head.
+And then another and like obstacle checked his haste
+to reach that promontory. He was forced to go more
+slowly. Wildfire had been close only as to sight. And
+this was the great ca&ntilde;on that dwarfed distance and
+magnified proximity. Climbing down and up, toiling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+on, he at last learned patience. He had seen Wildfire
+at close range. That was enough. So he plodded on,
+once more returning to careful regard of Nagger. It
+took an hour of work to reach the point where Wildfire
+had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>A promontory indeed it was, overhanging a valley
+a thousand feet below. A white torrent of a stream
+wound through it. There were lines of green cottonwoods
+following the winding course. Then Slone saw
+Wildfire slowly crossing the flat toward the stream.
+He had gone down that cliff, which to Slone looked
+perpendicular.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire appeared to be walking lame. Slone, making
+sure of this, suffered a pang. Then, when the
+significance of such lameness dawned upon him he
+whooped his wild joy and waved his hat. The red
+stallion must have heard, for he looked up. Then he
+went on again and waded into the stream, where he
+drank long. When he started to cross, the swift current
+drove him back in several places. The water
+wreathed white around him. But evidently it was not
+deep, and finally he crossed. From the other side he
+looked up again at Nagger and Slone, and, going on,
+he soon was out of sight in the cottonwoods.</p>
+
+<p>"How to get down!" muttered Slone.</p>
+
+<p>There was a break in the cliff wall, a bare stone slant
+where horses had gone down and come up. That was
+enough for Slone to know. He would have attempted
+the descent if he were sure no other horse but Wildfire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+had ever gone down there. But Slone's hair began to
+rise stiff on his head. A horse like Wildfire, and
+mountain sheep and Indian ponies, were all very different
+from Nagger. The chances were against Nagger.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, old boy. If I can do it, you can," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>Slone had never seen a trail as perilous as this. He
+was afraid for his horse. A slip there meant death.
+The way Nagger trembled in every muscle showed his
+feelings. But he never flinched. He would follow
+Slone anywhere, providing Slone rode him or led him.
+And here, as riding was impossible, Slone went before.
+If the horse slipped there would be a double tragedy,
+for Nagger would knock his master off the cliff.
+Slone set his teeth and stepped down. He did not let
+Nagger see his fear. He was taking the greatest risk
+he had ever run.</p>
+
+<p>The break in the wall led to a ledge, and the ledge
+dropped from step to step, and these had bare, slippery
+slants between. Nagger was splendid on a bad trail.
+He had methods peculiar to his huge build and great
+weight. He crashed down over the stone steps, both
+front hoofs at once. The slants he slid down on his
+haunches with his forelegs stiff and the iron shoes
+scraping. He snorted and heaved and grew wet with
+sweat. He tossed his head at some of the places. But
+he never hesitated and it was impossible for him to go
+slowly. Whenever Slone came to corrugated stretches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+in the trail he felt grateful. But these were few. The
+rock was like smooth red iron. Slone had never
+seen such hard rock. It took him long to realize that
+it was marble. His heart seemed a tense, painful knot
+in his breast, as if it could not beat, holding back in the
+strained suspense. But Nagger never jerked on the
+bridle. He never faltered. Many times he slipped,
+often with both front feet, but never with all four feet.
+So he did not fall. And the red wall began to loom
+above Sloan. Then suddenly he seemed brought to a
+point where it was impossible to descend. It was a
+round bulge, slanting fearfully, with only a few rough
+surfaces to hold a foot. Wildfire had left a broad,
+clear-swept mark at that place, and red hairs on some
+of the sharp points. He had slid down. Below was
+an offset that fortunately prevented further sliding.
+Slone started to walk down this place, but when Nagger
+began to slide Slone had to let go the bridle and
+jump. Both he and the horse landed safely. Luck
+was with them. And they went on, down and down,
+to reach the base of the great wall, scraped and exhausted,
+wet with sweat, but unhurt. As Slone gazed
+upward he felt the impossibility of believing what he
+knew to be true. He hugged and petted the horse.
+Then he led on to the roaring stream.</p>
+
+<p>It was green water white with foam. Slone waded
+in and found the water cool and shallow and very
+swift. He had to hold to Nagger to keep from being
+swept downstream. They crossed in safety. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+in the sand showed Wildfire's tracks. And here were
+signs of another Indian camp, half a year old.</p>
+
+<p>The shade of the cotton woods was pleasant. Slone
+found this valley oppressively hot. There was no wind
+and the sand blistered his feet through his boots.
+Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided him
+down into this wilderness of worn rock. And that
+trail crossed the stream at every turn of the twisting,
+narrow valley. Slone enjoyed getting into the water.
+He hung his gun over the pommel and let the water roll
+him. A dozen times he and Nagger forded the rushing
+torrent. Then they came to a boxlike closing of the
+valley to ca&ntilde;on walls, and here the trail evidently followed
+the stream bed. There was no other way.
+Slone waded in, and stumbled, rolled, and floated ahead
+of the sturdy horse. Nagger was wet to his breast,
+but he did not fall. This gulch seemed full of a hollow
+rushing roar. It opened out into a wide valley.
+And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began
+to climb the slope.</p>
+
+<p>Here the traveling was good, considering what had
+been passed. Once up out of the valley floor Slone
+saw Wildfire far ahead, high on the slope. He did
+not appear to be limping, but he was not going fast.
+Slone watched as he climbed. What and where would
+be the end of this chase?</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment,
+but usually he was hidden by rocks. The slope
+was one great talus, a jumble of weathered rock, fallen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+from what appeared a mountain of red and yellow
+wall. Here the heat of the sun fell upon him like fire.
+The rocks were so hot Slone could not touch them with
+bare hand. The close of the afternoon was approaching,
+and this slope was interminably long. Still, it was
+not steep, and the trail was good.</p>
+
+<p>At last from the height of slope Wildfire appeared,
+looking back and down. Then he was gone. Slone
+plodded upward. Long before he reached that summit
+he heard the dull rumble of the river. It grew to
+be a roar, yet it seemed distant. Would the great desert
+river stop Wildfire in his flight? Slone doubted it.
+He surmounted the ridge, to find the ca&ntilde;on opening in
+a tremendous gap, and to see down, far down, a glittering,
+sun-blasted slope merging into a deep, black gulch
+where a red river swept and chafed and roared.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow the river was what he had expected to
+see. A force that had cut and ground this ca&ntilde;on could
+have been nothing but a river like that. The trail led
+down, and Slone had no doubt that it crossed the river
+and led up out of the ca&ntilde;on. He wanted to stay there
+and gaze endlessly and listen. At length he began
+the descent. As he proceeded it seemed that the roar
+of the river lessened. He could not understand why
+this was so. It took half an hour to reach the last
+level, a ghastly, black, and iron-ribbed ca&ntilde;on bed, with
+the river splitting it. He had not had a glimpse of
+Wildfire on this side of the divide, but he found his
+tracks, and they led down off the last level, through a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+notch in the black bank of marble to a sand bar and the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire had walked straight off the sand into the
+water. Slone studied the river and shore. The water
+ran slow, heavily, in sluggish eddies. From far up
+the ca&ntilde;on came the roar of a rapid, and from below
+the roar of another, heavier and closer. The river appeared
+tremendous, in ways Slone felt rather than
+realized, yet it was not swift. Studying the black,
+rough wall of rock above him, he saw marks where the
+river had been sixty feet higher than where he stood
+on the sand. It was low, then. How lucky for him
+that he had gotten there before flood season! He believed
+Wildfire had crossed easily, and he knew Nagger
+could make it. Then he piled and tied his supplies
+and weapons high on the saddle, to keep them dry, and
+looked for a place to take to the water.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire had sunk deep before reaching the edge.
+Manifestly he had lunged the last few feet. Slone
+found a better place, and waded in, urging Nagger.
+The big horse plunged, almost going under, and began
+to swim. Slone kept upstream beside him. He found,
+presently, that the water was thick and made him
+tired, so it was necessary to grasp a stirrup and be
+towed. The river appeared only a few hundred feet
+wide, but probably it was wider than it looked.
+Nagger labored heavily near the opposite shore; still,
+he landed safely upon a rocky bank. There were
+patches of sand in which Wildfire's tracks showed so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+fresh that the water had not yet dried out of
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Slone rested his horse before attempting to climb
+out of that split in the rock. However, Wildfire had
+found an easy ascent. On this side of the ca&ntilde;on the
+bare rock did not predominate. A clear trail led up
+a dusty, gravelly slope, upon which scant greasewood
+and cactus appeared. Half an hour's climbing brought
+Slone to where he could see that he was entering a
+vast valley, sloping up and narrowing to a notch in
+the dark cliffs, above which towered the great red wall
+and about that the slopes of cedar and the yellow
+rim rock.</p>
+
+<p>And scarcely a mile distant, bright in the westering
+sunlight, shone the red stallion, moving slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Slone pressed on steadily. Just before dark he came
+to an ideal spot to camp. The valley had closed up,
+so that the lofty walls cast shadows that met. A
+clump of cottonwoods surrounding a spring, abundance
+of rich grass, willows and flowers lining the banks,
+formed an oasis in the bare valley. Slone was tired
+out from the day of ceaseless toil down and up, and
+he could scarcely keep his eyes open. But he tried to
+stay awake. The dead silence of the valley, the dry
+fragrance, the dreaming walls, the advent of night low
+down, when up on the ramparts the last red rays of
+the sun lingered, the strange loneliness&mdash;these were
+sweet and comforting to him.</p>
+
+<p>And that night's sleep was as a moment. He opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+his eyes to see the crags and towers and peaks and
+domes, and the lofty walls of that vast, broken chaos
+of ca&ntilde;ons across the river. They were now emerging
+from the misty gray of dawn, growing pink and lilac
+and purple under the rising sun.</p>
+
+<p>He arose and set about his few tasks, which, being
+soon finished, allowed him an early start.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire had grazed along no more than a mile in the
+lead. Slone looked eagerly up the narrowing ca&ntilde;on,
+but he was not rewarded by a sight of the stallion. As
+he progressed up a gradually ascending trail he became
+aware of the fact that the notch he had long looked up
+to was where the great red walls closed in and almost
+met. And the trail zigzagged up this narrow vent, so
+steep that only a few steps could be taken without rest.
+Slone toiled up for an hour&mdash;an age&mdash;till he was
+wet, burning, choked, with a great weight on his chest.
+Yet still he was only halfway up that awful break between
+the walls. Sometimes he could have tossed a
+stone down upon a part of the trail, only a few rods
+below, yet many, many weary steps of actual toil. As
+he got farther up the notch widened. What had been
+scarcely visible from the valley below was now colossal
+in actual dimensions. The trail was like a twisted
+mile of thread between two bulging mountain walls
+leaning their ledges and fronts over this tilted pass.</p>
+
+<p>Slone rested often. Nagger appreciated this and
+heaved gratefully at every halt. In this monotonous
+toil Slone forgot the zest of his pursuit. And when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+Nagger suddenly snorted in fright Slone was not prepared
+for what he saw.</p>
+
+<p>Above him ran a low, red wall, around which evidently
+the trail led. At the curve, which was a promontory,
+scarcely a hundred feet in an air line above him,
+he saw something red moving, bobbing, coming out
+into view. It was a horse.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire&mdash;no farther away than the length of three
+lassos!</p>
+
+<p>There he stood looking down. He fulfilled all of
+Slone's dreams. Only he was bigger. But he was so
+magnificently proportioned that he did not seem heavy.
+His coat was shaggy and red. It was not glossy.
+The color was what made him shine. His mane was
+like a crest, mounting, then falling low. Slone had
+never seen so much muscle on a horse. Yet his outline
+was graceful, beautiful. The head was indeed that of
+the wildest of all wild creatures&mdash;a stallion born
+wild&mdash;and it was beautiful, savage, splendid, everything
+but noble. Slone thought that if a horse could
+express hate, surely Wildfire did then. It was certain
+that he did express curiosity and fury.</p>
+
+<p>Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the
+horse were human. That was a natural action for a
+rider of his kind. Wildfire turned away, showed
+bright against the dark background, and then disappeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>That was the last Slone saw of Wildfire for three
+days.</p>
+
+<p>It took all of this day to climb out of the ca&ntilde;on.
+The second was a slow march of thirty miles into a
+scrub cedar and pi&ntilde;on forest, through which the great
+red and yellow walls of the ca&ntilde;on could be seen. That
+night Slone found a water hole in a rocky pocket and a
+little grass for Nagger. The third day's travel consisted
+of forty miles or more through level pine forest,
+dry and odorous, but lacking the freshness and beauty
+of the forest on the north side of the ca&ntilde;on. On this
+south side a strange feature was that all the water,
+when there was any, ran away from the rim. Slone
+camped this night at a muddy pond in the woods, where
+Wildfire's tracks showed plainly.</p>
+
+<p>On the following day Slone rode out of the forest
+into a country of scanty cedars, bleached and stunted,
+and out of this to the edge of a plateau, from which
+the shimmering desert flung its vast and desolate distances,
+forbidding and menacing. This was not the
+desert upland country of Utah, but a naked and bony
+world of colored rock and sand&mdash;a painted desert of
+heat and wind and flying sand and waterless wastes and
+barren ranges. But it did not daunt Slone. For far
+down on the bare, billowing ridges moved a red speck,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+at a snail's pace, a slowly moving dot of color which
+was Wildfire.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>On open ground like this, Nagger, carrying two hundred
+and fifty pounds, showed his wonderful quality.
+He did not mind the heat nor the sand nor the glare
+nor the distance nor his burden. He did not tire. He
+was an engine of tremendous power.</p>
+
+<p>Slone gained upon Wildfire, and toward evening of
+that day he reached to within half a mile of the stallion.
+And he chose to keep that far behind. That night he
+camped where there was dry grass, but no water.</p>
+
+<p>Next day he followed Wildfire down and down, over
+the endless swell of rolling red ridges, bare of all but
+bleached white grass and meager greasewood, always
+descending in the face of that painted desert of bold
+and ragged steppes. Slone made fifty miles that day,
+and gained the valley bed, where a slender stream ran
+thin and spread over a wide sandy bottom. It was
+salty water, but it was welcome to both man and beast.</p>
+
+<p>The following day he crossed, and the tracks of
+Wildfire were still wet on the sand bars. The stallion
+was slowing down. Slone saw him, limping along,
+not far in advance. There was a ten-mile stretch of
+level ground, blown hard as rock, from which the sustenance
+had been bleached, for not a spear of grass
+grew there. And following that was a tortuous passage
+through a weird region of clay dunes, blue and
+violet and heliotrope and lavender, all worn smooth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+by rain and wind. Wildfire favored the soft ground
+now. He had deviated from his straight course. And
+he was partial to washes and dips in the earth where
+water might have lodged. And he was not now scornful
+of a green-scummed water hole with its white
+margin of alkali. That night Slone made camp with
+Wildfire in plain sight. The stallion stopped when
+his pursuers stopped. And he began to graze on the
+same stretch with Nagger. How strange this seemed
+to Slone!</p>
+
+<p>Here at this camp was evidence of Indians. Wildfire
+had swung round to the north in his course. Like
+any pursued wild animal, he had begun to circle. And
+he had pointed his nose toward the Utah he had left.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Wildfire was not in sight, but he had
+left his tracks in the sand. Slone trailed him with
+Nagger at a trot. Toward the head of this sandy
+flat Slone came upon old cornfields, and a broken dam
+where the water had been stored, and well-defined trails
+leading away to the right. Somewhere over there in
+the desert lived Indians. At this point Wildfire abandoned
+the trail he had followed for many days and
+cut out more to the north. It took all the morning
+hours to climb three great steppes and benches that
+led up to the summit of a mesa, vast in extent. It
+turned out to be a sandy waste. The wind rose and
+everywhere were moving sheets of sand, and in the
+distance circular yellow dust devils, rising high like
+water spouts, and back down in the sun-scorched valley<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+a sandstorm moved along majestically, burying the
+desert in its yellow pall.</p>
+
+<p>Then two more days of sand and another day of a
+slowly rising ground growing from bare to gray and
+gray to green, and then to the purple of sage and cedar&mdash;these
+three grinding days were toiled out with only
+one water hole.</p>
+
+<p>And Wildfire was lame and in distress and Nagger
+was growing gaunt and showing strain; and Slone, haggard
+and black and worn, plodded miles and miles on
+foot to save his horse.</p>
+
+<p>Slone felt that it would be futile to put the chase to
+a test of speed. Nagger could never head that stallion.
+Slone meant to go on and on, always pushing Wildfire,
+keeping him tired, wearied, and worrying him, till a
+section of the country was reached where he could
+drive Wildfire into some kind of a natural trap. The
+pursuit seemed endless. Wildfire kept to open country
+where he could not be surprised.</p>
+
+<p>There came a morning when Slone climbed to a
+cedared plateau that rose for a whole day's travel, and
+then split into a labyrinthine maze of ca&ntilde;ons. There
+were trees, grass, water. It was a high country, cool
+and wild, like the uplands he had left. For days he
+camped on Wildfire's trail, always relentlessly driving
+him, always watching for the trap he hoped to
+find. And the red stallion spent much of this time
+of flight in looking backward. Whenever Slone came
+in sight of him he had his head over his shoulder,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+watching. And on the soft ground of these ca&ntilde;ons
+he had begun to recover from his lameness. But this
+did not worry Slone. Sooner or later Wildfire would
+go down into a high-walled wash, from which there
+would be no outlet; or he would wander into a box
+ca&ntilde;on; or he would climb out on a mesa with no place
+to descend, unless he passed Slone; or he would get
+cornered on a soft, steep slope where his hoofs would
+sink deep and make him slow. The nature of the
+desert had changed. Slone had entered a wonderful
+region, the like of which he had not seen&mdash;a high
+plateau criss-crossed in every direction by narrow
+ca&ntilde;ons with red walls a thousand feet high.</p>
+
+<p>And one of the strange turning ca&ntilde;ons opened into
+a vast valley of monuments.</p>
+
+<p>The plateau had weathered and washed away, leaving
+huge sections of stone walls, all standing isolated,
+different in size and shape, but all clean-cut, bold, with
+straight lines. They stood up everywhere, monumental,
+towering, many-colored, lending a singular and
+beautiful aspect to the great green and gray valley,
+billowing away to the north, where dim, broken battlements
+mounted to the clouds.</p>
+
+<p>The only living thing in Slone's sight was Wildfire.
+He shone red down on the green slope.</p>
+
+<p>Slone's heart swelled. This was the setting for that
+grand horse&mdash;a perfect wild range. But also it
+seemed the last place where there might be any chance
+to trap the stallion. Still that did not alter Slone's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+purpose, though it lost to him the joy of former hopes.
+He rode down the slope, out upon the billowing floor
+of the valley. Wildfire looked back to see his pursuers,
+and then the solemn stillness broke to a wild,
+piercing whistle.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Day after day, camping where night found him,
+Slone followed the stallion, never losing sight of him
+till darkness had fallen. The valley was immense and
+the monuments miles apart. But they always seemed
+close together and near him. The air magnified everything.
+Slone lost track of time. The strange, solemn,
+lonely days and the silent, lonely nights, and the
+endless pursuit, and the wild, weird valley&mdash;these completed
+the work of years on Slone and he became satisfied,
+unthinking, almost savage.</p>
+
+<p>The toil and privation had worn him down and he
+was like iron. His garments hung in tatters; his boots
+were ripped and soleless. Long since his flour had
+been used up, and all his supplies except the salt. He
+lived on the meat of rabbits, but they were scarce,
+and the time came when there were none. Some days
+he did not eat. Hunger did not make him suffer. He
+killed a desert bird now and then, and once a wildcat
+crossing the valley. Eventually he felt his strength
+diminishing, and then he took to digging out the pack
+rats and cooking them. But these, too, were scarce.
+At length starvation faced Slone. But he knew he
+would not starve. Many times he had been within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+rifle shot of Wildfire. And the grim, forbidding
+thought grew upon him that he must kill the stallion.
+The thought seemed involuntary, but his mind rejected
+it. Nevertheless, he knew that if he could not catch
+the stallion he would kill him. That had been the end
+of many a desperate rider's pursuit of a coveted horse.</p>
+
+<p>While Slone kept on his merciless pursuit, never letting
+Wildfire rest by day, time went on just as relentlessly.
+Spring gave way to early summer. The hot
+sun bleached the grass; water holes failed out in the
+valley, and water could be found only in the ca&ntilde;ons;
+and the dry winds began to blow the sand. It was a
+sandy valley, green and gray only at a distance, and
+out toward the north there were no monuments, and
+the slow heave of sand lifted toward the dim walls.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire worked away from this open valley, back
+to the south end, where the great monuments loomed,
+and still farther back, where they grew closer, till at
+length some of them were joined by weathered ridges
+to the walls of the surrounding plateau. For all that
+Slone could see, Wildfire was in perfect condition.
+But Nagger was not the horse he had been. Slone
+realized that in one way or another the pursuit was
+narrowing down to the end.</p>
+
+<p>He found a water hole at the head of a wash in a
+split in the walls, and here he let Nagger rest and
+graze one whole day&mdash;the first day for a long time
+that he had not kept the red stallion in sight. That
+day was marked by the good fortune of killing a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+rabbit, and while eating it his gloomy, fixed mind admitted
+that he was starving. He dreaded the next
+sunrise. But he could not hold it back. There, behind
+the dark monuments, standing sentinel-like, the
+sky lightened and reddened and burnt into gold and
+pink, till out of the golden glare the sun rose glorious.
+And Slone, facing the league-long shadows of the
+monuments, rode out again into the silent, solemn day,
+on his hopeless quest.</p>
+
+<p>For a change Wildfire had climbed high up a slope
+of talus, through a narrow pass, rounded over with
+drifting sand. And Slone gazed down into a huge
+amphitheater full of monuments, like all that strange
+country. A basin three miles across lay beneath him.
+Walls and weathered slants of rock and steep slopes
+of reddish-yellow sand inclosed this oval depression.
+The floor was white, and it seemed to move gently or
+radiate with heat waves. Studying it, Slone made out
+that the motion was caused by wind in long bleached
+grass. He had crossed small areas of this grass in
+different parts of the region.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire's tracks led down into this basin, and presently
+Slone, by straining his eyes, made out the red
+spot that was the stallion.</p>
+
+<p>"He's lookin' to quit the country," soliloquized
+Slone, as he surveyed the scene.</p>
+
+<p>With keen, slow gaze Slone studied the lay of wall
+and slope, and when he had circled the huge depression
+he made sure that Wildfire could not get out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+except by the narrow pass through which he had gone
+in. Slone sat astride Nagger in the mouth of this
+pass&mdash;a wash a few yards wide, walled by broken,
+rough rock on one side and an insurmountable slope
+on the other.</p>
+
+<p>"If this hole was only little, now," sighed Slone, as
+he gazed at the sweeping, shimmering oval floor, "I
+might have a chance. But down there&mdash;we couldn't
+get near him."</p>
+
+<p>There was no water in that dry bowl. Slone reflected
+on the uselessness of keeping Wildfire down
+there, because Nagger could not go without water as
+long as Wildfire. For the first time Slone hesitated.
+It seemed merciless to Nagger to drive him down into
+this hot, windy hole. The wind blew from the west,
+and it swooped up the slope, hot, with the odor of dry,
+dead grass.</p>
+
+<p>But that hot wind stirred Slone with an idea, and
+suddenly he was tense, excited, glowing, yet grim and
+hard.</p>
+
+<p>"Wildfire, I'll make you run with your namesake in
+that high grass," called Slone. The speech was full of
+bitter failure, of regret, of the hardness of a rider who
+could not give up the horse to freedom.</p>
+
+<p>Slone meant to ride down there and fire the long
+grass. In that wind there would indeed be wildfire to
+race with the red stallion. It would perhaps mean his
+death; at least it would chase him out of that hole,
+where to follow him would be useless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'd make you hump now to get away if I could
+get behind you," muttered Slone. He saw that if he
+could fire the grass on the other side the wind of flame
+would drive Wildfire straight toward him. The slopes
+and walls narrowed up to the pass, but high grass grew
+to within a few rods of where Slone stood. But it
+seemed impossible to get behind Wildfire.</p>
+
+<p>"At night&mdash;then&mdash;I could get round him," said
+Slone, thinking hard and narrowing his gaze to scan
+the circle of wall and slope. "Why not?&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. No
+wind at night. That grass would burn slow till mornin'&mdash;till
+the wind came up&mdash;an' it's been west for
+days."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Slone began to pound the patient Nagger
+and to cry out to him in wild exultance.</p>
+
+<p>"Old horse, we've got him! We've got him!
+We'll put a rope on him before this time to-morrow!"</p>
+
+<p>Slone yielded to his strange, wild joy, but it did not
+last long, soon succeeding to sober, keen thought. He
+rode down into the bowl a mile, making absolutely certain
+that Wildfire could not climb out on that side.
+The far end, beyond the monuments, was a sheer wall
+of rock. Then he crossed to the left side. Here the
+sandy slope was almost too steep for even him to go
+up. And there was grass that would burn. He returned
+to the pass assured that Wildfire had at last
+fallen into a trap the like Slone had never dreamed
+of. The great horse was doomed to run into living
+flame or the whirling noose of a lasso.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then Slone reflected. Nagger had that very morning
+had his fill of good water&mdash;the first really satisfying
+drink for days. If he was rested that day, on the
+morrow he would be fit for the grueling work possibly
+in store for him. Slone unsaddled the horse and
+turned him loose, and with a snort he made down the
+gentle slope for the grass. Then Slone carried his
+saddle to a shady spot afforded by a slab of rock and
+a dwarf cedar, and here he composed himself to rest
+and watch and think and wait.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire was plainly in sight no more than two miles
+away. Gradually he was grazing along toward the
+monuments and the far end of the great basin. Slone
+believed, because the place was so large, that Wildfire
+thought there was a way out on the other side or over
+the slopes or through the walls. Never before had
+the farsighted stallion made a mistake. Slone suddenly
+felt the keen, stabbing fear of an outlet somewhere.
+But it left him quickly. He had studied those
+slopes and walls. Wildfire could not get out, except
+by the pass he had entered, unless he could fly.</p>
+
+<p>Slone lay in the shade, his head propped on his
+saddle, and while gazing down into the shimmering
+hollow he began to plan. He calculated that he must
+be able to carry fire swiftly across the far end of the
+basin, so that he would not be absent long from the
+mouth of the pass. Fire was always a difficult matter,
+since he must depend only on flint and steel. He
+decided to wait till dark, build a fire with dead cedar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+sticks, and carry a bundle of them with burning ends.
+He felt assured that the wind caused by riding would
+keep them burning. After he had lighted the grass
+all he had to do was to hurry back to his station and
+there await developments.</p>
+
+<p>The day passed slowly, and it was hot. The heat-waves
+rose in dark, wavering lines and veils from the
+valley. The wind blew almost a gale. Thin, curling
+sheets of sand blew up over the crests of the slopes,
+and the sound it made was a soft, silken rustling, very
+low. The sky was a steely blue above and copper close
+over the distant walls.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon, toward the close, Slone ate the last
+of the meat. At sunset the wind died away and the
+air cooled. There was a strip of red along the wall
+of rock and on the tips of the monuments, and it
+lingered there for long, a strange, bright crown. Nagger
+was not far away, but Wildfire had disappeared,
+probably behind one of the monuments.</p>
+
+<p>When twilight fell Slone went down after Nagger
+and, returning with him, put on bridle and saddle.
+Then he began to search for suitable sticks of wood.
+Farther back in the pass he found stunted dead cedars,
+and from these secured enough for his purpose. He
+kindled a fire and burned the ends of the sticks into
+red embers. Making a bundle of these, he put them
+under his arm, the dull, glowing ends backward, and
+then mounted his horse.</p>
+
+<p>It was just about dark when he faced down into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+valley. When he reached level ground he kept to the
+edge of the left slope and put Nagger to a good trot.
+The grass and brush were scant here, and the color of
+the sand was light, so he had no difficulty in traveling.
+From time to time his horse went through grass, and
+its dry, crackling rustle, showing how it would burn,
+was music to Slone. Gradually the monuments began
+to loom up, bold and black against the blue sky, with
+stars seemingly hanging close over them. Slone had
+calculated that the basin was smaller than it really was,
+in both length and breadth. This worried him. Wildfire
+might see or hear or scent him, and make a break
+back to the pass and thus escape. Slone was glad when
+the huge, dark monuments were indistinguishable from
+the black, frowning wall. He had to go slower here,
+because of the darkness. But at last he reached the
+slow rise of jumbled rock that evidently marked the
+extent of weathering on that side. Here he turned
+to the right and rode out into the valley. The floor
+was level and thickly overgrown with long, dead grass
+and dead greasewood, as dry as tinder. It was easy
+to account for the dryness; neither snow nor rain had
+visited that valley for many months. Slone whipped
+one of the sticks in the wind and soon had the smouldering
+end red and showering sparks. Then he dropped
+the stick in the grass, with curious intent and a strange
+feeling of regret.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the grass blazed with a little sputtering
+roar. Nagger snorted. "Wildfire!" exclaimed Slone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
+That word was a favorite one with riders, and now
+Slone used it both to call out his menace to the stallion
+and to express his feeling for that blaze, already running
+wild.</p>
+
+<p>Without looking back, Slone rode across the valley,
+dropping a glowing stick every quarter of a mile.
+When he reached the other side there were a dozen fires
+behind him, burning slowly, with white smoke rising
+lazily. Then he loped Nagger along the side back to
+the sandy ascent, and on up to the mouth of the pass.
+There he searched for tracks. Wildfire had not gone
+out, and Slone experienced relief and exultation. He
+took up a position in the middle of the narrowest part
+of the pass, and there, with Nagger ready for anything,
+he once more composed himself to watch and wait.</p>
+
+<p>Far across the darkness of the valley, low down,
+twelve lines of fire, widely separated, crept toward one
+another. They appeared thin and slow, with only an
+occasional leaping flame. And some of the black
+spaces must have been monuments, blotting out the
+creeping snail lines of red. Slone watched, strangely
+fascinated.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of that?" he said, aloud, and
+he meant his query for Wildfire.</p>
+
+<p>As he watched the lines perceptibly lengthened and
+brightened and pale shadows of smoke began to appear.
+Over at the left of the valley the two brightest fires,
+the first he had started, crept closer and closer together.
+They seemed long in covering distance. But not a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+breath of wind stirred, and besides they really might
+move swiftly, without looking so to Slone. When the
+two lines met a sudden and larger blaze rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the rider, and then he watched the other
+lines creeping together. How slowly fire moved, he
+thought. The red stallion would have every chance to
+run between those lines, if he dared. But a wild horse
+fears nothing like fire. This one would not run the
+gantlet of flames. Nevertheless Slone felt more and
+more relieved as the lines closed. The hours of the
+night dragged past until at length one long, continuous
+line of fire spread level across the valley, its bright,
+red line broken only where the monuments of stone
+were silhouetted against it.</p>
+
+<p>The darkness of the valley changed. The light of
+the moon changed. The radiance of the stars changed.
+Either the line of fire was finding denser fuel to consume
+or it was growing appreciably closer, for the
+flames began to grow, to leap, and to flare.</p>
+
+<p>Slone strained his ears for the thud of hoofs on
+sand.</p>
+
+<p>The time seemed endless in its futility of results, but
+fleeting after it had passed; and he could tell how the
+hours fled by the ever-recurring need to replenish the
+little fire he kept burning in the pass.</p>
+
+<p>A broad belt of valley grew bright in the light, and
+behind it loomed the monuments, weird and dark, with
+columns of yellow and white smoke wreathing them.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Slone's sensitive ear vibrated to a thrilling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+sound. He leaned down to place his ear to the sand.
+Rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs made him leap to his
+feet, reaching for his lasso with right hand and a gun
+with his left.</p>
+
+<p>Nagger lifted his head, sniffed the air, and snorted.
+Slone peered into the black belt of gloom that lay
+below him. It would be hard to see a horse there,
+unless he got high enough to be silhouetted against that
+line of fire now flaring to the sky. But he heard the
+beat of hoofs, swift, sharp, louder&mdash;louder. The
+night shadows were deceptive. That wonderful light
+confused him, made the place unreal. Was he dreaming?
+Or had the long chase and his privations unhinged
+his mind? He reached for Nagger. No!
+The big black was real, alive, quivering, pounding the
+sand. He scented an enemy.</p>
+
+<p>Once more Slone peered down into the void or what
+seemed a void. But it, too, had changed, lightened.
+The whole valley was brightening. Great palls of curling
+smoke rose white and yellow, to turn back as the
+monuments met their crests, and then to roll upward,
+blotting out the stars. It was such a light as he had
+never seen, except in dreams. Pale moonlight and
+dimmed starlight and wan dawn all vague and strange
+and shadowy under the wild and vivid light of burning
+grass.</p>
+
+<p>In the pale path before Slone, that fanlike slope of
+sand which opened down into the valley, appeared a
+swiftly moving black object, like a fleeing phantom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+It was a phantom horse. Slone felt that his eyes, deceived
+by his mind, saw racing images. Many a wild
+chase he had lived in dreams on some far desert. But
+what was that beating in his ears&mdash;sharp, swift, even,
+rhythmic? Never had his ears played him false. Never
+had he heard things in his dreams. That running
+object was a horse and he was coming like the wind.
+Slone felt something grip his heart. All the time and
+endurance and pain and thirst and suspense and longing
+and hopelessness&mdash;the agony of the whole endless
+chase&mdash;closed tight on his heart in that instant.</p>
+
+<p>The running horse halted just in the belt of light
+cast by the burning grass. There he stood sharply defined,
+clear as a cameo, not a hundred paces from Slone.
+It was Wildfire.</p>
+
+<p>Slone uttered an involuntary cry. Thrill on thrill
+shot through him. Delight and hope and fear and
+despair claimed him in swift, successive flashes. And
+then again the ruling passion of a rider held him&mdash;the
+sheer glory of a grand and unattainable horse.
+For Slone gave up Wildfire in that splendid moment.
+How had he ever dared to believe he could capture that
+wild stallion? Slone looked and looked, filling his
+mind, regretting nothing, sure that the moment was
+reward for all he had endured.</p>
+
+<p>The weird lights magnified Wildfire and showed him
+clearly. He seemed gigantic. He shone black against
+the fire. His head was high, his mane flying. Behind
+him the fire flared and the valley-wide column of smoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+rolled majestically upward, and the great monuments
+seemed to retreat darkly and mysteriously as the flames
+advanced beyond them. It was a beautiful, unearthly
+spectacle, with its silence the strangest feature.</p>
+
+<p>But suddenly Wildfire broke that silence with a
+whistle which to Slone's overstrained faculties seemed
+a blast as piercing as the splitting sound of lightning.
+And with the whistle Wildfire plunged up toward the
+pass.</p>
+
+<p>Slone yelled at the top of his lungs and fired his gun
+before he could terrorize the stallion and drive him
+back down the slope. Soon Wildfire became again
+a running black object, and then he disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>The great line of fire had gotten beyond the monuments
+and now stretched unbroken across the valley
+from wall to slope. Wildfire could never pierce that
+line of flames. And now Slone saw, in the paling sky
+to the east, that dawn was at hand.</p>
+
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>Slone looked grimly glad when simultaneously with
+the first red flash of sunrise a breeze fanned his cheek.
+All that was needed now was a west wind. And here
+came the assurance of it.</p>
+
+<p>The valley appeared hazy and smoky, with slow,
+rolling clouds low down where the line of fire moved.
+The coming of daylight paled the blaze of the grass,
+though here and there Slone caught flickering glimpses
+of dull red flame. The wild stallion kept to the center
+of the valley, restlessly facing this way and that, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+never toward the smoke. Slone made sure that Wildfire
+gradually gave ground as the line of smoke slowly
+worked toward him.</p>
+
+<p>Every moment the breeze freshened, grew steadier
+and stronger, until Slone saw that it began to clear the
+valley of the low-hanging smoke. There came a time
+when once more the blazing line extended across from
+slope to slope.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire was cornered, trapped. Many times Slone
+nervously uncoiled and recoiled his lasso. Presently
+the great chance of his life would come&mdash;the hardest
+and most important throw he would ever have with
+a rope. He did not miss often, but then he missed
+sometimes, and here he must be swift and sure. It
+annoyed him that his hands perspired and trembled
+and that something weighty seemed to obstruct his
+breathing. He muttered that he was pretty much
+worn out, not in the best of condition for a hard fight
+with a wild horse. Still he would capture Wildfire;
+his mind was unalterably set there. He anticipated
+that the stallion would make a final and desperate rush
+past him; and he had his plan of action all outlined.
+What worried him was the possibility of Wildfire's
+doing some unforeseen feat at the very last. Slone
+was prepared for hours of strained watching, and
+then a desperate effort, and then a shock that might
+kill Wildfire and cripple Nagger, or a long race and
+fight.</p>
+
+<p>But he soon discovered that he was wrong about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+long watch and wait. The wind had grown strong
+and was driving the fire swiftly. The flames, fanned
+by the breeze, leaped to a formidable barrier. In less
+than an hour, though the time seemed only a few
+moments to the excited Slone, Wildfire had been driven
+down toward the narrowing neck of the valley, and
+he had begun to run, to and fro, back and forth. Any
+moment, then, Slone expected him to grow terrorized
+and to come tearing up toward the pass.</p>
+
+<p>Wildfire showed evidence of terror, but he did not
+attempt to make the pass. Instead he went at the
+right-hand slope of the valley and began to climb.
+The slope was steep and soft, yet the stallion climbed
+up and up. The dust flew in clouds; the gravel rolled
+down, and the sand followed in long streams. Wildfire
+showed his keenness by zigzagging up the slope.</p>
+
+<p>"Go ahead, you red devil!" yelled Slone. He was
+much elated. In that soft bank Wildfire would tire
+out while not hurting himself.</p>
+
+<p>Slone watched the stallion in admiration and pity
+and exultation. Wildfire did not make much headway,
+for he slipped back almost as much as he gained.
+He attempted one place after another where he failed.
+There was a bank of clay, some few feet high, and he
+could not round it at either end or surmount it in the
+middle. Finally he literally pawed and cut a path,
+much as if he were digging in the sand for water.
+When he got over that he was not much better off.
+The slope above was endless and grew steeper, more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+difficult toward the top. Slone knew absolutely that
+no horse could climb over it. He grew apprehensive,
+however, for Wildfire might stick up there on the
+slope until the line of fire passed. The horse apparently
+shunned any near proximity to the fire, and performed
+prodigious efforts to escape.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll be ridin' an avalanche pretty soon," muttered
+Slone.</p>
+
+<p>Long sheets of sand and gravel slid down to spill
+thinly over the low bank. Wildfire, now sinking to his
+knees, worked steadily upward till he had reached a
+point halfway up the slope, at the head of a long, yellow
+bank of treacherous-looking sand. Here he was halted
+by a low bulge, which he might have surmounted had
+his feet been free. But he stood deep in the sand.
+For the first time he looked down at the sweeping fire,
+and then at Slone.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the bank of sand began to slide with him.
+He snorted in fright. The avalanche started slowly
+and was evidently no mere surface slide. It was deep.
+It stopped&mdash;then started again&mdash;and again stopped.
+Wildfire appeared to be sinking deeper and deeper.
+His struggles only embedded him more firmly. Then
+the bank of sand, with an ominous, low roar, began
+to move once more. This time it slipped swiftly. The
+dust rose in a cloud, almost obscuring the horse.
+Long streams of gravel rattled down, and waterfalls
+of sand waved over the steppes of the slope.</p>
+
+<p>Just as suddenly the avalanche stopped again. Slone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+saw, from the great oval hole it had left above, that it
+was indeed deep. That was the reason it did not slide
+readily. When the dust cleared away Slone saw the
+stallion, sunk to his flanks in the sand, utterly helpless.</p>
+
+<p>With a wild whoop Slone leaped off Nagger, and, a
+lasso in each hand, he ran down the long bank. The
+fire was perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, and, since
+the grass was thinning out, it was not coming so fast
+as it had been. The position of the stallion was halfway
+between the fire and Slone, and a hundred yards
+up the slope.</p>
+
+<p>Like a madman Slone climbed up through the dragging,
+loose sand. He was beside himself with a fury
+of excitement. He fancied his eyes were failing him,
+that it was not possible the great horse really was up
+there, helpless in the sand. Yet every huge stride
+Slone took brought him closer to a fact he could not
+deny. In his eagerness he slipped, and fell, and
+crawled, and leaped, until he reached the slide which
+held Wildfire prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>The stallion might have been fast in quicksand, up
+to his body, for all the movement he could make. He
+could move only his head. He held that up, his eyes
+wild, showing the whites, his foaming mouth wide
+open, his teeth gleaming. A sound like a scream rent
+the air. Terrible fear and hate were expressed in that
+piercing neigh. And shaggy, wet, dusty red, with all
+of brute savageness in the look and action of his head,
+he appeared hideous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As Slone leaped within roping distance the avalanche
+slipped a foot or two, halted, slipped once more, and
+slowly started again with that low roar. He did not
+care whether it slipped or stopped. Like a wolf he
+leaped closer, whirling his rope. The loop hissed
+round his head and whistled as he flung it. And when
+fiercely he jerked back on the rope, the noose closed
+tight round Wildfire's neck.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;got&mdash;a rope&mdash;on him!" cried Slone, in
+hoarse pants.</p>
+
+<p>He stared, unbelieving. It was unreal, that sight&mdash;unreal
+like the slow, grinding movement of the
+avalanche under him. Wildfire's head seemed a demon
+head of hate. It reached out, mouth agape, to bite, to
+rend. That horrible scream could not be the scream of
+a horse.</p>
+
+<p>Slone was a wild-horse hunter, a rider, and when
+that second of incredulity flashed by, then came the
+moment of triumph. No moment could ever equal
+that one, when he realized he stood there with a rope
+around that grand stallion's neck. All the days and
+the miles and the toil and the endurance and the hopelessness
+and the hunger were paid for in that moment.
+His heart seemed too large for his breast.</p>
+
+<p>"I tracked&mdash;you!" he cried, savagely. "I
+stayed&mdash;with you! An' I got a rope&mdash;on you!
+An'&mdash;I'll ride you&mdash;you red devil!"</p>
+
+<p>The passion of the man was intense. That endless,
+racking pursuit had brought out all the hardness the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+desert had engendered in him. Almost hate, instead
+of love, spoke in Slone's words. He hauled on the lasso,
+pulling the stallion's head down and down. The
+action was the lust of capture as well as the rider's instinctive
+motive to make the horse fear him. Life
+was unquenchably wild and strong in that stallion; it
+showed in the terror which made him hideous. And
+man and beast somehow resembled each other in that
+moment which was inimical to noble life.</p>
+
+<p>The avalanche slipped with little jerks, as if treacherously
+loosing its hold for a long plunge. The line of
+fire below ate at the bleached grass and the long column
+of smoke curled away on the wind.</p>
+
+<p>Slone held the taut lasso with his left hand, and with
+the right he swung the other rope, catching the noose
+round Wildfire's nose. Then letting go of the first
+rope he hauled on the other, pulling the head of the
+stallion far down. Hand over hand Slone closed in
+on the horse. He leaped on Wildfire's head, pressed
+it down, and, holding it down on the sand with his
+knees, with swift fingers he tied the nose in a hackamore&mdash;an
+improvised halter. Then, just as swiftly,
+he bound his scarf tight round Wildfire's head, blindfolding
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"All so easy!" exclaimed Slone, under his breath.
+"Who would believe it! Is it a dream?"</p>
+
+<p>He rose and let the stallion have a free head.</p>
+
+<p>"Wildfire, I got a rope on you&mdash;an' a hackamore&mdash;an'
+a blinder," said Slone. "An' if I had a bridle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+I'd put that on you. Who'd ever believe you'd catch
+yourself, draggin' in the sand?"</p>
+
+<p>Slone, finding himself falling on the sand, grew alive
+to the augmented movement of the avalanche. It had
+begun to slide, to heave and bulge and crack. Dust
+rose in clouds from all around. The sand appeared
+to open and let him sink to his knees. The rattle of
+gravel was drowned in a soft roar. Then he shot
+down swiftly, holding the lassos, keeping himself
+erect, and riding as if in a boat. He felt the successive
+steppes of the slope, and then the long incline below,
+and then the checking and rising and spreading of
+the avalanche as it slowed down on the level. All
+movement then was checked violently. He appeared
+to be half buried in sand. While he struggled to extricate
+himself the thick dust blew away and, settled so
+that he could see. Wildfire lay before him, at the edge
+of the slide, and now he was not so deeply embedded
+as he had been up on the slope. He was struggling
+and probably soon would have been able to get out.
+The line of fire was close now, but Slone did not fear
+that.</p>
+
+<p>At his shrill whistle Nagger bounded toward him,
+obedient, but snorting, with ears laid back. He halted.
+A second whistle started him again. Slone finally dug
+himself out of the sand, pulled the lassos out, and ran
+the length of them toward Nagger. The black
+showed both fear and fight. His eyes rolled and he
+half shied away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Come on!" called Slone, harshly.</p>
+
+<p>He got a hand on the horse, pulled him round, and,
+mounting in a flash, wound both lassos round the pommel
+of the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Haul him out, Nagger, old boy!" cried Slone, and
+he dug spurs into the black.</p>
+
+<p>One plunge of Nagger's slid the stallion out of the
+sand. Snorting, wild, blinded, Wildfire got up, shaking
+in every limb. He could not see his enemies. The
+blowing smoke, right in his nose, made scent impossible.
+But in the taut lassos he sensed the direction of
+his captors. He plunged, rearing at the end of the
+plunge, and struck out viciously with his hoofs. Slone,
+quick with spur and bridle, swerved Nagger aside and
+Wildfire, off his balance, went down with a crash.
+Slone dragged him, stretched him out, pulled him over
+twice before he got forefeet planted. Once up, he
+reared again, screeching his rage, striking wildly with
+his hoofs. Slone wheeled aside and toppled him over
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Wildfire, it's no fair fight," he called, grimly.
+"But you led me a chase. An' you learn right now
+I'm boss!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i100.png" width="500" height="381" alt="Telling the story" title="Telling the story" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>III.&mdash;The Hydrophobic Skunk<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Irvin S. Cobb</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE Hydrophobic Skunk resides at the extreme
+bottom of the Grand Ca&ntilde;on and, next
+to a Southern Republican who never asked for
+a Federal office, is the rarest of living creatures. He
+is so rare that nobody ever saw him&mdash;that is, nobody
+except a native. I met plenty of tourists who had seen
+people who had seen him, but never a tourist who had
+seen him with his own eyes. In addition to being
+rare, he is highly gifted.</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<p>I think almost anybody will agree with me that the
+common, ordinary skunk has been most richly dowered
+by Nature. To adorn a skunk with any extra qualifications
+seems as great a waste of the raw material
+as painting the lily or gilding refined gold. He is already
+amply equipped for outdoor pursuits. Nobody
+intentionally shoves him round; everybody gives him as
+much room as he seems to need. He commands respect&mdash;nay,
+more than that, respect and veneration&mdash;wherever
+he goes. Joy riders never run him down
+and foot passengers avoid crowding him into a corner.
+You would think Nature had done amply well by the
+skunk; but no&mdash;the Hydrophobic Skunk comes along
+and upsets all these calculations. Besides carrying
+the traveling credentials of an ordinary skunk, he is
+rabid in the most rabidissimus form. He is not mad
+just part of the time, like one's relatives by marriage&mdash;and
+not mad most of the time, like the old-fashioned
+railroad ticket agent&mdash;but mad all the time&mdash;incurably,
+enthusiastically and unanimously mad!
+He is mad and he is glad of it.</p>
+
+<p>We made the acquaintance of the Hydrophobic
+Skunk when we rode down Hermit Trail. The casual
+visitor to the Grand Ca&ntilde;on first of all takes the rim
+drive; then he essays Bright Angel Trail, which is
+sufficiently scary for his purposes until he gets used to
+it; and after that he grows more adventurous and
+tackles Hermit Trail, which is a marvel of corkscrew
+convolutions, gimleting its way down this red abdominal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+wound of a ca&ntilde;on to the very gizzard of the world.
+Here, Johnny, our guide, felt moved to speech, and
+we hearkened to his words and hungered for more,
+for Johnny knows the ranges of the Northwest as a
+city dweller knows his own little side street. In the
+fall of the year Johnny comes down to the Ca&ntilde;on and
+serves as a guide a while; and then, when he gets so he
+just can't stand associating with tourists any longer,
+he packs his war bags and journeys back to the Northern
+Range and enjoys the company of cows a spell.
+Cows are not exactly exciting, but they don't ask fool
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>A highly competent young person is Johnny and a
+cow-puncher of parts. Most of the Ca&ntilde;on guides are
+cow-punchers&mdash;accomplished ones, too, and of high
+standing in the profession. With a touch of reverence
+Johnny pointed out to us Sam Scovel, the greatest
+bronco buster of his time, now engaged in piloting
+tourists.</p>
+
+<p>"Can he ride?" echoed Johnny in answer to our
+question. "Scovel could ride an earthquake if she
+stood still long enough for him to mount! He rode
+Steamboat&mdash;not Young Steamboat, but Old Steamboat!
+He rode Rocking Chair, and he's the only man
+that ever did that and was not called on in a couple of
+days to attend his own funeral."</p>
+
+<p>We went on and on at a lazy mule trot, hearing the
+unwritten annals of the range from one who had seen
+them enacted at first hand. Pretty soon we passed a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+herd of burros with mealy, dusty noses and spotty
+hides, feeding on prickly pears and rock lichens; and
+just before sunset we slid down the last declivity out
+upon the plateau and came to a camp as was a camp!</p>
+
+<p>This was roughing it de luxe with a most de-luxey
+vengeance! Here were three tents, or rather three
+canvas houses, with wooden half walls; and they were
+spick-and-span inside and out, and had glass windows
+in them and doors and matched wooden floors.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.
+The mess tent was provided with a table with a clean
+cloth to go over it, and there were china dishes and
+china cups and shiny knives, forks and spoons.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.
+Bill was in charge of the camp&mdash;a dark, rangy, good-looking
+leading man of a cowboy, wearing his blue
+shirt and his red neckerchief with an air.</p>
+
+<p>That Johnny certainly could cook! Served on china
+dishes upon a cloth-covered table, we had mounds of
+fried steaks and shoals of fried bacon; and a bushel,
+more or less, of sheepherder potatoes; and green peas
+and sliced peaches out of cans; and sour-dough biscuits
+as light as kisses and much more filling; and fresh
+butter and fresh milk; and coffee as black as your hat
+and strong as sin. How easy it is for civilized man to
+become primitive and comfortable in his way of eating,
+especially if he has just ridden ten miles on a buckboard
+and nine more on a mule and is away down at
+the bottom of the Grand Ca&ntilde;on&mdash;and there is nobody
+to look on disapprovingly when he takes a bite that
+would be a credit to a steam shovel!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Despite all reports to the contrary, I wish to state
+that it is no trouble at all to eat green peas off a knife-blade&mdash;you
+merely mix them in with potatoes for a
+cement; and fried steak&mdash;take it from an old steak
+eater&mdash;tastes best when eaten with those tools of Nature's
+own providing, both hands and your teeth. An
+hour passed&mdash;busy, yet pleasant&mdash;and we were both
+gorged to the gills and had reared back with our cigars
+lit to enjoy a third jorum of black coffee apiece, when
+Johnny, speaking in an offhand way to Bill, who was
+still hiding away biscuits inside of himself like a parlor
+prestidigitator, said:</p>
+
+<p>"Seen any of them old Hydrophobies the last day
+or two?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so many," said Bill casually. "There was a
+couple out last night pirootin' round in the moonlight.
+I reckon, though, there'll be quite a flock of 'em out
+to-night. A new moon always seems to fetch 'em up
+from the river."</p>
+
+<p>Both of us quit blowing on our coffee and we put the
+cups down. I think I was the one who spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," I asked, "but what did you
+say would be out to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"We were just speakin' to one another about them
+Hydrophoby Skunks," said Bill apologetically. "This
+here Ca&ntilde;on is where they mostly hang out and frolic
+'round."</p>
+
+<p>I laid down my cigar, too. I admit I was interested.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" I said softly&mdash;like that. "Is it? Do
+they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Johnny. "I reckin there's liable to be
+one come shovin' his old nose into that door any
+minute. Or probably two&mdash;they mostly travels in
+pairs&mdash;sets, as you might say."</p>
+
+<p>"You'd know one the minute you saw him, though,"
+said Bill. "They're smaller than a regular skunk and
+spotted where the other kind is striped. And they got
+little red eyes. You won't have no trouble at all recognizin'
+one."</p>
+
+<p>It was at this juncture that we both got up and
+moved back by the stove. It was warmer there and the
+chill of evening seemed to be settling down noticeably.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny thing about Hydrophoby Skunks," went on
+Johnny after a moment of pensive thought&mdash;"mad,
+you know!"</p>
+
+<p>"What makes them mad?" The two of us asked
+the question together.</p>
+
+<p>"Born that way!" explained Bill&mdash;"mad from
+the start, and won't never do nothin' to get shut of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ahem&mdash;they never attack humans, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't they?" said Johnny, as if surprised at such
+ignorance. "Why, humans is their favorite pastime!
+Humans is just pie to a Hydrophoby Skunk. It ain't
+really any fun to be bit by a Hydrophoby Skunk
+neither." He raised his coffee cup to his lips and imbibed
+deeply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Which you certainly said something then,
+Johnny," stated Bill. "You see," he went on, turning
+to us, "they aim to catch you asleep and they creep up
+right soft and take holt of you&mdash;take holt of a year
+usually&mdash;and clamp their teeth and just hang on for
+further orders. Some says they hang on till it thunders,
+same as snappin' turtles. But that's a lie, I judge,
+because there's weeks on a stretch down here when it
+don't thunder. All the cases I ever heard of they let
+go at sunup."</p>
+
+<p>"It is right painful at the time," said Johnny, taking
+up the thread of the narrative; "and then in nine days
+you go mad yourself. Remember that fellow the
+Hydrophoby Skunk bit down here by the rapids,
+Bill? Let's see now&mdash;what was that hombre's
+name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Williams," supplied Bill&mdash;"Heck Williams. I
+saw him at Flagstaff when they took him there to the
+hospital. That guy certainly did carry on regardless.
+First he went mad and his eyes turned red, and he got
+so he didn't have no real use for water&mdash;well, them
+prospectors don't never care much about water anyway&mdash;and
+then he got to snappin' and bitin' and foamin'
+so's they had to strap him down to his bed. He got
+loose though."</p>
+
+<p>"Broke loose, I suppose?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he bit loose," said Bill with the air of one who
+would not deceive you even in a matter of small details.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say he bit those leather straps in
+two?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; he couldn't reach them," explained Bill,
+"so he bit the bed in two. Not in one bite, of course,"
+he went on. "It took him several. I saw him after
+he was laid out. He really wasn't no credit to himself
+as a corpse."</p>
+
+<p>I'm not sure, but I think my companion and I were
+holding hands by now. Outside we could hear that
+little lost echo laughing to itself. It was no time to be
+laughing either. Under certain circumstances I don't
+know of a lonelier place anywhere on earth than that
+Grand Ca&ntilde;on.</p>
+
+<p>Presently my friend spoke, and it seemed to me his
+voice was a mite husky. Well, he had a bad cold.</p>
+
+<p>"You said they mostly attack persons who are sleeping
+out, didn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, too," said Johnny, and Bill nodded in
+affirmation.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, of course, since we sleep indoors everything
+will be all right," I put in.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes and no," answered Johnny. "In the
+early part of the evening a Hydrophoby is liable to do
+a lot of prowlin' round outdoors; but toward mornin'
+they like to get into camps&mdash;they dig up under the
+side walls or come up through the floor&mdash;and they
+seem to prefer to get in bed with you. They're cold-blooded,
+I reckin, same as rattlesnakes. Cool nights
+always do drive 'em in, seems like."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's going to be sort of coolish to-night," said Bill
+casually.</p>
+
+<p>It certainly was. I don't remember a chillier night
+in years. My teeth were chattering a little&mdash;from
+cold&mdash;before we turned in. I retired with all my
+clothes on, including my boots and leggings, and I
+wished I had brought along my ear muffs. I also buttoned
+my watch into my lefthand shirt pocket, the idea
+being if for any reason I should conclude to move during
+the night I would be fully equipped for traveling.
+The door would not stay closely shut&mdash;the door-jamb
+had sagged a little and the wind kept blowing the door
+ajar. But after a while we dozed off.</p>
+
+<p>It was one twenty-seven <span class="smcap">a. m.</span> when I woke with a
+violent start. I know this was the exact time because
+that was when my watch stopped. I peered about me
+in the darkness. The door was wide open&mdash;I could
+tell that. Down on the floor there was a dragging,
+scuffling sound, and from almost beneath me a pair of
+small red eyes peered up phosphorescently.</p>
+
+<p>"He's here!" I said to my companion as I emerged
+from my blankets; and he, waking instantly, seemed
+instinctively to know whom I meant. I used to
+wonder at the ease with which a cockroach can climb
+a perfectly smooth wall and run across the ceiling. I
+know now that to do this is the easiest thing in the
+world&mdash;if you have the proper incentive behind you.
+I had gone up one wall of the tent and had crossed over
+and was in the act of coming down the other side when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+Bill burst in, his eyes blurred with sleep, a lighted
+lamp in one hand and a gun in the other.</p>
+
+<p>I never was so disappointed in my life because it
+wasn't a Hydrophobic Skunk at all. It was a pack rat,
+sometimes called a trade rat, paying us a visit. The
+pack or trade rat is also a denizen of the Grand Ca&ntilde;on.
+He is about four times as big as an ordinary rat and has
+an appetite to correspond. He sometimes invades
+your camp and makes free with your things, but he
+never steals anything outright&mdash;he merely trades with
+you; hence his name. He totes off a side of meat or
+a bushel of meal and brings a cactus stalk in; or he will
+confiscate your saddlebags and leave you in exchange
+a nice dry chip. He is honest, but from what I can
+gather he never gets badly stuck on a deal.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning at breakfast Johnny and Bill were doing
+a lot of laughing between them over something or
+other.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i110.png" width="500" height="285" alt="The Ole Virginia" title="The Ole Virginia" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>IV.&mdash;The Ole Virginia<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Stewart Edward White</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE ring around the sun had thickened all day
+long, and the turquoise blue of the Arizona
+sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries
+are infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm.
+We had ridden since sunup over broad mesas, down
+and out of deep ca&ntilde;ons, along the base of the mountains
+in the wildest parts of the territory. The cattle
+were winding leisurely toward the high country; the
+jack rabbits had disappeared; the quail lacked; we did
+not see a single antelope in the open.</div>
+
+<p>"It's a case of hold up," the Cattleman ventured his
+opinion. "I have a ranch over in the Double R.
+Charley and Windy Bill hold it down. We'll tackle
+it. What do you think?"</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+<p>The four cowboys agreed. We dropped into a low,
+broad watercourse, ascended its bed to big cottonwoods
+and flowing water, followed it into box ca&ntilde;ons between
+rim rock carved fantastically and painted like a Moorish
+fa&ccedil;ade, until at last in a widening below a rounded
+hill, we came upon an adobe house, a fruit tree, and a
+round corral. This was the Double R.</p>
+
+<p>Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits.
+We turned our horses out, spread our beds on
+the floor, filled our pipes, and squatted on our heels.
+Various dogs of various breeds investigated us. It
+was very pleasant, and we did not mind the ring
+around the sun.</p>
+
+<p>"Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman
+finally.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.</p>
+
+<p>A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and
+long white hair rode out from the cottonwoods. He
+had on a battered broad hat abnormally high of crown,
+carried across his saddle a heavy "eight square" rifle,
+and was followed by a half-dozen lolloping hounds.</p>
+
+<p>The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight
+of our group, launched himself with lightning rapidity
+at the biggest of the ranch dogs, promptly nailed that
+canine by the back of the neck, shook him violently a
+score of times, flung him aside, and pounced on the
+next. During the ensuing few moments that hound
+was the busiest thing in the West. He satisfactorily
+whipped four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree, upset<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+the Dutch oven and the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded
+the horses, and raised a cloud of dust adequate
+to represent the smoke of battle. We others were too
+paralyzed to move. Uncle Jim sat placidly on his
+white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups,
+smoking.</p>
+
+<p>In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because
+there was no more trouble to make. The hound
+returned leisurely, licking from his chops the hair of
+his victims. Uncle Jim shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."</p>
+
+<p>We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle
+Jim with a fresh batch of soda biscuits.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was one of the typical "long hairs."
+He had come to the Galiuro Mountains in '69, and
+since '69 he had remained in the Galiuro Mountains,
+spite of man or the devil. At present he possessed
+some hundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water,
+in a dry season, from an ordinary dish pan. In times
+past he had prospected.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to
+slumber, he held forth on big-game hunting and dogs,
+quartz claims and Apaches.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever have any very close calls?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with
+some awful tobacco, and told the following experience:</p>
+
+<p>"In the time of Geronimo I was living just about
+where I do now; and that was just about in line with
+the raiding. You see, Geronimo, and Ju, and old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+Loco used to pile out of the reservation at Camp
+Apache, raid south to the line, slip over into Mexico
+when the soldiers got too promiscuous, and raid there
+until they got ready to come back. Then there was
+always a big medicine talk. Says Geronimo:</p>
+
+<p>"'I am tired of the warpath. I will come back
+from Mexico with all my warriors, if you will escort
+me with soldiers and protect my people.'</p>
+
+<p>"'All right,' says the General, being only too glad
+to get him back at all.</p>
+
+<p>"So, then, in ten minutes there wouldn't be a buck
+in camp, but next morning they shows up again, each
+with about fifty head of hosses.</p>
+
+<p>"'Where'd you get those hosses?' asks the General,
+suspicious.</p>
+
+<p>"'Had 'em pastured in the hills,' answers Geronimo.</p>
+
+<p>"'I can't take all those hosses with me; I believe
+they're stolen!' says the General.</p>
+
+<p>"'My people cannot go without their hosses,' says
+Geronimo.</p>
+
+<p>"So, across the line they goes, and back to the reservation.
+In about a week there's fifty-two frantic
+Greasers wanting to know where's their hosses. The
+army is nothing but an importer of stolen stock, and
+knows it, and can't help it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as I says, I'm between Camp Apache and
+the Mexican line, so that every raiding party goes
+right on past me. The point is that I'm a thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+feet or so above the valley, and the renegades is in
+such a hurry about that time that they never stop to
+climb up and collect me. Often I've watched them
+trailing down the valley in a cloud of dust. Then, in
+a day or two, a squad of soldiers would come up and
+camp at my spring for a while. They used to send
+soldiers to guard every water hole in the country so
+the renegades couldn't get water. After a while,
+from not being bothered none, I got to thinking I
+wasn't worth while with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Me and Johnny Hooper were pecking away at the
+Ole Virginia mine then. We'd got down about sixty
+feet, all timbered, and was thinking of crosscutting.
+One day Johnny went to town, and that same day I
+got in a hurry and left my gun at camp.</p>
+
+<p>"I worked all the morning down at the bottom of
+the shaft, and when I see by the sun it was getting
+along towards noon, I put in three good shots, tamped
+'em down, lit the fuses, and started to climb out.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't noways pleasant to light a fuse in a shaft,
+and then have to climb out a fifty-foot ladder, with it
+burning behind you. I never did get used to it. You
+keep thinking, 'Now, suppose there's a flaw in that
+fuse, or something, and she goes off in six seconds
+instead of two minutes? Where'll you be then?'
+It would give you a good boost towards your home on
+high, anyway.</p>
+
+<p>"So I climbed fast, and stuck my head out the top
+without looking&mdash;and then I froze solid enough.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+There, about fifty feet away, climbing up the hill on
+mighty tired hosses, was a dozen of the ugliest
+Chiricahuas you ever don't want to meet, and in addition
+a Mexican renegade named Maria, who was
+worse than any of 'em. I see at once their hosses was
+tired out, and they had a notion of camping at my water
+hole, not knowing nothing about the Ole Virginia mine.</p>
+
+<p>"For two bits I'd have let go all holts and dropped
+backwards, trusting to my thick head for easy lighting.
+Then I heard a little fizz and sputter from below. At
+that my hair riz right up so I could feel the breeze
+blow under my hat. For about six seconds I stood
+there like an imbecile, grinning amiably. Then one
+of the Chiricahuas made a sort of grunt, and I sabed
+that they'd seen the original exhibit your Uncle Jim
+was making of himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Then that fuse gave another sputter and one of
+the Apaches said, 'Un dah.' That means 'white
+man.' It was harder to turn my head than if I'd had
+a stiff neck; but I managed to do it, and I see that my
+ore dump wasn't more than ten foot away. I mighty
+near overjumped it; and the next I knew I was on one
+side of it and those Apaches on the other. Probably
+I flew; leastways I don't seem to remember jumping.</p>
+
+<p>"That didn't seem to do me much good. The renegades
+were grinning and laughing to think how easy
+a thing they had; and I couldn't rightly think up any
+arguments against the notion&mdash;at least from their
+standpoint. They were chattering away to each other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+in Mexican for the benefit of Maria. Oh, they had
+me all distributed, down to my suspender buttons!
+And me squatting behind that ore dump about as formidable
+as a brush rabbit!</p>
+
+<p>"Then, all at once, one of my shots went off down
+in the shaft.</p>
+
+<p>"'Boom!' says she, plenty big; and a slather of
+rocks and stones come out of the mouth, and began to
+dump down promiscuous on the scenery. I got one
+little one in the shoulder blade, and found time to wish
+my ore dump had a roof. But those renegades caught
+it square in the thick of trouble. One got knocked
+out entirely for a minute, by a nice piece of country
+rock in the head.</p>
+
+<p>"'Otra vez!' yells I, which means 'again.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Boom!' goes the Ole Virginia prompt as an
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I put in my time dodging, but when I gets a chance
+to look, the Apaches has all got to cover and is looking
+scared.</p>
+
+<p>"'Otra vez!' yells I again.</p>
+
+<p>"'Boom!' says the Ole Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>"This was the biggest shot of the lot, and she surely
+cut loose. I ought to have been halfway up the hill
+watching things from a safe distance, but I wasn't.
+Lucky for me the shaft was a little on the drift, so she
+didn't quite shoot my way. But she distributed about
+a ton over those renegades. They sort of half got
+to their feet uncertain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'Otra vez!' yells I once more, as bold as if I
+could keep her shooting all day.</p>
+
+<p>"It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go
+through I could see me as an Apache parlor ornament.
+But it did. Those Chiricahuas give one yell and
+skipped. It was surely a funny sight, after they got
+aboard their war ponies, to see them trying to dig out
+on horses too tired to trot.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In
+fact, I give one jump off that ledge, and I lit a-running.
+A quarter-hoss couldn't have beat me to that shack.
+There I grabbed my good old gun, old Meat-in-the-pot,
+and made a climb for the tall country."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Jim stopped with an air of finality, and began
+lazily to refill his pipe. From the open mud fireplace
+he picked a coal. Outside, the rain, faithful to the
+prophecy of the wide-ringed sun, beat fitfully against
+the roof.</p>
+
+<p>"That was the closest call I ever had," said he at
+last.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i118.png" width="500" height="159" alt="The Weight of Obligation" title="The Weight of Obligation" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>V.&mdash;The Weight of Obligation<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Rex Beach</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>This is the story of a burden, the tale of a load
+that irked a strong man's shoulders. To
+those who do not know the North it may
+seem strange, but to those who understand the humors
+of men in solitude, and the extravagant vagaries that
+steal in upon their minds, as fog drifts with the night,
+it will not appear unusual. There are spirits in the
+wilderness, eerie forces which play pranks; some droll
+or whimsical, others grim.</div>
+
+<p>Johnny Cantwell and Mortimer Grant were partners,
+trail mates, brothers in soul if not in blood. The
+ebb and flood of frontier life had brought them together,
+its hardships had united them until they were
+as one. They were something of a mystery to each
+other, neither having surrendered all his confidence,
+and because of this they retained their mutual attraction.
+They had met by accident, but they remained
+together by desire.</p>
+
+<p>The spirit of adventure bubbled merrily within them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+and it led them into curious byways. It was this which
+sent them northward from the States in the dead of
+winter, on the heels of the Stony River strike; it was
+this which induced them to land at Katmai instead of
+Illiamna, whither their land journey should have commenced.</p>
+
+<p>"There are two routes over the coast range," the
+captain of the <i>Dora</i> told them, "and only two. Illiamna
+Pass is low and easy, but the distance is longer
+than by way of Katmai. I can land you at either
+place."</p>
+
+<p>"Katmai is pretty tough, isn't it?" Grant inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"We've understood it's the worst pass in Alaska."
+Cantwell's eyes were eager.</p>
+
+<p>"It's awful! Nobody travels it except natives, and
+they don't like it. Now, Illiamna&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll try Katmai. Eh, Mort?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure! They don't come hard enough for us, Cap.
+We'll see if it's as bad as it's painted."</p>
+
+<p>So, one gray January morning they were landed on
+a frozen beach, their outfit was flung ashore through
+the surf, the lifeboat pulled away, and the <i>Dora</i> disappeared
+after a farewell toot of her whistle. Their
+last glimpse of her showed the captain waving good-by
+and the purser flapping a red tablecloth at them from
+the after-deck.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheerful place, this," Grant remarked, as he noted
+the desolate surroundings of dune and hillside.</p>
+
+<p>The beach itself was black and raw where the surf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+washed it, but elsewhere all was white, save for the
+thickets of alder and willow which protruded nakedly.
+The bay was little more than a hollow scooped out of
+the Alaskan range; along the foothills behind there was
+a belt of spruce and cottonwood and birch. It was
+a lonely and apparently unpeopled wilderness in which
+they had been set down.</p>
+
+<p>"Seems good to be back in the North again, doesn't
+it?" said Cantwell, cheerily. "I'm tired of the booze,
+and the street cars, and the dames, and all that civilized
+stuff. I'd rather be broke in Alaska&mdash;with you&mdash;than
+a banker's son, back home."</p>
+
+<p>Soon a globular Russian half-breed, the Katmai
+trader, appeared among the dunes, and with him were
+some native villagers. That night the partners slept
+in a snug log cabin, the roof of which was chained
+down with old ships' cables. Petellin, the fat little
+trader, explained that roofs in Katmai had a way of
+sailing off to seaward when the wind blew.
+He listened to their plan of crossing the divide and
+nodded.</p>
+
+<p>It could be done, of course, he agreed, but they were
+foolish to try it, when the Illiamna route was open.
+Still, now that they were here, he would find dogs for
+them, and a guide. The village hunters were out after
+meat, however, and until they returned the white men
+would need to wait in patience.</p>
+
+<p>There followed several days of idleness, during
+which Cantwell and Grant amused themselves around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+the village, teasing the squaws, playing games with the
+boys, and flirting harmlessly with the girls, one of
+whom, in particular, was not unattractive. She was
+perhaps three-quarters Aleut, the other quarter being
+plain coquette, and, having been educated at the town
+of Kodiak, she knew the ways and the wiles of the
+white man.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell approached her, and she met his extravagant
+advances more than halfway. They were getting
+along nicely together when Grant, in a spirit of fun,
+entered the game and won her fickle smiles for himself.
+He joked his partner unmercifully, and Johnny
+accepted defeat gracefully, never giving the matter a
+second thought.</p>
+
+<p>When the hunters returned, dogs were bought, a
+guide was hired, and, a week after landing, the friends
+were camped at timber line awaiting a favorable moment
+for their dash across the range. Above them,
+white hillsides rose in irregular leaps to the gash in
+the saw-toothed barrier which formed the pass; below
+them a short valley led down to Katmai and the sea.
+The day was bright, the air clear, nevertheless after the
+guide had stared up at the peaks for a time he shook
+his head, then re&euml;ntered the tent and lay down. The
+mountains were "smoking"; from their tops streamed
+a gossamer veil which the travelers knew to be drifting
+snow clouds carried by the wind. It meant delay, but
+they were patient.</p>
+
+<p>They were up and going on the following morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+however, with the Indian in the lead. There was no
+trail; the hills were steep; in places they were forced
+to unload the sled and hoist their outfit by means of
+ropes, and as they mounted higher the snow deepened.
+It lay like loose sand, only lighter; it shoved ahead of
+the sled in a feathery mass; the dogs wallowed in it and
+were unable to pull, hence the greater part of the work
+devolved upon the men. Once above the foothills and
+into the range proper, the going became more level,
+but the snow remained knee-deep.</p>
+
+<p>The Indian broke trail stolidly; the partners strained
+at the sled, which hung back like a leaden thing. By
+afternoon the dogs had become disheartened and refused
+to heed the whip. There was neither fuel nor
+running water, and therefore the party did not pause
+for luncheon. The men were sweating profusely from
+their exertions and had long since become parched
+with thirst, but the dry snow was like chalk and
+scoured their throats.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell was the first to show the effects of his unusual
+exertions, for not only had he assumed a lion's
+share of the work, but the last few months of easy living
+had softened his muscles, and in consequence his
+vitality was quickly spent. His undergarments were
+drenched; he was fearfully dry inside; a terrible thirst
+seemed to penetrate his whole body; he was forced to
+rest frequently.</p>
+
+<p>Grant eyed him with some concern, finally inquiring,
+"Feel bad, Johnny?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Cantwell nodded. Their fatigue made both men
+economical of language.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thirsty!" The former could barely speak.</p>
+
+<p>"There won't be any water till we get across.
+You'll have to stand it."</p>
+
+<p>They resumed their duties; the Indian "swish-swished"
+ahead, as if wading through a sea of swan's-down;
+the dogs followed listlessly; the partners leaned
+against the stubborn load.</p>
+
+<p>A faint breath finally came out of the north, causing
+Grant and the guide to study the sky anxiously. Cantwell
+was too weary to heed the increasing cold. The
+snow on the slopes above began to move; here and
+there, on exposed ridges, it rose in clouds and puffs; the
+cleancut outlines of the hills became obscured as by a
+fog; the languid wind bit cruelly.</p>
+
+<p>After a time Johnny fell back upon the sled and exclaimed:
+"I'm&mdash;all in, Mort. Don't seem to have
+the&mdash;guts." He was pale, his eyes were tortured.
+He scooped a mitten full of snow and raised it to his
+lips, then spat it out, still dry.</p>
+
+<p>"Here! Brace up!" In a panic of apprehension
+at this collapse Grant shook him; he had never known
+Johnny to fail like this. "Take a drink; it'll do you
+good." He drew a bottle from one of the dunnage
+bags and Cantwell seized it avidly. It was wet; it
+would quench his thirst, he thought. Before Mort
+could check him he had drunk a third of the contents.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The effect was almost instantaneous, for Cantwell's
+stomach was empty and his tissues seemed to absorb
+the liquor like a dry sponge; his fatigue fell away, he
+became suddenly strong and vigorous again. But before
+he had gone a hundred yards the reaction followed.
+First his mind grew thick, then his limbs became
+unmanageable and his muscles flabby. He was
+drunk. Yet it was a strange and dangerous intoxication,
+against which he struggled desperately. He
+fought it for perhaps a quarter of a mile before it
+mastered him; then he gave up.</p>
+
+<p>Both men knew that stimulants are never taken on
+the trail, but they had never stopped to reason why,
+and even now they did not attribute Johnny's breakdown
+to the brandy. After a while he stumbled and
+fell, then, the cool snow being grateful to his face, he
+sprawled there motionless until Mort dragged him to
+the sled. He stared at his partner in perplexity and
+laughed foolishly. The wind was increasing, darkness
+was near, they had not yet reached the Bering
+slope.</p>
+
+<p>Something in the drunken man's face frightened
+Grant and, extracting a ship's biscuit from the grub
+box, he said, hurriedly: "Here, Johnny. Get something
+under your belt, quick."</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell obediently munched the hard cracker, but
+there was no moisture on his tongue; his throat was
+paralyzed; the crumbs crowded themselves from the
+corners of his lips. He tried with limber fingers to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+stuff them down, or to assist the muscular action of
+swallowing, but finally expelled them in a cloud. Mort
+drew the parka hood over his partner's head, for the
+wind cut like a scythe and the dogs were turning tail
+to it, digging holes in the snow for protection. The
+air about them was like yeast; the light was fading.</p>
+
+<p>The Indian snowshoed his way back, advising a
+quick camp until the storm abated, but to this suggestion
+Grant refused to listen, knowing only too well the
+peril of such a course. Nor did he dare take Johnny
+on the sled, since the fellow was half asleep already,
+but instead whipped up the dogs and urged his companion
+to follow as best he could.</p>
+
+<p>When Cantwell fell, for a second time, he returned,
+dragged him forward, and tied his wrists firmly, yet
+loosely, to the load.</p>
+
+<p>The storm was pouring over them now, like water
+out of a spout; it seared and blinded them; its touch
+was like that of a flame. Nevertheless they struggled
+on into the smother, making what headway they could.
+The Indian led, pulling at the end of a rope; Grant
+strained at the sled and hoarsely encouraged the dogs;
+Cantwell stumbled and lurched in the rear like an unwilling
+prisoner. When he fell his companion lifted
+him, then beat him, cursed him, tried in every way to
+rouse him from his lethargy.</p>
+
+<p>After an interminable time they found they were descending
+and this gave them heart to plunge ahead more
+rapidly. The dogs began to trot as the sled overran<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+them; they rushed blindly into gullies, fetching up at
+the bottom in a tangle, and Johnny followed in a nerveless,
+stupefied condition. He was dragged like a sack
+of flour for his legs were limp and he lacked muscular
+control, but every dash, every fall, every quick descent
+drove the sluggish blood through his veins and cleared
+his brain momentarily. Such moments were fleeting,
+however; much of the time his mind was a blank, and
+it was only by a mechanical effort that he fought off
+unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<p>He had vague memories of many beatings at Mort's
+hands, of the slippery clean-swept ice of a stream over
+which he limply skidded, of being carried into a tent
+where a candle flickered and a stove roared. Grant
+was holding something hot to his lips, and then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>It was morning. He was weak and sick; he felt
+as if he had awakened from a hideous dream. "I
+played out, didn't I?" he queried, wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>"You sure did," Grant laughed. "It was a tight
+squeak, old boy. I never thought I'd get you through."</p>
+
+<p>"Played out! I&mdash;can't understand it." Cantwell
+prided himself on his strength and stamina, therefore
+the truth was unbelievable. He and Mort had long
+been partners, they had given and taken much at each
+other's hands, but this was something altogether different.
+Grant had saved his life, at risk of his own;
+the older man's endurance had been the greater and he
+had used it to good advantage. It embarrassed Johnny
+tremendously to realize that he had proved unequal to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+his share of the work, for he had never before experienced
+such an obligation. He apologized repeatedly
+during the few days he lay sick, and meanwhile Mort
+waited upon him like a mother.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell was relieved when at last they had abandoned
+camp, changed guides at the next village, and
+were on their way along the coast, for somehow he felt
+very sensitive about his collapse. He was, in fact, extremely
+ashamed of himself.</p>
+
+<p>Once he had fully recovered he had no further
+trouble, but soon rounded into fit condition and showed
+no effects of his ordeal. Day after day he and Mort
+traveled through the solitudes, their isolation broken
+only by occasional glimpses of native villages, where
+they rested briefly and renewed their supply of dog
+feed.</p>
+
+<p>But although the younger man was now as well and
+strong as ever, he was uncomfortably conscious that
+his trail mate regarded him as the weaker of the two
+and shielded him in many ways. Grant performed
+most of the unpleasant tasks, and occasionally cautioned
+Johnny about overdoing. This protective attitude at
+first amused, then offended Cantwell, it galled him until
+he was upon the point of voicing his resentment, but
+reflected that he had no right to object, for, judging by
+past performances, he had proved his inferiority. This
+uncomfortable realization forever arose to prevent open
+rebellion, but he asserted himself secretly by robbing
+Grant of his self-appointed tasks. He rose first in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+mornings, he did the cooking, he lengthened his turns
+ahead of the dogs, he mended harness after the day's
+hike had ended. Of course the older man objected,
+and for a time they had a good-natured rivalry as to
+who should work and who should rest&mdash;only it was
+not quite so good-natured on Cantwell's part as he
+made it appear.</p>
+
+<p>Mort broke out in friendly irritation one day:
+"Don't try to do everything, Johnny. Remember I'm
+no cripple."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph! You proved that. I guess it's up to
+me to do your work."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, forget that day on the pass, can't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Johnny grunted a second time, and from his tone it
+was evident that he would never forget, unpleasant
+though the memory remained. Sensing his sullen resentment,
+the other tried to rally him, but made a bad
+job of it. The humor of men in the open is not delicate;
+their wit and their words become coarsened in direct
+proportion as they revert to the primitive; it is
+one effect of the solitudes.</p>
+
+<p>Grant spoke extravagantly, mockingly, of his own
+superiority in a way which ordinarily would have
+brought a smile to Cantwell's lips, but the latter did not
+smile. He taunted Johnny humorously on his lack of
+physical prowess, his lack of good looks and manly
+qualities&mdash;something which had never failed to result
+in a friendly exchange of badinage; he even teased
+him about his defeat with the Katmai girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Cantwell did respond finally, but afterward he found
+himself wondering if Mort could have been in earnest.
+He dismissed the thought with some impatience. But
+men on the trail have too much time for their
+thoughts; there is nothing in the monotonous routine
+of the day's work to distract them, so the partner who
+had played out dwelt more and more upon his debt
+and upon his friend's easy assumption of pre&euml;minence.
+The weight of obligation began to chafe him, lightly at
+first, but with ever-increasing discomfort. He began to
+think that Grant honestly considered himself the better
+man, merely because chance had played into his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>It was silly, even childish, to dwell on the subject,
+he reflected, and yet he could not banish it from his
+mind. It was always before him, in one form or another.
+He felt the strength in his lean muscles, and
+sneered at the thought that Mort should be deceived.
+If it came to a physical test he felt sure he could break
+his slighter partner with his bare hands, and as for endurance&mdash;well,
+he was hungry for a chance to demonstrate
+it.</p>
+
+<p>They talked little; men seldom converse in the
+wastes, for there is something about the silence of the
+wilderness which discourages speech. And no land
+is so grimly silent, so hushed and soundless, as the
+frozen North. For days they marched through desolation,
+without glimpse of human habitation, without
+sight of track or trail, without sound of a human voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+to break the monotony. There was no game in the
+country, with the exception of an occasional bird or
+rabbit, nothing but the white hills, the fringe of alder
+tops along the watercourses, and the thickets of gnarled,
+unhealthy spruce in the smothered valleys.</p>
+
+<p>Their destination was a mysterious stream at the
+headwaters of the unmapped Kuskokwim, where rumor
+said there was gold, and whither they feared other men
+were hastening from the mining country far to the
+north.</p>
+
+<p>Now it is a penalty of the White Country that men
+shall think of women; Cantwell began to brood upon
+the Katmai girl, for she was the last; her eyes were
+haunting and distance had worked its usual enchantment.
+He reflected that Mort had shouldered him
+aside and won her favor, then boasted of it. Johnny
+awoke one night with a dream of her, and lay quivering.</p>
+
+<p>"She was only a squaw," he said, half aloud. "If
+I'd really tried&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Grant lay beside him, snoring, the heat of their
+bodies intermingled. The waking man tried to compose
+himself, but his partner's stertorous breathing irritated
+him beyond measure; for a long time he remained
+motionless, staring into the gray blurr of the
+tent top. He had played out. He owed his life to
+the man who had cheated him of the Katmai girl, and
+that man knew it. He had become a weak, helpless
+thing, dependent upon another's strength, and that
+other now accepted his superiority as a matter of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+course. The obligation was insufferable, and&mdash;it was
+unjust. The North had played him a devilish trick,
+it had betrayed him, it had bound him to his benefactor
+with chains of gratitude which were irksome. Had
+they been real chains they could have galled him no
+more than at this moment.</p>
+
+<p>As time passed the men spoke less frequently to
+each other. Grant joshed his mate roughly, once or
+twice, masking beneath an assumption of jocularity
+his own vague irritation at the change that had come
+over them. It was as if he had probed at an open
+wound with clumsy fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell had by this time assumed most of those
+petty camp tasks which provoke tired trailers, those
+humdrum duties which are so trying to exhausted
+nerves, and of course they wore upon him as they wear
+upon every man. But, once he had taken them over,
+he began to resent Grant's easy relinquishment; it
+rankled him to realize how willingly the other allowed
+him to do the cooking, the dish-washing, the fire-building,
+the bed-making. Little monotonies of this kind
+form the hardest part of winter travel, they are the
+rocks upon which friendships founder and partnerships
+are wrecked. Out on the trail, nature equalizes
+the work to a great extent, and no man can shirk unduly,
+but in camp, inside the cramped confines of a
+tent pitched on boughs laid over the snow, it is very
+different. There one must busy himself while the
+other rests and keeps his legs out of the way if possible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+One man sits on the bedding at the rear of the shelter,
+and shivers, while the other squats over a tantalizing
+fire of green wood, blistering his face and parboiling
+his limbs inside his sweaty clothing. Dishes must be
+passed, food divided, and it is poor food, poorly prepared
+at best. Sometimes men criticize and voice
+longings for better grub and better cooking. Remarks
+of this kind have been known to result in tragedies,
+bitter words and flaming curses&mdash;then, perhaps, wild
+actions, memories of which the later years can never
+erase.</p>
+
+<p>It is but one prank of the wilderness, one grim manifestation
+of its silent forces.</p>
+
+<p>Had Grant been unable to do his part Cantwell would
+have willingly accepted the added burden, but Mort was
+able, he was nimble and "handy," he was the better
+cook of the two; in fact, he was the better man in every
+way&mdash;or so he believed. Cantwell sneered at the last
+thought, and the memory of his debt was like bitter
+medicine.</p>
+
+<p>His resentment&mdash;in reality nothing more than a
+phase of insanity begot of isolation and silence&mdash;could
+not help but communicate itself to his companion,
+and there resulted a mutual antagonism, which
+grew into a dislike, then festered into something more,
+something strange, reasonless, yet terribly vivid and
+amazingly potent for evil. Neither man ever mentioned
+it&mdash;their tongues were clenched between their
+teeth and they held themselves in check with harsh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+hands&mdash;but it was constantly in their minds, nevertheless.
+No man who has not suffered the manifold irritations
+of such an intimate association can appreciate
+the gnawing canker of animosity like this. It was
+dangerous because there was no relief from it: the two
+were bound together as by gyves; they shared each
+other's every action and every plan; they trod in each
+other's tracks, slept in the same bed, ate from the same
+plate. They were like prisoners ironed to the same
+staple.</p>
+
+<p>Each fought the obsession in his own way, but it is
+hard to fight the impalpable, hence their sick fancies
+grew in spite of themselves. Their minds needed food
+to prey upon, but found none. Each began to criticize
+the other silently, to sneer at his weaknesses, to meditate
+derisively upon his peculiarities. After a time
+they no longer resisted the advance of these poisonous
+thoughts, but welcomed it.</p>
+
+<p>On more than one occasion the embers of their wrath
+were upon the point of bursting into flame, but each
+realized that the first ill-considered word would serve
+to slip the leash from those demons that were
+straining to go free, and so managed to restrain himself.</p>
+
+<p>The crisis came one crisp morning when a dog team
+whirled around a bend in the river and a white man
+hailed them. He was the mail carrier, on his way out
+from Nome, and he brought news of the "inside."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you boys bound for?" he inquired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+when greetings were over and gossip of the trail had
+passed.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going to the Stony River strike," Grant told
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Stony River? Up the Kuskokwim?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>The mail man laughed. "Can you beat that?
+Ain't you heard about Stony River?"</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a fake&mdash;no such place."</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence; the partners avoided each
+other's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"MacDonald, the fellow that started it, is on his
+way to Dawson. There's a gang after him, too, and
+if he's caught it'll go hard with him. He wrote the letters&mdash;to
+himself&mdash;and spread the news just to raise
+a grubstake. He cleaned up big before they got onto
+him. He peddled his tips for real money."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!" Grant spoke quietly. "Johnny bought
+one. That's what brought us from Seattle. We went
+out on the last boat and figured we'd come in from this
+side before the break-up. So&mdash;fake!"</p>
+
+<p>"Gee! You fellers bit good." The mail carrier
+shook his head. "Well! You'd better keep going
+now; you'll get to Nome before the season opens. Better
+take dogfish from Bethel&mdash;it's four bits a pound
+on the Yukon. Sorry I didn't hit your camp last
+night; we'd 'a' had a visit. Tell the gang that you saw
+me." He shook hands ceremoniously, yelled at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+panting dogs, and went swiftly on his way, waving a
+mitten on high as he vanished around the next bend.</p>
+
+<p>The partners watched him go, then Grant turned to
+Johnny, and repeated: "Fake! MacDonald stung
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell's face went as white as the snow behind
+him, his eyes blazed. "Why did you tell him I bit?"
+he demanded harshly.</p>
+
+<p>"Hunh! <i>Didn't</i> you bite? Two thousand miles
+afoot; three months of Hades; for nothing. That's
+biting some."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Well!</i>" The speaker's face was convulsed, and
+Grant's flamed with an answering anger. They glared
+at each other for a moment. "Don't blame me. You
+fell for it, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;&mdash;" Mort checked his rushing words.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, <i>you!</i> Now, what are you going to do about
+it? Welsh?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going through to Nome." The sight of his
+partner's rage had set Mort to shaking with a furious
+desire to fly at his throat, but fortunately, he retained a
+spark of sanity.</p>
+
+<p>"Then shut up, and quit chewing the rag. You&mdash;talk
+too much."</p>
+
+<p>Mort's eyes were bloodshot; they fell upon the carbine
+under the sled lashings, and lingered there, then
+wavered. He opened his lips, reconsidered, spoke
+softly to the team, then lifted the heavy dog whip and
+smote the Malemutes with all his strength.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The men resumed their journey without further
+words, but each was cursing inwardly.</p>
+
+<p>"So! I talk too much," Grant thought. The accusation
+struck in his mind and he determined to speak
+no more.</p>
+
+<p>"He blames me," Cantwell reflected, bitterly.
+"I'm in wrong again and he couldn't keep his mouth
+shut. A fine partner, he is!"</p>
+
+<p>All day they plodded on, neither trusting himself
+to speak. They ate their evening meal like mutes; they
+avoided each other's eyes. Even the guide noticed the
+change and looked on curiously.</p>
+
+<p>There were two robes and these the partners shared
+nightly, but their hatred had grown so during the past
+few hours that the thought of lying side by side, limb
+to limb, was distasteful.</p>
+
+<p>Yet neither dared suggest a division of the bedding,
+for that would have brought further words and resulted
+in the crash which they longed for, but feared.
+They stripped off their furs, and lay down beside each
+other with the same repugnance they would have felt
+had there been a serpent in the couch.</p>
+
+<p>This unending malevolent silence became terrible.
+The strain of it increased, for each man now had something
+definite to cherish in the words and the looks that
+had passed. They divided the camp work with scrupulous
+nicety, each man waited upon himself and asked
+no favors. The knowledge of his debt forever chafed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+Cantwell; Grant resented his companion's lack of gratitude.</p>
+
+<p>Of course they spoke occasionally&mdash;it was beyond
+human endurance to remain entirely dumb&mdash;but they
+conversed in monosyllables, about trivial things, and
+their voices were throaty, as if the effort choked them.
+Meanwhile they continued to glow inwardly at a white
+heat.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell no longer felt the desire merely to match
+his strength against Grant's; the estrangement had become
+too wide for that; a physical victory would have
+been flat and tasteless; he craved some deeper satisfaction.
+He began to think of the ax&mdash;just how or when
+or why he never knew. It was a thin-bladed, polished
+thing of frosty steel, and the more he thought of it the
+stronger grew his impulse to rid himself once for all
+of that presence which exasperated him. It would be
+very easy, he reasoned; a sudden blow, with the weight
+of his shoulders behind it&mdash;he fancied he could feel
+the bit sink into Grant's flesh, cleaving bone and cartilages
+in its course&mdash;a slanting downward stroke,
+aimed at the neck where it joined the body, and he
+would be forever satisfied. It would be ridiculously
+simple. He practiced in the gloom of evening as he
+felled spruce trees for firewood; he guarded the ax
+religiously; it became a living thing which urged
+him on to violence. He saw it standing by the tent fly
+when he closed his eyes to sleep; he dreamed of it; he
+sought it out with his eyes when he first awoke. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+slid it loosely under the sled lashings every morning,
+thinking that its use could not long be delayed.</p>
+
+<p>As for Grant, the carbine dwelt forever in his mind,
+and his fingers itched for it. He secretly slipped a
+cartridge into the chamber, and when an occasional
+ptarmigan offered itself for a target he saw the white
+spot on the breast of Johnny's reindeer parka, dancing
+ahead of the Lyman bead.</p>
+
+<p>The solitude had done its work; the North had
+played its grim comedy to the final curtain, making
+sport of men's affections and turning love to rankling
+hate. But into the mind of each man crept a certain
+craftiness. Each longed to strike, but feared to face
+the consequences. It was lonesome, here among the
+white hills and the deathly silences, yet they reflected
+that it would be still more lonesome if they were left
+to keep step with nothing more substantial than a
+memory. They determined, therefore, to wait until
+civilization was nearer, meanwhile rehearsing the moment
+they knew was inevitable. Over and over in
+their thoughts each of them enacted the scene, ending
+it always with the picture of a prostrate man in a
+patch of trampled snow which grew crimson as the
+other gloated.</p>
+
+<p>They paused at Bethel Mission long enough to load
+with dried salmon, then made the ninety-mile portage
+over lake and tundra to the Yukon. There they got
+their first touch of the "inside" world. They camped
+in a barabora where white men had slept a few nights<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
+before, and heard their own language spoken by native
+tongues. The time was growing short now, and they
+purposely dismissed their guide, knowing that the trail
+was plain from there on. When they hitched up, on
+the next morning, Cantwell placed the ax, bit down,
+between the tarpaulin and the sled rail, leaving the
+helve projecting where his hand could reach it. Grant
+thrust the barrel of the rifle beneath a lashing, with
+the butt close by the handle-bars, and it was loaded.</p>
+
+<p>A mile from the village they were overtaken by
+an Indian and his squaw, traveling light behind hungry
+dogs. The natives attached themselves to the white
+men and hung stubbornly to their heels, taking advantage
+of their tracks. When night came they
+camped alongside, in the hope of food. They announced
+that they were bound for St. Michaels, and
+in spite of every effort to shake them off they remained
+close behind the partners until that point was reached.</p>
+
+<p>At St. Michaels there were white men, practically
+the first Johnny and Mort had encountered since landing
+at Katmai, and for a day at least they were sane.
+But there were still three hundred miles to be traveled,
+three hundred miles of solitude and haunting thoughts.
+Just as they were about to start, Cantwell came upon
+Grant and the A. C. agent, and heard his name pronounced,
+also the word "Katmai." He noted that
+Mort fell silent at his approach, and instantly his anger
+blazed afresh. He decided that the latter had been
+telling the story of their experience on the pass and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+boasting of his service. So much the better, he
+thought, in a blind rage; that which he planned doing
+would appear all the more like an accident, for who
+would dream that a man could kill the person to
+whom he owed his life?</p>
+
+<p>That night he waited for a chance.</p>
+
+<p>They were camped in a dismal hut on a wind-swept
+shore; they were alone. But Grant was waiting also,
+it seemed. They lay down beside each other, ostensibly
+to sleep; their limbs touched; the warmth from
+their bodies intermingled, but they did not close their
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>They were up and away early, with Nome drawing
+rapidly nearer. They had skirted an ocean, foot by
+foot; Bering Sea lay behind them, now, and its northern
+shore swung westward to their goal. For two
+months they had lived in silent animosity, feeding on
+bitter food while their elbows rubbed.</p>
+
+<p>Noon found them floundering through one of those
+unheralded storms which make coast travel so hazardous.
+The morning had turned off gray, the sky was of
+a leaden hue which blended perfectly with the snow
+underfoot, there was no horizon, it was impossible to
+see more than a few yards in any direction. The trail
+soon became obliterated and their eyes began to play
+tricks. For all they could distinguish, they might
+have been suspended in space; they seemed to be treading
+the measures of an endless dance in the center of
+a whirling cloud. Of course it was cold, for the wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+off the open sea was damp, but they were not men to
+turn back.</p>
+
+<p>They soon discovered that their difficulty lay not in
+facing the storm, but in holding to the trail. That
+narrow, two-foot causeway, packed by a winter's
+travel and frozen into a ribbon of ice by a winter's
+frosts, afforded their only avenue of progress, for the
+moment they left it the sled plowed into the loose snow,
+well-nigh disappearing and bringing the dogs to a
+standstill. It was the duty of the driver, in such case,
+to wallow forward, right the load if necessary, and
+lift it back into place. These mishaps were forever
+occurring, for it was impossible to distinguish the
+trail beneath its soft covering. However, if the
+driver's task was hard it was no more trying than that
+of the man ahead, who was compelled to feel out and
+explore the ridge of hardened snow and ice with
+his feet, after the fashion of a man walking a plank
+in the dark. Frequently he lunged into the drifts with
+one foot, or both; his glazed mukluk soles slid about,
+causing him to bestride the invisible hogback, or again
+his legs crossed awkwardly, throwing him off his balance.
+At times he wandered away from the path entirely
+and had to search it out again. These exertions
+were very wearing and they were dangerous, also, for
+joints are easily dislocated, muscles twisted, and tendons
+strained.</p>
+
+<p>Hour after hour the march continued, unrelieved
+by any change, unbroken by any speck or spot of color.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+The nerves of their eyes, wearied by constant nearsighted
+peering at the snow, began to jump so that
+vision became untrustworthy. Both travelers appreciated
+the necessity of clinging to the trail, for, once
+they lost it, they knew they might wander about indefinitely
+until they chanced to regain it or found their
+way to the shore, while always to seaward was the
+menace of open water, of air holes, or cracks which
+might gape beneath their feet like jaws. Immersion
+in this temperature, no matter how brief, meant death.</p>
+
+<p>The monotony of progress through this unreal,
+leaden world became almost unbearable. The repeated
+strainings and twistings they suffered in walking
+the slippery ridge reduced the men to weariness;
+their legs grew clumsy and their feet uncertain. Had
+they found a camping place they would have stopped,
+but they dared not forsake the thin thread that linked
+them with safety to go and look for one, not knowing
+where the shore lay. In storms of this kind men
+have lain in their sleeping bags for days within a
+stone's throw of a road-house or village. Bodies have
+been found within a hundred yards of shelter after
+blizzards have abated.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell and Grant had no choice, therefore, except
+to bore into the welter of drifting flakes.</p>
+
+<p>It was late in the afternoon when the latter met
+with an accident. Johnny, who had taken a spell at
+the rear, heard him cry out, saw him stagger, struggle
+to hold his footing, then sink into the snow. The dogs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+paused instantly, lay down, and began to strip the ice
+pellets from between their toes.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell spoke harshly, leaning upon the handle-bars:
+"Well! What's the idea?"</p>
+
+<p>It was the longest sentence of the day.</p>
+
+<p>"I've&mdash;hurt myself." Mort's voice was thin and
+strange; he raised himself to a sitting posture, and
+reached beneath his parka, then lay back weakly. He
+writhed, his face was twisted with pain. He continued
+to lie there, doubled into a knot of suffering. A
+groan was wrenched from between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurt? How?" Johnny inquired, dully.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed very ridiculous to see that strong man
+kicking around in the snow.</p>
+
+<p>"I've ripped something loose&mdash;here." Mort's
+palms were pressed in upon his groin, his fingers were
+clutching something. "Ruptured&mdash;I guess." He
+tried again to rise, but sank back. His cap had fallen
+off and his forehead glistened with sweat.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell went forward and lifted him. It was the
+first time in many days that their hands had touched,
+and the sensation affected him strangely. He struggled
+to repress a devilish mirth at the thought that
+Grant had played out&mdash;it amounted to that and nothing
+less; the trail had delivered him into his enemy's
+hands, his hour had struck. Johnny determined to
+square the debt now, once for all, and wipe his own
+mind clean of that poison which corroded it. His
+muscles were strong, his brain clear, he had never felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+his strength so irresistible as at this moment, while
+Mort, for all his boasted superiority, was nothing but
+a nerveless thing hanging limp against his breast.
+Providence had arranged it all. The younger man
+was impelled to give raucous voice to his glee, and yet&mdash;his
+helpless burden exerted an odd effect upon him.</p>
+
+<p>He deposited his foe upon the sled and stared at
+the face he had not met for many days. He saw how
+white it was, how wet and cold, how weak and dazed,
+then as he looked he cursed inwardly, for the triumph
+of his moment was spoiled.</p>
+
+<p>The ax was there, its polished bit showed like a
+piece of ice, its helve protruded handily, but there was
+no need of it now; his fingers were all the weapons
+Johnny needed; they were more than sufficient, in
+fact, for Mort was like a child.</p>
+
+<p>Cantwell was a strong man, and, although the North
+had coarsened him, yet underneath the surface was a
+chivalrous regard for all things weak, and this the
+trail madness had not affected. He had longed for
+this instant, but now that it had come he felt no enjoyment,
+since he could not harm a sick man and waged
+no war on cripples. Perhaps, when Mort had rested,
+they could settle their quarrel; this was as good a
+place as any. The storm hid them, they would leave
+no traces, there could be no interruption.</p>
+
+<p>But Mort did not rest. He could not walk; movement
+brought excruciating pain.</p>
+
+<p>Finally Cantwell heard himself saying: "Better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+wrap up and lie still for a while. I'll get the dogs
+underway." His words amazed him dully. They
+were not at all what he had intended to say.</p>
+
+<p>The injured man demurred, but the other insisted
+gruffly, then brought him his mittens and cap, slapping
+the snow out of them before rousing the team to
+motion. The load was very heavy now, the dogs had
+no footprints to guide them, and it required all of
+Cantwell's efforts to prevent capsizing. Night approached
+swiftly, the whirling snow particles continued
+to flow past upon the wind, shrouding the earth in an
+impenetrable pall.</p>
+
+<p>The journey soon became a terrible ordeal, a slow,
+halting progress that led nowhere and was accomplished
+at the cost of tremendous exertion. Time
+after time Johnny broke trail, then returned and urged
+the huskies forward to the end of his tracks. When
+he lost the path he sought it out, laboriously hoisted
+the sledge back into place, and coaxed his four-footed
+helpers to renewed effort. He was drenched with
+perspiration, his inner garments were steaming, his
+outer ones were frozen into a coat of armor; when he
+paused he chilled rapidly. His vision was untrustworthy,
+also, and he felt snow blindness coming on.
+Grant begged him more than once to unroll the bedding
+and prepare to sleep out the storm; he even urged
+Johnny to leave him and make a dash for his own
+safety, but at this the younger man cursed and told
+him to hold his tongue.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Night found the lone driver slipping, plunging,
+lurching ahead of the dogs, or shoving at the handle-bars
+and shouting at the dogs. Finally, during a
+pause for rest he heard a sound which roused him.
+Out of the gloom to the right came the faint complaining
+howl of a malemute; it was answered by his own
+dogs, and the next moment they had caught a scent
+which swerved them shoreward and led them scrambling
+through the drifts. Two hundred yards, and a
+steep bank loomed above, up and over which they
+rushed, with Cantwell yelling encouragement; then a
+light showed, and they were in the lee of a low-roofed
+hut.</p>
+
+<p>A sick native, huddled over a Yukon stove, made
+them welcome to his mean abode, explaining that his
+wife and son had gone to Unalaklik for supplies.</p>
+
+<p>Johnny carried his partner to the one unoccupied
+bunk and stripped his clothes from him. With his
+own hands he rubbed the warmth back into Mortimer's
+limbs, then swiftly prepared hot food, and, holding
+him in the hollow of his aching arm, fed him, a little
+at a time. He was like to drop from exhaustion, but
+he made no complaint. With one folded robe he made
+the hard boards comfortable, then spread the other as
+a covering. For himself he sat beside the fire and
+fought his weariness. When he dozed off and the
+cold awakened him, he renewed the fire; he heated
+beef tea, and, rousing Mort, fed it to him with a teaspoon.
+All night long, at intervals, he tended the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+sick man, and Grant's eyes followed him with an expression
+that brought a fierce pain to Cantwell's throat.</p>
+
+<p>"You're mighty good&mdash;after the rotten way I
+acted," the former whispered once.</p>
+
+<p>And Johnny's big hand trembled so that he spilled
+the broth.</p>
+
+<p>His voice was low and tender as he inquired, "Are
+you resting easier now?"</p>
+
+<p>The other nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you're not hurt badly, after&mdash;all. God!
+That would be awful&mdash;&mdash;" Cantwell choked, turned
+away, and, raising his arms against the log wall, buried
+his face in them.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The morning broke clear; Grant was sleeping. As
+Johnny stiffly mounted the creek bank with a bucket
+of water he heard a jingle of sleighbells and saw a
+sled with two white men swing in toward the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" he called, then heard his own name pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>"Johnny Cantwell, by all that's holy!"</p>
+
+<p>The next moment he was shaking hands vigorously
+with two old friends from Nome.</p>
+
+<p>"Martin and me are bound for Saint Mikes," one of
+them explained. "Where the deuce did you come
+from, Johnny?"</p>
+
+<p>"The 'outside.' Started for Stony River, but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Stony River!" The newcomers began to laugh
+loudly and Cantwell joined them. It was the first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+time he had laughed for weeks. He realized the fact
+with a start, then recollected also his sleeping partner,
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Sh-h! Mort's inside, asleep!"</p>
+
+<p>During the night everything had changed for Johnny
+Cantwell; his mental attitude, his hatred, his whole
+reasonless insanity. Everything was different now,
+even his debt was canceled, the weight of obligation
+was removed, and his diseased fancies were completely
+cured.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes! Stony River," he repeated, grinning
+broadly. "I bit!"</p>
+
+<p>Martin burst forth, gleefully: "They caught MacDonald
+at Holy Cross and ran him out on a limb.
+He'll never start another stampede. Old man Baker
+gun-branded him."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with Mort?" inquired the
+second traveler.</p>
+
+<p>"He's resting up. Yesterday, during the storm he&mdash;"
+Johnny was upon the point of saying "played
+out," but changed it to "had an accident. We
+thought it was serious, but a few days' rest'll bring
+him around all right. He saved me at Katmai, coming
+in. I petered out and threw up my tail, but he
+got me through. Come inside and tell him the news."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" Martin said. "So you and Mort
+are still partners, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Still</i> partners?" Johnny took up the pail of water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+"Well, rather! We'll always be partners." His voice
+was young and full and hearty as he continued:
+"Why, Mort's the best fellow in the world. I'd lay
+down my life for him."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i150.png" width="500" height="260" alt="That Spot" title="That Spot" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>VI.&mdash;That Spot<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Jack London</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;DON'T think much of Stephen Mackaye any
+more, though I used to swear by him. I know
+that in those days I loved him more than my
+brother. If ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I
+shall not be responsible for my actions. It passes beyond
+me that a man with whom I shared food and
+blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot
+Trail, should turn out the way he did. I always sized
+Steve up as a square man, a kindly comrade, without
+an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his nature.
+I shall never trust my judgment in men again.
+Why, I nursed that man through typhoid fever; we
+starved together on the headwaters of the Stewart;
+and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now,
+after the years we were together, all I can say of Stephen
+Mackaye is that he is the meanest man I ever knew.</div>
+
+<p>We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+1897, and we started too late to get over Chilcoot
+Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our outfit on
+our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly,
+and then we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the
+rest of the way. That was how we came to get
+that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred
+and ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say
+<i>looked</i>, because he was one of the finest-appearing dogs
+I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, and he had all
+the lines of a good sled animal. We never could
+make out his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute,
+nor Hudson Bay; he looked like all of them and he
+didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he
+had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one
+side, in the thick of the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white
+that was his prevailing color, there was a
+spot of coal-black as big as a water bucket. That was
+why we called him Spot.</p>
+
+<p>He was a good looker all right. When he was in
+condition his muscles stood out in bunches all over
+him. And he was the strongest-looking brute I ever
+saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent-looking. To
+run your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull
+three dogs of his own weight. Maybe he could, but
+I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run that way.
+He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an
+instinct that was positively gruesome for divining
+when work was to be done and for making a sneak
+accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying lost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came
+to work, the way that intelligence dribbled out of him
+and left him a mere clot of wobbling, stupid jelly
+would make your heart bleed.</p>
+
+<p>There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity.
+Maybe, like some men I know, he was too wise to
+work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over us with
+that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out
+and decided that a licking now and again and no work
+was a whole lot better than work all the time and no
+licking. He was intelligent enough for such a computation.
+I tell you, I've sat and looked into that
+dog's eyes till the shivers ran up and down my spine
+and the marrow crawled like yeast, what of the intelligence
+I saw shining out. I can't express myself
+about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I
+saw it, that's all. At times it was like gazing into a
+human soul, to look into his eyes; and what I saw there
+frightened me and started all sorts of ideas in my own
+mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I
+sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a
+message there, but I wasn't big enough myself to catch
+it. Whatever it was (I know I'm making a fool of
+myself)&mdash;whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't
+give an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it
+wasn't light, it wasn't color; it was something that
+moved, away back, when the eyes themselves weren't
+moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I
+only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,&mdash;that's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
+what it was,&mdash;and I got an impression of it.
+No; it was different from a mere expression; it was
+more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave
+me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not
+sentimental kinship. It was, rather, a kinship of
+equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a deer's eyes.
+They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just
+a calm assumption of equality. And I don't think it
+was deliberate. My belief is that it was unconscious
+on his part. It was there because it was there, and
+it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine.
+It didn't shine; it <i>moved</i>. I know I'm talking rot, but
+if you'd looked into that animal's eyes the way I
+have, you'd understand. Steve was affected the same
+way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once&mdash;he
+was no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I
+led him out into the brush, and he came along slow
+and unwilling. He knew what was going on. I
+stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and
+pulled my big Colt's. And that dog sat down and
+looked at me. I tell you he didn't plead. He just
+looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible
+things moving, yes, <i>moving</i>, in those eyes of his. I
+didn't really see them move; I thought I saw them, for,
+as I said before, I guess I only sensed them. And I
+want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It
+was like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who
+looked calmly into your gun as much as to say, "Who's
+afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so near that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see
+if I could catch the message. There it was, right before
+me, glimmering all around in those eyes of his.
+And then it was too late. I got scared. I was trembly
+all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation
+that made me seasick. I just sat down and
+looked at that dog, and he looked at me, till I thought I
+was going crazy. Do you want to know what I did?
+I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the
+fear of God in my heart. Steve laughed at me. But
+I notice that Steve led Spot into the woods, a week
+later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back
+alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred
+and ten dollars for him from the bottom of our
+sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even tighten
+the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put
+him in harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all.
+Not an ounce on the traces. He just stood still and
+wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve touched him with
+the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve
+touched him again, a bit harder, and he howled&mdash;the
+regular long wolf howl. Then Steve got mad and
+gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the
+tent.</p>
+
+<p>I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we
+had some words&mdash;the first we'd ever had. He threw
+the whip down in the snow and walked away mad. I
+picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+wobbled and cowered before ever I swung the lash,
+and with the first bite of it he howled like a lost soul.
+Next he lay down in the snow. I started the rest of
+the dogs, and they dragged him along, while I threw
+the whip into him. He rolled over on his back and
+bumped along, his four legs waving in the air, himself
+howling as though he was going through a sausage machine.
+Steve came back and laughed at me, and I
+apologized for what I'd said.</p>
+
+<p>There was no getting any work out of that Spot;
+and to make up for it, he was the biggest pig-glutton
+of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he was the
+cleverest thief. These was no circumventing him.
+Many a breakfast we went without our bacon because
+Spot had been there first. And it was because of
+him that we nearly starved to death up the Stewart.
+He figured out the way to break into our meat cache,
+and what he didn't eat, the rest of the team did.
+But he was impartial. He stole from everybody. He
+was a restless dog, always very busy snooping around
+or going somewhere. And there was never a camp
+within five miles that he didn't raid. The worst of
+it was that they always came back on us to pay his
+board bill, which was just, being the law of the land;
+but it was mighty hard on us, especially that first winter
+on the Chilcoot, when we were busted, paying for
+whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. He
+could fight, too, that Spot. He could do everything
+but work. He never pulled a pound, but he was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+boss of the whole team. The way he made those dogs
+stand around was an education. He bullied them, and
+there was always one or more of them fresh-marked
+with his fangs. But he was more than a bully. He
+wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four legs;
+and I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange
+team, without any provocation whatever, and put the
+<i>kibosh</i> on the whole outfit. Did I say he could eat?
+I caught him eating the whip once. That's straight.
+He started in at the lash, and when I caught him he
+was down to the handle, and still going.</p>
+
+<p>But he was a good looker. At the end of the first
+week we sold him for seventy-five dollars to the
+Mounted Police. They had experienced dog drivers,
+and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six
+hundred miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled dog. I
+say we <i>knew</i>, for we were just getting acquainted with
+that Spot. A little later we were not brash enough to
+know anything where he was concerned. A week
+later we woke up in the morning to the dangedest dog
+fight we'd ever heard. It was that Spot come back
+and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty
+depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two
+hours afterward when we sold him to an official
+courier, bound in to Dawson with government dispatches.
+That Spot was only three days in coming
+back, and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house.</p>
+
+<p>We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit
+was across the pass, freighting other people's outfits;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+and we made a fat stake. Also, we made money
+out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty
+times. He always came back, and no one asked for
+their money. We didn't want the money. We'd have
+paid handsomely for any one to take him off our hands
+for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't
+give him away, for that would have been suspicious.
+But he was such a fine looker that we never had any
+difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, and
+they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low
+as twenty-five dollars, and once we got a hundred and
+fifty for him. That particular party returned him in
+person, refused to take his money back, and the way
+he abused us was something awful. He said it was
+cheap at the price to tell us what he thought of us;
+and we felt he was so justified that we never talked
+back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the
+old self-respect that was mine before that man talked
+to me.</p>
+
+<p>When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we
+put our outfit in a Lake Bennet boat and started for
+Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, and of course
+we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was along&mdash;there
+was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first
+day, he knocked one or another of the dogs overboard
+in the course of fighting with them. It was close
+quarters, and he didn't like being crowded.</p>
+
+<p>"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second
+day. "Let's maroon him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for
+him to jump ashore. Two of the other dogs, good
+dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole days trying
+to find them. We never saw those two dogs again;
+but the quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide,
+like the man who refused his hundred and fifty, that
+it was cheap at the price. For the first time in months
+Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were
+as happy as clams. The dark days were over. The
+nightmare had been lifted. That Spot was gone.</p>
+
+<p>Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were
+standing on the river bank at Dawson. A small boat
+was just arriving from Lake Bennett. I saw Steve
+give a start, and heard him say something that was not
+nice and that was not under his breath. Then I
+looked; and there, in the bow of the boat, with ears
+pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked immediately,
+like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from
+justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police
+thought when he saw us sneaking. He surmised that
+there were law officers in the boat who were after
+us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight,
+and in the M.&amp;.M. saloon got us in a corner. We had
+a merry time explaining, for we refused to go back to
+the boat and meet Spot; and finally he held us under
+guard of another policeman while he went to the boat.
+After we got clear of him, we started for the cabin,
+and when we arrived, there was that Spot sitting on
+the stoop waiting for us. Now how did he know we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+lived there? There were forty thousand people in
+Dawson that summer, and how did he <i>savvy</i> our cabin
+out of all the cabins? How did he know we were in
+Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. But don't forget
+what I have said about his intelligence and that immortal
+something I have seen glimmering in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>There was no getting rid of him any more. There
+were too many people in Dawson who had bought him
+up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half a
+dozen times we put him on board steamboats going
+down the Yukon; but he merely went ashore at the
+first landing and trotted back up the bank. We
+couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and
+I had tried), and nobody else was able to kill him.
+He bore a charmed life. I've seen him go down in a
+dog fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of
+him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all
+his four legs, unharmed, while two of the dogs that
+had been on top of him would be lying dead.</p>
+
+<p>I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major
+Dinwiddie's cache so heavy that he could just keep one
+jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw cook, who was
+after him with an ax. As he went up the hill, after
+the squaw gave out, Major Dinwiddie himself came
+out and pumped his Winchester into the landscape.
+He emptied his magazine twice, and never touched that
+Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested
+him for discharging firearms inside the city limits.
+Major Dinwiddie paid his fine, and Steve and I paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+him for the moose meat at the rate of a dollar a pound,
+bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat
+was high that year.</p>
+
+<p>I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes.
+And now I'll tell you something, also. I saw that
+Spot fall through a water hole. The ice was three
+and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under
+like a straw. Three hundred yards below was the
+big water hole used by the hospital. Spot crawled out
+of the hospital water hole, licked off the water, bit out
+the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the
+bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to
+the Gold Commissioner.</p>
+
+<p>In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon
+on the last water, bound for Stewart River. We took
+the dogs along, all except Spot. We figured we'd
+been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more
+time and trouble and money and grub than we'd got
+by selling him on the Chilcoot&mdash;especially grub. So
+Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and pulled
+our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of
+Indian River, and Steve and I were pretty facetious
+over having shaken him. Steve was a funny cuss, and
+I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing when
+a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into
+those dogs and gave them what-for was hair-raising.
+Now how did he get loose? It's up to you. I haven't
+any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike
+River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+he know we had gone up the Yukon? You see, we
+went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks.
+Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog.
+He got on our nerves, too; and, between you and me,
+we were just a mite afraid of him.</p>
+
+<p>The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth
+of Henderson Creek, and we traded him off for two
+sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up White
+River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost.
+Never trace nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or
+anything was ever found. They dropped clean out of
+sight. It became one of the mysteries of the country.
+Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six
+weeks afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He
+was a perambulating skeleton, and could just drag
+along; but he got there. And what I want to know is
+who told him we were up the Stewart? We could
+have gone a thousand other places. How did he
+know? You tell me, and I'll tell you.</p>
+
+<p>No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with
+an Indian dog. The buck who owned the dog took a
+swing at Spot with an ax, missed him, and killed his
+own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside&mdash;I,
+for one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn
+an ax aside with a big buck at the other end of it.
+And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That buck
+didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show
+me.</p>
+
+<p>I told you about Spot breaking into our meat cache.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+It was nearly the death of us. There wasn't any more
+meat to be killed, and meat was all we had to live on.
+The moose had gone back several hundred miles and
+the Indians with them. There we were. Spring was
+on, and we had to wait for the river to break. We
+got pretty thin before we decided to eat the dogs, and
+we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that
+dog did? He sneaked. Now how did he know our
+minds were made up to eat him? We sat up nights
+laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate
+the other dogs. We ate the whole team.</p>
+
+<p>And now for the sequel. You know what it is
+when a big river breaks up and a few billion tons of
+ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. Just
+in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling
+and roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd
+got caught as he was trying to cross up above somewhere.
+Steve and I yelled and shouted and ran up
+and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air.
+Sometimes we'd stop and hug each other, we were
+that boisterous, for we saw Spot's finish. He didn't
+have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance
+at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled
+down to the Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson,
+stopping to feed up for a week at the cabins at
+the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in
+to the bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting
+for us, his ears pricked up, his tail wagging, his mouth
+smiling, extending a hearty welcome to us. Now how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
+did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were
+coming to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be
+out there on the bank waiting for us?</p>
+
+<p>The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced
+that there are things in this world that go beyond
+science. On no scientific grounds can that Spot
+be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism,
+or something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of theosophy
+thrown in. The Klondike is a good country.
+I might have been there yet, and become a millionaire,
+if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I
+stood him for two years altogether, and then I guess
+my stamina broke. It was the summer of 1899 when
+I pulled out. I didn't say anything to Steve. I just
+sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve
+a note, and enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats,"
+telling him what to do with it. I was worn down to
+skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that nervous
+that I'd jump and look around when there wasn't
+anybody within hailing distance. But it was astonishing
+the way I recuperated when I got quit of him. I
+got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San Francisco,
+and by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland
+I was my old self again, so that even my wife looked
+in vain for any change in me.</p>
+
+<p>Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated.
+He took it kind of hard because I'd left him
+with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the "rough-on-rats,"
+per directions, and that there was nothing doing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+A year went by. I was back in the office and prospering
+in all ways&mdash;even getting a bit fat. And then
+Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read his
+name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I
+didn't wonder long. I got up one morning and found
+that Spot chained to the gate-post and holding up the
+milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that
+very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My
+wife made me buy him a collar and tag, and within an
+hour he showed his gratitude by killing her pet Persian
+cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will
+be with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite
+is not so good since he arrived, and my wife says
+I am looking peaked. Last night that Spot got into
+Mr. Harvey's hen house (Harvey is my next door
+neighbor) and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens.
+I shall have to pay for them. My neighbors on
+the other side quarreled with my wife and then moved
+out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am
+disappointed in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he
+was so mean a man.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i165.png" width="500" height="307" alt="When Lincoln Licked a Bully" title="When Lincoln Licked a Bully" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>VII.&mdash;When Lincoln Licked a Bully<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Irving Bacheller</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>In "A Man For the Ages" Irving Bacheller tells the story
+of Abraham Lincoln's life and career in the form of a novel.
+He represents that the book is written by the grandson of one
+Samson Traylor, who is presented as a friend of Lincoln's.
+The story that follows is an abbreviation of the account of
+the journey of Samson Traylor and his wife and two children
+and their dog, Sambo, in 1831, from Vergennes, Vermont,
+to the Illinois country; and the part "Abe" Lincoln,
+a clerk in Denton Offut's store at New Salem, had in building
+a log cabin for them upon their arrival there; and concludes
+by telling how Lincoln licked a bully.</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p></div>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IN the early summer of 1831 Samson Traylor and
+his wife, Sarah, and two children left their old
+home near the village of Vergennes, Vermont, and
+began their travels toward the setting sun with four
+chairs, a bread board and rolling-pin, a feather bed and
+blankets, a small looking-glass, a skillet, an ax, a pack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+basket with a pad of sole leather on the same, a water
+pail, a box of dishes, a tub of salt pork, a rifle, a teapot,
+a sack of meal, sundry small provisions and a
+violin, in a double wagon drawn by oxen.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. A
+young black shepherd dog with tawny points and the
+name of Sambo followed the wagon or explored the
+fields and woods it passed.</div>
+
+<p>The boy Josiah&mdash;familiarly called Joe&mdash;sits beside
+his mother. He is a slender, sweet-faced boy.
+He is looking up wistfully at his mother. The little
+girl Betsey sits between him and her father.</p>
+
+<p>That evening they stopped at the house of an old
+friend some miles up the dusty road to the north.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we are&mdash;goin' west," Samson shouted to
+the man at the doorstep.</p>
+
+<p>He alighted and helped his family out of the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>"You go right in&mdash;I'll take care o' the oxen," said
+the man.</p>
+
+<p>Samson started for the house with the girl under
+one arm and the boy under the other. A pleasant-faced
+woman greeted them with a hearty welcome at
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"You poor man! Come right in," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor! I'm the richest man in the world," said he.
+"Look at the gold on that girl's head&mdash;curly, fine
+gold, too&mdash;the best there is. She's Betsey&mdash;my little
+toy woman&mdash;half past seven years old&mdash;blue eyes&mdash;helps
+her mother get tired every day. Here's my
+toy man Josiah&mdash;yes, brown hair and brown eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+like Sarah&mdash;heart o' gold&mdash;helps his mother, too&mdash;six
+times one year old."</p>
+
+<p>"What pretty faces!" said the woman as she
+stooped and kissed them.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am. Got 'em from the fairies," Samson
+went on. "They have all kinds o' heads for little
+folks, an' I guess they color 'em up with the blood o'
+roses an' the gold o' buttercups an' the blue o' violets.
+Here's this wife o' mine. She's richer'n I am. She
+owns all of us. We're her slaves."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks as young as she did the day she was married&mdash;nine
+years ago," said the woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly!" Samson exclaimed. "Straight as an
+arrow and proud! I don't blame her. She's got
+enough to make her proud I say. I fall in love again
+every time I look into her big brown eyes."</p>
+
+<p>The talk and laughter brought the dog into the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"There's Sambo, our camp follower," said Samson.
+"He likes us, one and all, but he often feels
+sorry for us because we cannot feel the joy that lies
+in buried bones and the smell of a liberty pole or a
+gate post."</p>
+
+<p>They had a joyous evening and a restful night with
+these old friends and resumed their journey soon after
+daylight. They ferried across the lake at Burlington
+and fared away over the mountains and through the
+deep forest on the Chateaugay trail.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.</p>
+
+<p>They had read a little book called <i>The Country of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+Sangamon</i>. The latter was a word of the Pottawatomies
+meaning "land of plenty." It was the name
+of a river in Illinois draining "boundless, flowery
+meadows of unexampled beauty and fertility, belted
+with timber, blessed with shady groves, covered with
+game and mostly level, without a stick or a stone to
+vex the plowman." Thither they were bound to take
+up a section of government land.</p>
+
+<p>They stopped for a visit with Elisha Howard and
+his wife, old friends of theirs, who lived in the village
+of Malone, which was in Franklin County, New York.
+There they traded their oxen for a team of horses.
+They were large gray horses named Pete and Colonel.
+The latter was fat and good-natured. His chief interest
+in life was food. Pete was always looking for
+food and perils. Colonel was the near horse. Now
+and then Samson threw a sheepskin over his back and
+put the boy on it and tramped along within arm's reach
+of Joe's left leg. This was a great delight to the little
+lad.</p>
+
+<p>They proceeded at a better pace to the Black River
+country, toward which, in the village of Canton, they
+tarried again for a visit with Captain Moody and Silas
+Wright, both of whom had taught school in the town
+of Vergennes.</p>
+
+<p>They proceeded through DeKalb, Richville and
+Gouverneur and Antwerp and on to the Sand Plains.
+They had gone far out of their way for a look at
+these old friends of theirs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Every day the children would ask many questions,
+as they rode along, mainly about the beasts and birds
+in the dark shadows of the forest through which they
+passed. These were answered patiently by their father
+and mother and every answer led to other queries.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a funny pair," said their father one day.
+"You have to turn over every word we say to see
+what's under it. I used to be just like ye, used to go
+out in the lot and tip over every stick and stone I could
+lift to see the bugs and crickets run. You're always
+hopin' to see a bear or a panther or a fairy run out
+from under my remarks."</p>
+
+<p>"Wonder why we don't see no bears?" Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause they always see us first or hear us comin',"
+said his father. "If you're goin' to see ol' Uncle Bear
+ye got to pay the price of admission."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Got to go still and careful so you'll see him first.
+If this old wagon didn't talk so loud and would kind
+o' go on its tiptoes maybe we'd see him. He don't
+like to be seen. Seems so he was kind o' shamed of
+himself, an' I wouldn't wonder if he was. He's done
+a lot o' things to be 'shamed of."</p>
+
+<p>"What's he done?" Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Ketched sheep and pigs and fawns and run off
+with 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"What does he do with 'em?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eats 'em up. Now you quit. Here's a lot o'
+rocks and mud and I got to tend to business. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+tackle yer mother and chase her up and down the hills
+a while and let me get my breath."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>On the twenty-ninth day after their journey began
+they came in sight of the beautiful green valley of the
+Mohawk. As they looked from the hills they saw the
+roof of the forest dipping down to the river shores
+and stretching far to the east and west and broken,
+here and there, by small clearings. Soon they could
+see the smoke and spires of the thriving village of
+Utica.</p>
+
+<p>Here they bought provisions and a tin trumpet for
+Joe, and a doll with a real porcelain face for Betsey,
+and turned into the great main thoroughfare of the
+north leading eastward to Boston and westward to a
+shore of the midland seas. This road was once the
+great trail of the Iroquois, by them called the Long
+House, because it had reached from the Hudson to
+Lake Erie, and in their day had been well roofed with
+foliage. Here the travelers got their first view of a
+steam engine. The latter stood puffing and smoking
+near the village of Utica, to the horror and amazement
+of the team and the great excitement of those
+in the wagon. The boy clung to his father for fear of
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Samson longed to get out of the wagon and take a
+close look at the noisy monster, but his horses were
+rearing in their haste to get away, and even a short
+stop was impossible. Sambo, with his tail between his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+legs, ran ahead, in a panic, and took refuge in some
+bushes by the roadside.</p>
+
+<p>"What was that, father?" the boy asked when the
+horses had ceased to worry over this new peril.</p>
+
+<p>"A steam engyne," he answered. "Sarah, did ye
+get a good look at it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; if that don't beat all the newfangled notions
+I ever heard of," she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"It's just begun doin' business," said Samson.</p>
+
+<p>"What does it do?" Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"On a railroad track it can grab hold of a house
+full o' folks and run off with it. Goes like the wind,
+too."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it eat 'em up?" Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No. It eats wood and oil and keeps yellin' for
+more. I guess it could eat a cord o' wood and wash
+it down with half a bucket o' castor oil in about five
+minutes. It snatches folks away to some place and
+drops 'em. I guess it must make their hair stand up
+and their teeth chatter."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it hurt anybody?" Joe asked hopefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, if anybody wanted to be hurt and got in
+its way, I rather guess he'd succeed purty well. It's
+powerful. Why, if a man was to ketch hold of the
+tail of a locomotive, and hang on, it would jerk the
+toe nails right off him."</p>
+
+<p>Joe began to have great respect for locomotives.</p>
+
+<p>Soon they came in view of the famous Erie Canal,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+hard by the road. Through it the grain of the far
+West had just begun moving eastward in a tide that
+was flowing from April to December. Big barges,
+drawn by mules and horses on its shore, were cutting
+the still waters of the canal. They stopped and looked
+at the barges and the long tow ropes and the tugging
+animals.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a real artificial river, hundreds o' miles
+long, handmade of the best material, water tight, no
+snags or rocks or other imperfections, durability guaranteed,"
+said Samson. "It has made the name of
+DeWitt Clinton known everywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what next!" Sarah exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>They met many teams and passed other movers
+going west, and some prosperous farms on a road
+wider and smoother than any they had traveled. They
+camped that night, close by the river, with a Connecticut
+family on its way to Ohio with a great load of
+household furniture on one wagon and seven children
+in another. There were merry hours for the young,
+and pleasant visiting between the older folk that evening
+at the fireside. There was much talk among the
+latter about the great Erie Canal.</p>
+
+<p>So they fared along through Canandaigua and
+across the Genesee to the village of Rochester and on
+through Lewiston and up the Niagara River to the
+Falls, and camped where they could see the great water
+flood and hear its muffled thunder.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.</p>
+
+<p>"Children," said Samson, "I want you to take a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+good look at that. It's the most wonderful thing in
+the world and maybe you'll never see it again."</p>
+
+<p>"The Indians used to think that the Great Spirit was
+in this river," said Sarah.</p>
+
+<p>"Kind o' seems to me they were right," Samson remarked
+thoughtfully. "Kind o' seems as if the great
+spirit of America was in that water. It moves on in
+the way it wills and nothing can stop it. Everything
+in its current goes along with it.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;."</p>
+
+<p>They had the lake view and its cool breeze on their
+way to Silver Creek, Dunkirk and Erie, and a rough
+way it was in those days.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>They fared along through Indiana and over the
+wide savannas of Illinois, and on the ninety-seventh
+day of their journey they drove through rolling,
+grassy, flowering prairies and up a long, hard hill to the
+small log cabin settlement of New Salem, Illinois, on
+the shore of the Sangamon. They halted about noon
+in the middle of this little prairie village, opposite a
+small clapboarded house. A sign hung over its door
+which bore the rudely lettered words: "Rutledge's
+Tavern."</p>
+
+<p>A long, slim, stoop-shouldered young man sat in the
+shade of an oak tree that stood near a corner of the
+tavern, with a number of children playing around him.
+He had sat leaning against the tree trunk reading a
+book. He had risen as they came near and stood
+looking at them, with the book under his arm.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He wore a hickory shirt without a collar or coat or
+jacket. One suspender held up his coarse, linsey
+trousers, the legs of which fitted closely and came only
+to a blue yarn zone above his heavy cowhide shoes.
+Samson writes that he "fetched a sneeze and wiped
+his big nose with a red handkerchief" as he stood
+surveying them in silence, while Dr. John Allen, who
+had sat on the doorstep reading a paper&mdash;a kindly-faced
+man of middle age with a short white beard
+under his chin&mdash;greeted them cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>The withering sunlight of a day late in August fell
+upon the dusty street, now almost deserted. Faces at
+the doors and windows of the little houses were looking
+out at them. Two ragged boys and a ginger-colored
+dog came running toward the wagon. The
+latter and Sambo surveyed each other with raised hair
+and began scratching the earth, straight-legged, whining
+meanwhile, and in a moment began to play together.
+A man in blue jeans who sat on the veranda
+of a store opposite, leaning against its wall, stopped
+whittling and shut his jacknife.</p>
+
+<p>"Where do ye hail from?" the Doctor asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Vermont," said Samson.</p>
+
+<p>"All the way in that wagon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess you're made o' the right stuff," said the
+Doctor. "Where ye bound?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know exactly. Going to take up a claim
+somewhere."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There's no better country than right here. This
+is the Canaan of America. We need people like you.
+Unhitch your team and have some dinner and we'll
+talk things over after you're rested. I'm the doctor
+here and I ride all over this part o' the country. I
+reckon I know it pretty well."</p>
+
+<p>A woman in a neat calico dress came out of the
+door&mdash;a strong built and rather well favored woman
+with blond hair and dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Rutledge, these are travelers from the East,"
+said the Doctor. "Give 'em some dinner, and if they
+can't pay for it, I can. They've come all the way from
+Vermont."</p>
+
+<p>"Good land! Come right in an' rest yerselves.
+Abe, you show the gentleman where to put his horses
+an' lend him a hand."</p>
+
+<p>Abe extended his long arm toward Samson and said
+"Howdy" as they shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>"When his big hand got hold of mine, I kind of felt
+his timber," Samson writes. "I says to myself,
+'There's a man it would be hard to tip over in a
+rassle.'"</p>
+
+<p>"What's yer name? How long ye been travelin'?
+My conscience! Ain't ye wore out?" the hospitable
+Mrs. Rutledge was asking as she went into the house
+with Sarah and the children. "You go and mix up
+with the little ones and let yer mother rest while I git
+dinner," she said to Joe and Betsey, and added as she
+took Sarah's shawl and bonnet: "You lop down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
+an' rest yerself while I'm flyin' around the fire."</p>
+
+<p>"Come all the way from Vermont?" Abe asked as
+he and Samson were unhitching.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"By jing!" the slim giant exclaimed. "I reckon
+you feel like throwin' off yer harness an' takin' a roll
+in the grass."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The tavern was the only house in New Salem with
+stairs in it. Stairs so steep, as Samson writes, that
+"they were first cousins to the ladder." There were
+four small rooms above them. Two of these were
+parted by a partition of cloth hanging from the rafters.
+In each was a bed and bedstead and smaller beds on the
+floor. In case there were a number of adult guests
+the bedstead was screened with sheets hung upon
+strings.</p>
+
+<p>In one of these rooms the travelers had a night of
+refreshing sleep.</p>
+
+<p>After riding two days with the Doctor, Samson
+bought the claim of one Isaac Gollaher to a half section
+of land a little more than a mile from the western end
+of the village. He chose a site for his house on the
+edge of an open prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"Now we'll go over and see Abe," said Dr. Allen,
+after the deal was made. "He's the best man with an
+ax and a saw in this part of the country. He clerks
+for Mr. Offut. Abe Lincoln is one of the best fellows
+that ever lived&mdash;a rough diamond just out of the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+mine of the West, that only needs to be cut and polished."</p>
+
+<p>Denton Offut's store was a small log structure about
+twenty by twenty which stood near the brow of the
+hill east of Rutledge's Tavern. When they entered it
+Abe lay at full length on the counter, his head resting
+on a bolt of blue denim as he studied a book in his
+hand. He wore the same shirt and one suspender and
+linsey trousers which he had worn in the dooryard of
+the tavern, but his feet were covered only by his blue
+yarn socks.</p>
+
+<p>Abe laid aside his book and rose to a sitting
+posture.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Traylor," said Doctor Allen, "has just acquired
+an interest in all our institutions. He has
+bought the Gollaher tract and is going to build a house
+and some fences. Abe, couldn't you help get the timber
+out in a hurry so we can have a raising within a
+week? You know the art of the ax better than any
+of us."</p>
+
+<p>Abe looked at Samson.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon he and I would make a good team with
+the ax," he said. "He looks as if he could push a
+house down with one hand and build it up with the
+other. You can bet I'll be glad to help in any way I
+can."</p>
+
+<p>Next morning at daylight two parties went out in
+the woods to cut timber for the home of the newcomers.
+In one party were Harry Needles carrying two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+axes and a well-filled luncheon pail; Samson with a saw
+in his hand and the boy Joe on his back; Abe with saw
+and ax and a small jug of root beer and a book tied in
+a big red handkerchief and slung around his neck.
+When they reached the woods Abe cut a pole for the
+small boy and carried him on his shoulder to the creek
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Now you sit down here and keep order in this little
+frog city. If you hear a frog say anything improper
+you fetch him a whack. Don't allow any nonsense.
+We'll make you Mayor of Frog City."</p>
+
+<p>The men fell to with axes and saws while Harry
+limbed the logs and looked after the Mayor. Their
+huge muscles flung the sharp axes into the timber and
+gnawed through it with a saw. Many big trees fell before
+noontime when they stopped for luncheon. While
+they were eating Abe said:</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon we better saw out a few boards this afternoon.
+Need 'em for the doors. We'll tote a couple of
+logs up on the side o' that knoll, put 'em on skids an'
+whip 'em up into boards with the saw."</p>
+
+<p>Samson took hold of the middle of one of the logs
+and raised it from the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess we can carry 'em," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Can ye shoulder it?" Abe asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Easy," said Samson as he raised an end of the log,
+stepped beneath it and, resting its weight on his back,
+soon got his shoulder near its center and swung it clear
+of the ground and walked with it to the knollside where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
+he let it fall with a resounding thump that shook the
+ground. Abe stopped eating and watched every move
+in this remarkable performance. The ease with which
+the big Vermonter had so defied the law of gravitation
+with that unwieldly stick amazed him.</p>
+
+<p>"That thing'll weigh from seven to eight hundred
+pounds," said he. "I reckon you're the stoutest man
+in this part o' the state an' I'm quite a man myself.
+I've lifted a barrel o' whisky and put my mouth to the
+bung hole. I never drink it."</p>
+
+<p>"Say," he added as he sat down and began eating
+a doughnut. "If you ever hit anybody take a sledge
+hammer or a crowbar. It wouldn't be decent to use
+your fist."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk when you've got food in your mouth,"
+said Joe who seemed to have acquired a sense of responsibility
+for the manners of Abe.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you're right," Abe laughed. "A man's
+ideas ought not to be mingled with cheese and doughnuts."</p>
+
+<p>"Once in a while I like to try myself in a lift," said
+Samson. "It feels good. I don't do it to show off.
+I know there's a good many men stouter than I be. I
+guess you're one of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm too stretched out&mdash;my neck is too far
+from the ground," Abe answered. "I'm like a crowbar.
+If I can get my big toe or my fingers under anything
+I can pry some."</p>
+
+<p>After luncheon he took off his shoes and socks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"When I'm working hard I always try to give my
+feet a rest and my brain a little work at noontime," he
+remarked. "My brain is so far behind the procession
+I have to keep putting the gad on it. Give me twenty
+minutes of Kirkham and I'll be with you again."</p>
+
+<p>He lay down on his back under a tree with his book
+in hand and his feet resting on the tree trunk well above
+him. Soon he was up and at work again.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>When they were getting ready to go home that afternoon
+Joe got into a great hurry to see his mother. It
+seemed to him that ages had elapsed since he had seen
+her&mdash;a conviction which led to noisy tears.</p>
+
+<p>Abe knelt before him and comforted the boy. Then
+he wrapped him in his jacket and swung him in the air
+and started for home with Joe astride his neck.</p>
+
+<p>Samson says in his diary: "His tender play with
+the little lad gave me another look at the man Lincoln."</p>
+
+<p>"Some one proposed once that we should call that
+stream the Minnehaha," said Abe as he walked along.
+"After this Joe and I are going to call it the Minneboohoo."</p>
+
+<p>The women of the little village had met at a quilting
+party at ten o'clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell. There
+Sarah had had a seat at the frame and heard all the
+gossip of the countryside.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.</p>
+
+<p>So the day passed with them and was interrupted by
+the noisy entrance of Joe, soon after candlelight, who
+climbed on the back of his mother's chair and kissed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+her and in breathless eagerness began to relate the history
+of his own day.</p>
+
+<p>That ended the quilting party and Sarah and Mrs.
+Rutledge and her daughter Ann joined Samson and
+Abe and Harry Needles who were waiting outside and
+walked to the tavern with them.</p>
+
+<p>John McNeil, whom the Traylors had met on the
+road near Niagara Falls and who had shared their
+camp with them, arrived on the stage that evening.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.
+Abe came in, soon after eight o'clock, and was introduced
+to the stranger. All noted the contrast between
+the two young men as they greeted each other. Abe
+sat down for a few minutes and looked sadly into the
+fire but said nothing. He rose presently, excused himself
+and went away.</p>
+
+<p>Soon Samson followed him. Over at Offut's store
+he did not find Abe, but Bill Berry was drawing liquor
+from the spigot of a barrel set on blocks in a shed connected
+with the rear end of the store and serving it to
+a number of hilarious young Irishmen. The young
+men asked Samson to join them.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you. I never touch it," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll come over here an' learn ye how to enjoy
+yerself some day," one of them said.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm pretty well posted on that subject now," Samson
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>It is likely that they would have begun his schooling
+at once but when they came out into the store and saw
+the big Vermonter standing in the candlelight their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+laughter ceased for a moment. Bill was among them
+with a well-filled bottle in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>He and the others got into a wagon which had been
+waiting at the door and drove away with a wild Indian
+whoop from the lips of one of the young men.</p>
+
+<p>Samson sat down in the candlelight and Abe in a
+moment arrived.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm getting awful sick o' this business," said Abe.</p>
+
+<p>"I kind o' guess you don't like the whisky part of
+it," Samson remarked, as he felt a piece of cloth.</p>
+
+<p>"I hate it," Abe went on. "It don't seem respectable
+any longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Back in Vermont we don't like the whisky business."</p>
+
+<p>"You're right, it breeds deviltry and disorder. In
+my youth I was surrounded by whisky. Everybody
+drank it. A bottle or a jug of liquor was thought to
+be as legitimate a piece of merchandise as a pound
+of tea or a yard of calico. That's the way I've always
+thought of it. But lately I've begun to get the Yankee
+notion about whisky. When it gets into bad company
+it can raise the devil."</p>
+
+<p>Soon after nine o'clock Abe drew a mattress filled
+with corn husks from under the counter, cleared away
+the bolts of cloth and laid it where they had been and
+covered it with a blanket.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my bed," said he. "I'll be up at five in
+the morning. Then I'll be making tea here by the fireplace
+to wash down some jerked meat and a hunk o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+bread. At six or a little after I'll be ready to go with
+you again. Jack Kelso is going to look after the store
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>He began to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye know when I went out of the tavern that little
+vixen stood peekin' into the window&mdash;Bim, Jack's
+girl," said Abe. "I asked her why she didn't go in
+and she said she was scared. 'Who you 'fraid of?' I
+asked. 'Oh, I reckon that boy,' says she. And honestly
+her hand trembled when she took hold of my arm
+and walked to her father's house with me."</p>
+
+<p>Abe snickered as he spread another blanket. "What
+a cut-up she is! Say, we'll have some fun watching
+them two I reckon," he said.</p>
+
+<p>The logs were ready two days after the cutting began.
+Martin Waddell and Samuel Hill sent teams to
+haul them. John Cameron and Peter Lukins had
+brought the window sash and some clapboards from
+Beardstown in a small flat boat. Then came the day
+of the raising&mdash;a clear, warm day early in September.
+All the men from the village and the near farms
+gathered to help make a home for the newcomers.
+Samson and Jack Kelso went out for a hunt after the
+cutting and brought in a fat buck and many grouse for
+the bee dinner, to which every woman of the neighborhood
+made a contribution of cake or pie or cookies or
+doughnuts.</p>
+
+<p>"What will be my part?" Samson had inquired of
+Kelso.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Nothing but a jug of whisky and a kind word and
+a house warming," Kelso had answered.</p>
+
+<p>They notched and bored the logs and made pins to
+bind them and cut those that were to go around the
+fireplace and window spaces. Strong, willing and well-trained
+hands hewed and fitted the logs together.
+Alexander Ferguson lined the fireplace with a curious
+mortar made of clay in which he mixed grass for a
+binder. This mortar he rolled into layers called
+"cats," each eight inches long and three inches thick.
+Then he laid them against the logs and held them in
+place with a woven network of sticks. The first fire&mdash;a
+slow one&mdash;baked the clay into a rigid stonelike
+sheath inside the logs and presently the sticks were
+burned away. The women had cooked the meats by
+an open fire and spread the dinner on a table of rough
+boards resting on poles set in crotches. At noon one
+of them sounded a conch shell. Then with shouts of
+joy the men hurried to the fireside and for a moment
+there was a great spluttering over the wash basins.
+Before they ate every man except Abe and Samson
+"took a pull at the jug&mdash;long or short"&mdash;to quote
+a phrase of the time.</p>
+
+<p>It was a cheerful company that sat down upon the
+grass around the table with loaded plates. Their food
+had its extra seasoning of merry jests and loud laughter.
+Sarah was a little shocked at the forthright directness
+of their eating, no knives or forks or napkins
+being needed in that process. Having eaten, washed
+and packed away their dishes the women went home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+at two. Before they had gone Samson's ears caught a
+thunder of horses' feet in the distance. Looking in its
+direction he saw a cloud of dust in the road and a band
+of horsemen riding toward them at full speed. Abe
+came to him and said:</p>
+
+<p>"I see the boys from Clary's Grove are coming. If
+they get mean let me deal with 'em. It's my responsibility.
+I wouldn't wonder if they had some of Offut's
+whisky with them."</p>
+
+<p>The boys arrived in a cloud of dust and a chorus of
+Indian whoops and dismounted and hobbled their
+horses. They came toward the workers, led by burly
+Jack Armstrong, a stalwart, hard-faced blacksmith of
+about twenty-two with broad, heavy shoulders, whose
+name has gone into history. They had been drinking
+some but no one of them was in the least degree off
+his balance. They scuffled around the jug for a moment
+in perfect good nature and then Abe and Mrs.
+Waddell provided them with the best remnants of the
+dinner. They were rather noisy. Soon they went up
+on the roof to help with the rafters and the clapboarding.
+They worked well a few minutes and suddenly
+they came scrambling down for another pull at the jug.
+They were out for a spree and Abe knew it and knew
+further that they had reached the limit of discretion.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys, there are ladies here and we've got to be
+careful," he said. "Did I ever tell you what Uncle
+Jerry Holman said of his bull calf? He said the calf
+was such a <i>suckcess</i> that he didn't leave any milk for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+the family and that while the calf was growin' fat the
+children was growin' poor. In my opinion you're
+about fat enough for the present. Let's stick to the
+job till four o'clock. Then we'll knock off for refreshments."</p>
+
+<p>The young revelers gathered in a group and began
+to whisper together. Samson writes that it became
+evident then they were going to make trouble and says:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"We had left the children at Rutledge's in the care
+of Ann. I went to Sarah and told her she had better
+go on and see if they were all right.</p>
+
+<p>"'Don't you get in any fight,' she said, which
+shows that the women knew what was in the air.</p>
+
+<p>"Sarah led the way and the others followed her."</p></div>
+
+<p>Those big, brawny fellows from the grove when
+they got merry were looking always for a chance to
+get mad at some man and turn him into a plaything.
+A victim had been a necessary part of their sprees.
+Many a poor fellow had been fastened in a barrel
+and rolled down hill or nearly drowned in a ducking
+for their amusement. A chance had come to get mad
+and they were going to make the most of it. They
+began to growl with resentment. Some were wigging
+their leader Jack Armstrong to fight Abe. One of
+them ran to his horse and brought a bottle from his
+saddlebag. It began passing from mouth to mouth.
+Jack Armstrong got the bottle before it was half
+emptied, drained it and flung it high in the air. Another
+called him a hog and grappled him around the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+waist and there was a desperate struggle which ended
+quickly. Armstrong got a hold on the neck of his assailant
+and choked him until he let go. This was not
+enough for the sturdy bully of Clary's Grove. He
+seized his follower and flung him so roughly on the
+ground that the latter lay for a moment stunned.
+Armstrong had got his blood warm and was now ready
+for action. With a wild whoop he threw off his coat,
+unbuttoned his right shirtsleeve and rolled it to the
+shoulder and declared in a loud voice, as he swung his
+arm in the air, that he could "outjump, outhop, outrun,
+throw down, drag out an' lick any man in New
+Salem."</p>
+
+<p>In a letter to his father Samson writes:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"Abe was working at my elbow. I saw him drop
+his hammer and get up and make for the ladder. I
+knew something was going to happen and I followed
+him. In a minute every one was off the roof and out
+of the building. I guess they knew what was coming.
+The big lad stood there swinging his arm and yelling
+like an Injun. It was a big arm and muscled and
+corded up some but I guess if I'd shoved the calico off
+mine and held it up he'd a pulled down his sleeve. I
+suppose the feller's arm had a kind of a mule's kick in
+it, but, good gracious! If he'd a seen as many arms
+as you an' I have that have growed up on a hickory
+helve he'd a known that his was nothing to brag of.
+I didn't know just how good a man Abe was and I
+was kind o' scairt for a minute. I never found it so
+hard work to do nothin' as I did then. Honest my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+hands kind o' ached. I wanted to go an' cuff that
+feller's ears an' grab hold o' him an' toss him over the
+ridge pole. Abe went right up to him an' said:</p>
+
+<p>"'Jack, you ain't half so bad or half so cordy as
+ye think ye are. You say you can throw down any
+man here. I reckon I'll have to show ye that you're
+mistaken. I'll rassle with ye. We're friends an' we
+won't talk about lickin' each other. Le's have a
+friendly rassle.'</p>
+
+<p>"In a second the two men were locked together.
+Armstrong had lunged at Abe with a yell. There was
+no friendship in the way he took hold. He was going
+to do all the damage he could in any way he could.
+He tried to butt with his head and ram his knee into
+Abe's stomach as soon as they came together. Half-drunk
+Jack is a man who would bite your ear off.
+It was no rassle; it was a fight. Abe moved like lightning.
+He acted awful limber an' well-greased. In
+a second he had got hold of the feller's neck with his
+big right hand and hooked his left into the cloth on
+his hip. In that way he held him off and shook him
+as you've seen our dog shake a woodchuck. Abe's
+blood was hot. If the whole crowd had piled on him
+I guess he would have come out all right, for when
+he's roused there's something in Abe more than bones
+and muscles. I suppose it's what I feel when he
+speaks a piece. It's a kind of lightning. I guess it's
+what our minister used to call the power of the spirit.
+Abe said to me afterwards that he felt as if he was
+fighting for the peace and honor of New Salem.</p>
+
+<p>"A friend of the bully jumped in and tried to trip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+Abe. Harry Needles stood beside me. Before I
+could move he dashed forward and hit that feller in
+the middle of his forehead and knocked him flat.
+Harry had hit Bap McNoll the cock fighter. I got up
+next to the kettle then and took the scum off it.
+Fetched one of them devils a slap with the side of my
+hand that took the skin off his face and rolled him over
+and over. When I looked again Armstrong was going
+limp. His mouth was open and his tongue out.
+With one hand fastened to his right leg and the other
+on the nape of his neck Abe lifted him at arm's length
+and gave him a toss in the air. Armstrong fell about
+ten feet from where Abe stood and lay there for a
+minute. The fight was all out of him and he was
+kind of dazed and sick. Abe stood up like a giant
+and his face looked awful solemn.</p>
+
+<p>"'Boys, if there's any more o' you that want trouble
+you can have some off the same piece,' he said.</p>
+
+<p>"They hung their heads and not one of them made
+a move or said a word. Abe went to Armstrong and
+helped him up.</p>
+
+<p>"'Jack, I'm sorry that I had to hurt you,' he said.
+'You get on to your horse and go home.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Abe, you're a better man than me,' said the bully,
+as he offered his hand to Abe. 'I'll do anything you
+say.'"</p></div>
+
+<p>So the Clary's Grove gang was conquered. They
+were to make more trouble but not again were they
+to imperil the foundations of law and order in the little
+community of New Salem.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i190.png" width="500" height="258" alt="The End of the Trail" title="The End of the Trail" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>VIII.&mdash;The End of the Trail<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Clarence E. Mulford</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Buck Peters, foreman of Bar-20 Ranch had many cowboys;
+Pete Wilson, Red Connors, Billy Williams, Johnny
+Nelson, and a goodly number more, but chief among them
+was Hopalong Cassidy. Many interesting stories are told
+about him in "Bar-20 Days" but none of his thrilling experiences
+ever ended as did the one recited in this most
+unusual story, "The End of the Trail."</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p></div>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>WHEN one finds on his ranch the carcasses of
+two cows on the same day, and both are
+skinned, there can be only one conclusion.
+The killing and skinning of two cows out of herds that
+are numbered by thousands need not, in themselves,
+bring lines of worry to any foreman's brow; but there
+is the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the
+losses going higher unless a sharp lesson be given upon
+the folly of fooling with a very keen and active buzz-saw,&mdash;and
+it was the determination of the outfit of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as quickly as circumstances
+would permit.</div>
+
+<p>It was common knowledge that there was a more
+or less organized band of shiftless malcontents making
+its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend, some distance
+up the river, and the deduction in this case was
+easy. The Bar-20 cared very little about what went
+on at Perry's Bend&mdash;that was a matter which concerned
+only the ranches near that town&mdash;so long as
+no vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But
+they had so sifted, and Perry's Bend, or rather the
+undesirable class hanging out there, was due to receive
+a shock before long.</p>
+
+<p>About a week after the finding of the first skinned
+cows, Pete Wilson tornadoed up to the bunk house
+with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot, having lost
+his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts
+for the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated
+to walk, he hated still more to get shot, and most of all
+he hated to have to admit that his rifle-shooting was
+so far below par. He had seen the thief at work and,
+too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before
+announcing his displeasure, had missed the first shot.
+When he dragged himself out from under his deceased
+horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a small
+cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north
+of him. After delivering a short and bitter monologue
+he struck out for the ranch and arrived in a very hot
+and wrathful condition. It was contagious, that condition,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+and before long the entire outfit was in the
+saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his
+wound was so slight as not to bar him from the chase.
+The shock was on the way, and as events proved, was
+to be one long to linger in the minds of the inhabitants
+of Perry's Bend and the surrounding range.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong.
+The pungent smoke drifted in sluggish clouds along
+the low, black ceiling, following its upward slant
+toward the east wall and away from the high bar at
+the other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from
+the north wall to within a scant two feet of the south
+wall, the opening bridged by a hinged board which
+served as an extension to the counter. Behind the
+bar was a rear door, low and double, the upper part
+barred securely&mdash;the lower part was used most. In
+front of and near the bar was a large round table, at
+which four men played cards silently, while two
+smaller tables were located along the north wall. Besides
+dilapidated chairs there were half a dozen low
+wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention was
+directed to the existence and purpose of these by a
+roughly lettered sign on the wall, reading: "Gents will
+look for a box first," which the "gents" sometimes
+did. The majority of the "gents" preferred to aim
+at various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result,
+chancing the outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if
+they missed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater
+request: "Leave your guns with the bartender.&mdash;Edwards."
+This, although a month old, still called forth
+caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters
+of the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the
+matter of carrying weapons had been unknown. They
+forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent
+with their characteristics&mdash;by carrying smaller guns
+where they could not be seen. The majority had simply
+sawed off a generous part of the long barrels of
+their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve
+their accuracy.</p>
+
+<p>Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had
+come direct from Kansas and his reputation as a
+fighter had preceded him. When he took up his first
+day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the
+rightful owner of it and that it had not been exaggerated
+in any manner or degree. With the exception
+of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he
+reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible,
+to a crushing "right" or "left" to the point of
+the jaw or the pit of the stomach. His proficiency in
+the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke
+earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be
+convinced came to five minutes after his diaphragm
+had been rudely and suddenly raised several inches by
+a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings
+and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly,
+where "Kansas" was; and the name stuck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went
+further and cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a
+thorn in his side and he was only waiting for a good
+excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the Law,
+and behind him were the range riders, who would be
+only too glad to have the nest of rustlers wiped out
+and its gang of ne'er-do-wells scattered to the four
+winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand in a
+most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not
+done lawfully, they would try to do it themselves, and
+they had great faith in their ability to handle the situation
+in a thorough and workmanlike manner. This
+would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called
+the town, and so he had replied that the work was his,
+and that it would be performed as soon as he believed
+himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends were
+fully conversant with the feeling against them and had
+become a little more cautious, alertly watching out
+for trouble.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's
+discomfiture most of the <i>habitu&eacute;s</i> had assembled in the
+Oasis where, besides the card-players already mentioned,
+eight men lounged against the bar. There was
+some laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering.
+More whispering went on under that roof
+than in all the other places in town put together; for
+here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were
+"trimmed" in "frame-up" at cards, and a hunted
+man was certain to find assistance. Harlan had once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+boasted that no fugitive had ever been taken from his
+saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on
+the trap door which led to the six-by-six cellar when
+he made the assertion. It was true, for only those
+in his confidence knew of the place of refuge under
+the floor: it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully
+disposed of.</p>
+
+<p>It had not been dark very long before talking ceased
+and card-playing was suspended while all looked up as
+the front door crashed open and two punchers entered,
+looking the crowd over with critical care.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful
+companion, and then walked forward, scrutinizing each
+scowling face in turn, while Johnny stood with his
+back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting
+lightly on his belt not far from the holster.</p>
+
+<p>Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard.
+"Lookin' fer something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm,
+his hands under the bar. Johnny grinned hopefully
+and a sudden tenseness took possession of him as
+he watched for the first hostile move.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's
+attitude and look in one swift glance, "but it
+ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered, backing
+after his companion, and safely outside, the two
+walked towards Jackson's store, Johnny complaining
+about the little time spent in the Oasis.</p>
+
+<p>As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose
+eyes asked a question.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you look all over? Behind th' bar?" Edwards
+asked, slowly. "He can't get out of town
+through that cordon you've got strung around it, an' he
+ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him."</p>
+
+<p>"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning
+towards the door. "You didn't look behind th'
+bar! Come on&mdash;bet you ten dollars that's where
+he is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and
+the marshal's nodding head decided it.</p>
+
+<p>In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack
+Quinn, expert skinner of other men's cows, looked
+inquiringly at the proprietor. "What's up now, Harlan?"</p>
+
+<p>The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing&mdash;taciturnity
+was his one redeeming trait. "Did you
+say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box across the bar
+to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him
+and he leaned over to hear the whispered request, a
+frown struggling to show itself on his face. "Nix;
+you know my rule. No trust in here."</p>
+
+<p>But the man at the far end of the line was unlike
+the proprietor and he prefaced his remarks with a
+curse. "<i>I</i> know what's up! They want Jerry Brown,
+that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, th'
+bullies!"</p>
+
+<p>"What did he do? Why do they want him?"
+asked the man who had wanted trust.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so
+close to their ranch houses. Nobody that had any
+sense would take a chance like that," replied Boston,
+adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in
+demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some
+unsuspecting stranger. His one great fault in the eyes
+of his partners was that he hated to divvy his winnings
+and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally.</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced
+the first speaker. "Ten years ago there was a lot of
+little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had his own herd,
+an' plenty of free grass an' water fer it. Where are
+th' little herds now? Where are th' cows that we
+used to own?" he cried, hotly. "What happens to a
+maverick-hunter, nowadays? If a man helps hisself
+to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go
+on much longer, an' that's shore."</p>
+
+<p>Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're
+right, Harper! Dead right! <i>I</i> was a little cattle
+owner onct, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of us!"
+Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of
+his small herd had perished in the bitter and long winter
+of five years before, and that the remainder had
+either flowed down his parched throat or been lost
+across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of
+his cows were banked in the East under Harlan's name.</p>
+
+<p>The rear door opened slightly and one of the
+loungers looked up and nodded. "It's all right Jerry.
+But get a move on!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Here, <i>you!</i>" called Harlan, quickly bending over
+the trap door, "<i>Lively!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Jerry was halfway to the proprietor when the front
+door swung open and Hopalong, closely followed by
+the marshal, leaped into the room, and immediately
+thereafter the back door banged open and admitted
+Johnny. Jerry's right hand was in his side coat
+pocket and Johnny, young and self-confident, and with
+a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat the fugitive
+on the draw.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried,
+triumphantly, watching both Jerry and Harlan.</p>
+
+<p>The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a
+signal from Harlan they surged forward to the bar
+and formed a barrier between Johnny and his friends;
+and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting
+to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and
+smoke spurted from Jerry's side coat pocket and the
+odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny fell, the rustler
+ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun
+roared twice in the front of the room and Jerry staggered
+a little and cursed as he gained the opening, but
+he plunged into the darkness and threw himself into
+the saddle on the first horse he found in the small
+corral.</p>
+
+<p>When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and
+strove to tear his way to the opening at the end of the
+bar, while the marshal covered Harlan and the others.
+Finding that he could not get through, Hopalong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+sprang on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded
+in winging the fugitive at the first shot, the
+other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and anxiety,
+he beat his way through the crowd, hammering
+mercilessly at heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt
+at his friend's side.</p>
+
+<p>Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered
+the crowd to stand against the wall, and laughed
+viciously when he saw two men senseless on the floor.
+"Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted, savagely.
+"Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill
+you clean! Now climb over an' get in line&mdash;quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did&mdash;did
+I&mdash;get him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied.
+"You'll come 'round if you keep quiet." He
+arose, his face hard with the desire to kill. "I'm
+coming back for <i>you</i>, Harlan, after I get yore friend!
+An' all th' rest of you pups, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny.</p>
+
+<p>"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong,
+picking him up in his arms and moving carefully
+towards the door. "We'll get him, Johnny; an'
+all th' rest, too, when"&mdash;the voice died out in the direction
+of Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the
+front door, slipped out and to one side, running backward,
+his eyes on the saloon.</p>
+
+<p>"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There's going to be some few funerals around here
+before many hours pass."</p>
+
+<p>When he reached the store he found the owner and
+two Double-Arrow punchers taking care of Johnny.
+"Where's Hopalong?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson.
+"Hey, youngster, you let them bandages alone!
+Hear me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman
+of the Double-Arrow. "I come nigh getting yore
+man; somebody rode past me like a streak in th' dark,
+so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I
+heard him cuss an' I emptied my gun after him."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken
+plain, thoroughly saturated, held the water in pools or
+sent it down the steep side of the cliff to feed the
+turbulent flood which swept along the bottom, foam-flecked
+and covered with swiftly moving driftwood.
+Around a bend where the angry water flung itself
+against the ragged bulwark of rock and flashed away
+in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman appeared, bending
+low in the saddle for better protection against the
+storm. He rode along the edge of the stream on the
+farther bank, opposite the steep bluff on the northern
+side, forcing his wounded and jaded horse to keep fetlock
+deep in the water which swirled and sucked about
+its legs. He was trying his hardest to hide his trail.
+Lower down the hard, rocky ground extended to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
+water's edge, and if he could delay his pursuers for an
+hour or so, he felt that, even with his tired horse, he
+would have more than an even chance.</p>
+
+<p>But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly
+above him on the top of the steep bluff across the
+torrent a man loomed up against the clouds, peered
+intently and then waved his sombrero to an unseen
+companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder
+and streaked away, the report of the shot lost in
+the gale. The fugitive's horse reared and plunged
+into the deep water and with its rider was swept
+rapidly towards the bend, the way they had
+come.</p>
+
+<p>"That makes th' fourth time I've missed that
+coyote!" angrily exclaimed Hopalong as Red Connors
+joined him.</p>
+
+<p>The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the
+horse, spilling its rider out of the saddle, floated away
+tail first. The fugitive, gripping his rifle, bobbed and
+whirled at the whim of the greedy water as shots struck
+near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up
+the bank and fell exhausted behind a bowlder.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, th' coyote is afoot, anyhow," said Red, with
+great satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but how are we going to get to him?" asked
+Hopalong. "We can't get th' cayuses down here, an'
+we can't swim <i>that</i> water without them. And if we
+could, he'd pot us easy."</p>
+
+<p>"There's a way out of it somewhere," Red replied,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+disappearing over the edge of the bluff to gamble with
+Fate.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey! Come back here, you chump!" cried Hopalong,
+running forward. "He'll get you, shore!"</p>
+
+<p>"That's a chance I've got to take if I get him," was
+the reply.</p>
+
+<p>A puff of smoke sailed from behind the bowlder on
+the other bank and Hopalong, kneeling for steadier
+aim, fired and then followed his friend. Red was
+downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but
+the wind toyed with the heavy, water-soaked <i>reata</i> as
+though it were a string. As Hopalong reached his side
+a piece of driftwood ducked under the water and an
+angry humming sound died away downstream. As
+the report reached their ears a jet of water spurted up
+into Red's face and he stepped back involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>"He's some shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking
+back at the wreath of smoke above the bowlder. "I
+reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought in
+Harlan's. Gee! he's wild as blazes!" he ejaculated
+as a bullet hummed high above his head and struck
+sharply against the rock wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying
+to rope that rock over there. If I could anchor
+to that, th' current would push us over quick. But it's
+too far with this wind blowing."</p>
+
+<p>"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged.
+He'll be getting steadier as he rests from his fight with
+th' water," Hopalong remarked, and added quickly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
+"Say, remember that meadow back there a ways?
+We can make her from there, all right."</p>
+
+<p>"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's
+sending 'em nearer every shot&mdash;Gee! I could 'most
+feel th' wind of that one. An' blamed if it ain't
+stopped raining. Come on."</p>
+
+<p>They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to
+where they had left their horses, and cantered back
+over their trail. Minute after minute passed before
+the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream
+could believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided
+that he was alone again he left his shelter and
+started away, with slowly weakening stride, over
+cleanly washed rock where he left no trail.</p>
+
+<p>It was late in the afternoon before the two irate
+punchers appeared upon the scene, and their comments,
+as they hunted slowly over the hard ground, were numerous
+and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in
+that vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the
+chance of crossing the trail further back from the
+river. But they had little faith in their success. As
+Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust,
+"I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down th'
+river just to have th' laugh on us." Red had long
+since given it up as a bad job, though continuing to
+search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent
+him forward on a run.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of
+them. "Look there! Ain't that a house?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Naw; course not! It's a&mdash;it's a ship!" Red
+snorted sarcastically. "What did you think it might
+be?"</p>
+
+<p>"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, g'wan yorself! What's a mission doing up
+here?" Red snapped.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think they do? What do they do
+anywhere?" hotly rejoined Hopalong, thinking about
+Johnny. "There! See th' cross?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shore enough!"</p>
+
+<p>"An' there's tracks at last&mdash;mighty wobbly,
+but tracks just th' same. Them rocks couldn't go
+on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this
+time."</p>
+
+<p>"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go
+back home. We won't get him, not nohow," declared
+Hopalong.</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon you never run up agin' a mission real
+hard," Hopalong responded, his memory harking back
+to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and they
+both meant about the same to him as far as winning
+out was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you ain't no <i>kid</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You let <i>me</i> do th' talking; <i>I'll</i> get him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"All right; an' I'll do th' laughing," snickered Hopalong,
+at the door. "Sic 'em, Red!"</p>
+
+<p>The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong
+close at his heels. Red hitched his holster and
+walked heavily into a room at his left. With the exception
+of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the
+room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these
+was lost in the dim light from the narrow windows.
+The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of burning incense
+and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe
+in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable
+feeling of guilt stealing over him. There
+were three doors in the walls, deeply shrouded in the
+dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all
+three at once.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.</p>
+
+<p>Red listened intently and then grinned. "Hear
+that? They're playing dominoes in there&mdash;come
+on!"</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in
+Latin, which is what they speaks."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hanged if I can tell&mdash;I've heard it somewhere,
+that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up
+so that coyote can get away. I'll bet they gave him
+a cayuse an' started him off while we've been losing
+time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some questions."</p>
+
+<p>Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+nudged him and he turned to see his friend staring
+at one of the doors. There had been no sound,
+but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding
+them, and he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back
+suspiciously and then started forward again.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, stranger," he remarked, with quiet
+emphasis, "we're after that cow-lifter, an' we mean
+to get him. Savvy?"</p>
+
+<p>The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried
+another trick. "<i>Habla espa&ntilde;ola?</i>" he asked, experimentally.</p>
+
+<p>"You have ridden far?" replied the monk in perfect
+English.</p>
+
+<p>"All th' way from th' Bend," Red replied, relieved.
+"We're after Jerry Brown. He tried to kill Johnny,
+judgin' from th' tracks."</p>
+
+<p>"And if you capture him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He won't have no more use for no side pocket
+shooting."</p>
+
+<p>"I see; you will kill him."</p>
+
+<p>"Shore's it's wet outside."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment."</p>
+
+<p>"Ya-as?" asked Red with a rising inflection.</p>
+
+<p>"You will not want him now," replied the monk.</p>
+
+<p>Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"There ain't a-going to be no argument about it.
+Trot him out," ordered Red, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>The monk turned to Hopalong. "Do you, too,
+want him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Hopalong nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"My friends, he is safe from your punishment."</p>
+
+<p>Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in
+a few moments, smiling triumphantly. "There are
+tracks coming in, but there ain't none going away.
+He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore
+have to rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves:
+which is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are right&mdash;he is here, and he is not here."</p>
+
+<p>"We're waiting," Red replied, grinning.</p>
+
+<p>"When I tell you that you will not want him, do
+you still insist on seeing him?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too."</p>
+
+<p>As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching
+horses was heard, and Hopalong ran to the
+door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his mount
+and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong
+stopped him and briefly outlined the situation, begging
+him to keep the men outside. The monk met his
+return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward,
+opened the chapel door, saying, "Follow me."</p>
+
+<p>The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark,
+for the usual dimness was increased by the lowering
+clouds outside. The deep, narrow window openings,
+fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn
+rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which
+the heavy rain beat again with a sound like that of
+distant drums. Gusts of rain and the water from the
+roof beat against the south windows, while the wailing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and
+the stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell
+the dirgelike chorus.</p>
+
+<p>At the farther end of the room two figures knelt
+and moved before the white altar, the soft light of
+flickering candles playing fitfully upon them and glinting
+from the altar ornaments, while before a rough
+coffin, which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third,
+whose rich, sonorous Latin filled the chapel with impressive
+sadness. "Give eternal rest to them, O
+Lord,"&mdash;the words seeming to become a part of the
+room. The ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass
+whispered back from the roof between the assaults of
+the enraged wind, while from the altar came the responses
+in a low Gregorian chant, and through it all
+the clinking of the censer chains added intermittent
+notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of the incense, wavering
+with the air currents, now lost in the deep twilight
+of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the
+glow of the candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic
+odor.</p>
+
+<p>As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant
+moved slowly around the coffin, swinging the censer
+over it and then, sprinkling the body and making the
+sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>From the shadows along the side walls other figures
+silently emerged and grouped around the coffin. Raising
+it they turned it slowly around and carried it down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as
+ghosts.</p>
+
+<p>"He is with God, Who will punish according to his
+sins," said a low voice, and Hopalong started, for he
+had forgotten the presence of the guide. "God be
+with you, and may you die as he died&mdash;repentant and
+in peace."</p>
+
+<p>Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading
+to a small, well-kept graveyard, wondering what
+it was that kept quiet for so long a time his two most
+assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to
+hear more or less turmoil and confusion.</p>
+
+<p><i>C-r-e-a-k!</i> He glanced up, gun in hand and raised
+as the door swung slowly open. His hand dropped
+suddenly and he took a short step forward; six black-robed
+figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly
+past him, and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent
+odor of the incense. Behind them came his fighting
+punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their sombreros in
+their hands, and their heads bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and
+surprise struggling for the mastery as the others cantered
+up.</p>
+
+<p>"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero
+and nodding toward the procession.</p>
+
+<p>Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply:
+"Skinny! Lanky! Follow that glory-outfit, an' see
+what's in that box!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore
+pious, Red."</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his
+eyes, and Billy subsided.</p>
+
+<p>Lanky and <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Skinney'">Skinny</ins> soon returned from accompanying
+the procession.</p>
+
+<p>"I had to look twict to be shore it was him. His
+face was plumb happy, like a baby. But he's gone, all
+right," Lanky reported.</p>
+
+<p>"All right&mdash;he knowed how he'd finish when he
+began. Now for that dear Mr. Harlan," Buck replied,
+vaulting into the saddle. He turned and looked
+at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, <i>you!</i>
+Yes, <i>you!</i> Come out of that an' put on yore lid!
+Straddle leather&mdash;we can't stay here all night."</p>
+
+<p>Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and
+silently obeyed. As they rode down the trail and
+around a corner he turned in his saddle and looked
+back; and then rode on, buried in thought.</p>
+
+<p>Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him
+in the ribs. "Gettin' glory, Hoppy?"</p>
+
+<p>Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in
+the eyes; and Billy, losing his curiosity and the grin
+at the same instant, looked ahead, whistling softly.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i211.png" width="400" height="424" alt="Dey Ain&#39;t No Ghosts" title="Dey Ain&#39;t No Ghosts" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>IX.&mdash;Dey Ain't No Ghosts<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Ellis Parker Butler</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>ONCE 'pon a time dey was a li'l black boy whut
+he name was Mose. An' whin he come erlong
+to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to
+git powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard
+in de hollow, an' a buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a
+cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an' dey ain't nuffin'
+but trees nowhar in de clearin' by de shanty an' down
+de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.</div>
+
+<p>An' whin de night come erlong, dey ain't no sounds
+at all whut kin be heard in dat locality but de rain-doves,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+whut mourn out, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous
+an' scary, an' de owls, whut mourn out, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!"
+more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an'
+de wind, whut mourn out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" mos'
+scandalous, trembulous an' scary ob all. Dat a powerful
+onpleasant locality for a li'l black boy whut he
+name was Mose.</p>
+
+<p>'Ca'se dat li'l black boy he so specially black he can't
+be seen in de dark <i>at</i> all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes.
+So whin he go outen de house at night, he ain't dast
+shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody can see him in de
+least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'! An' who know
+but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se
+it can't see him? An' dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l
+black boy powerful bad, 'ca'se yever'body knows whut
+a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.</p>
+
+<p>So whin dat li'l black Mose go' outen de shanty at
+night, he keep he eyes wide open, you may be shore.
+By day he eyes 'bout de size ob butter-pats, an' come
+sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin he
+go outer de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de
+white chiny plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful
+hard to keep eyes whut am de size ob dat from
+a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.</p>
+
+<p>So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat li'l black Mose
+he jes mek up he mind he ain't gwine outen de shack at
+all. He cogitate he gwine stay right snug in de shack
+wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek notice dat
+de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+mourn out, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn
+out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" De eyes ob dat li'l black
+Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut set on
+de mantel by side de clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'!</p>
+
+<p>So dat all right. Li'l black Mose he scrooge back in
+de corner by de fireplace, an' he 'low he gwine stay
+dere till he gwine <i>to</i> bed. But bimeby Sally Ann, whut
+live up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally Ann, whut is
+her husban', he draps in an' Zack Badget an' de school-teacher
+whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap
+in, an' a powerful lot ob folks drap in. An' li'l black
+Mose he seen dat gwine be one s'prise party, an' he
+right down cheerful 'bout dat.</p>
+
+<p>So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low
+"Howdy," an' some ob dem say: "Why, dere's li'l
+Mose! Howdy, li'l Mose?" An' he so please he jes
+grin an' grin, 'ca'se he ain't reckon whut gwine happen.
+So bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, she say,
+"Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en lest we got a jack-o'-lantern."
+An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc'
+Silas Diggs's house, she 'low, "Hallowe'en jes no
+Hallowe'en <i>at</i> all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern."
+An' li'l black Mose he stop a-grinnin', an' he scrooge so
+far back in de corner he 'most scrooge frough de wall.
+But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say, "Mose, go on
+down to de pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't want to go," say li'l black Mose.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on erlong wid yo'," say he ma, right commandin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I ain't want to go," say Mose ag'in.</p>
+
+<p>"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask.</p>
+
+<p>"'Ca'se I's afraid ob de ghosts," say li'l black
+Mose, an' dat de particular truth an' no mistake.</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts," say de school-teacher, whut
+board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, right peart.</p>
+
+<p>"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say Zack Badget, whut
+dat 'feared ob ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l black
+Mose's house ef de school-teacher ain't ercompany him.</p>
+
+<p>"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say li'l black Mose's
+ma.</p>
+
+<p>"Wha' yo' pick up dat nonsense?" say he pa.
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'lows: dey ain't no
+ghosts. An' dey 'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern
+or de fun all spiled. So dat li'l black boy whut he
+name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de
+pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step outen de
+shanty an' he stan' on de doorstep twell he get he
+eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob he ma's washtub,
+mostly, an' he say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." An'
+he put one foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust
+step.</p>
+
+<p>An' de rain-dove say, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p>
+
+<p>An' de owl mourn out, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.</p>
+
+<p>An' de wind sob out, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+an' he shut he eyes so tight dey hurt round de
+aidges, an' he pick up he foots an' run. Yas, sah, he
+run right peart fast. An' he say: "Dey ain't no
+ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he run erlong de
+paff whut lead by de buryin'-ground on de hill,
+'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat buryin'-ground at
+all.</p>
+
+<p>No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves
+sot in an' mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh
+an' cry frough. An' bimeby somefin' jes <i>brush</i> li'l
+Mose on de arm, which mek him run jest a bit more
+faster. An' bimeby somefin' jes <i>brush</i> li'l Mose on de
+cheek, which mek him run erbout as fast as he can.
+An' bimeby somefin' <i>grab</i> li'l Mose by de aidge of he
+coat, an' he fight an' struggle an' cry out: "Dey ain't
+no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't nuffin'
+but de wild brier whut grab him, an' dat ain't nuffin'
+but de leaf ob a tree whut brush he cheek, an' dat
+ain't nuffin' but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut brush
+he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an' he
+ain't lost no time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves
+dey signerfy whut ain't no good. So he scoot
+past dat buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' dat cemuntary
+whut betwixt an' between, an' dat grabeyard in de
+hollow, twell he come to de pumpkin-patch, an' he rotch
+down an' tek erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in de
+patch. An' he right smart scared. He jes de mostest
+scared li'l black boy whut yever was. He ain't gwine
+open he eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
+an' de owls go, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de
+rain-doves go, "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"</p>
+
+<p>He jes speculate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he
+hair don't stand on ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate,
+"Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he goose-pimples don't
+rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low, "Dey ain't no
+ghosts," an' wish he backbone ain't all trembulous wid
+chills dat way. So he rotch down, an' he rotch down,
+twell he git a good hold on dat pricklesome stem of dat
+bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes yank dat
+stem wid all he might.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Let loosen my head!</i>" say a big voice all on a suddent.</p>
+
+<p>Dat li'l black boy whut he name is Mose he jump
+'most outen he skin. He open he eyes an' he 'gin to
+shake like de aspen tree, 'ca'se whut dat a-standin' right
+dar behind him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah,
+dat de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it
+ain't got no head. Ain't go no head <i>at</i> all. Li'l black
+Mose he jest drap on he knees an' he beg an' pray:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he
+beg. "Ah ain't mean no harm at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Whut for you try to take my head?" as' de ghost
+in dat fearsome voice whut like de damp wind outen
+de cellar.</p>
+
+<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg li'l Mose. "Ah
+ain't know dat was yo' head, an' I ain't know you was
+dar <i>at</i> all. 'Scuse me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
+ghost. "Ah got somefin' powerful <i>im</i>portant to say
+unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah ain't got no
+head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no
+mouf, an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk <i>at</i>
+all."</p>
+
+<p>An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk
+whin he ain't got no mouf, an' can't nobody have no
+mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin li'l black
+Mose he look, he see dat ghost ain't go no head <i>at</i> all.
+Nary head.</p>
+
+<p>So de ghost say:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a
+head, an' Ah pick dat ixact pumpkin whut yo' gwine
+tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No, sah. Ah feel
+like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody
+see you no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful
+<i>im</i>portant to say unto yo', an' if yo' pick up dat
+pumpkin an' sot it on de place whar my head ought to
+be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to
+talk fo' so long Ah'm right hongry to say somefin'!"</p>
+
+<p>So li'l black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de
+ghost he bent down, an' li'l black Mose he sot dat
+pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right off dat
+pumpkin head 'gin to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern,
+an' right off dat pumpkin head 'gin to glimmer
+an' glow frough de mouf like a jack-o'-lantern, an'
+right off dat ghost start to speak. Yas, sah, dass so.</p>
+
+<p>"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" <i>in</i>quire li'l black
+Mose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Ah want to tell yo'," say de ghost, "dat yo' ain't
+need yever be skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no
+ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like
+de smoke in July. He ain't even linger round dat
+locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes dissipate
+outen de air, an' he gone <i>in</i>tirely.</p>
+
+<p>So li'l Mose he grab up de nex' bestest pumpkin an'
+he scoot. An' whin he come to de grabeyard in de
+hollow, he goin' erlong same as yever, on'y faster, whin
+he reckon, he'll pick up a club <i>in</i> case he gwine have
+trouble. An' he rotch down an' rotch down, an' tek
+hold of a lively appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar.
+An' whin he grab dat hunk of wood.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Let loosen my leg!</i>" say a big voice all on a suddent.</p>
+
+<p>Dat li'l black boy 'most jump outen he skin, 'ca'se
+right dar in de paff is six 'mendjus big ghosts, an' de
+bigges' ain't got but one leg. So li'l black Mose jes
+natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat bigges'
+ghost, an' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your
+leg."</p>
+
+<p>An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an'
+confabulate? Yas, sah, dass so. An' whin dey do so,
+one say:</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l black boy.
+Whut we gwine do fo' to <i>re</i>ward him fo' politeness?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>So de bigges' ghost he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah gwine tell yo' somethin' important whut yever'body
+don't know: Dey <i>ain't</i> no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' whin he say dat, de ghosts jes natchully vanish
+away, an' li'l black Mose he proceed up de paff. He
+so scared he hair jes yank at de roots, an' when de wind
+go "Oo-<i>oo</i>-oo-o-o," an' de owl go, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!"
+an' de rain-doves go, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" he
+jes tremble an' shake. An' bimeby he come to de cemuntary
+whut betwixt an' between, an' he shore is mighty
+skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined
+up along de road, an' he 'low he ain't gwine spind no
+more time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step offen de
+road fo' to go round erbout, an' he step on a pine-stump
+whut lay right dar.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Git offen my chest!</i>" say a big voice all on a suddent,
+'ca'se dat stump am been selected by de captain
+ob de ghostes for to be he chest, 'ca'se he ain't got no
+chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l black
+Mose he hop offen dat stump right peart. Yes, <i>sah;</i>
+right peart.</p>
+
+<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l black Mose beg
+an' pleed, an' de ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him
+all up or not, 'ca'se he step on de boss ghostes's chest
+dat a-way. But bimeby they 'low they let him go
+'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say,
+"Mose, you Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se
+you ain't nuffin' but a misabul li'l tremblin' nigger; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+Ah want you should remimber one thing mos' particular'."</p>
+
+<p>"Ya-yas, sah," say dat li'l black boy; "Ah'll remimber.
+What is dat Ah got to remimber?"</p>
+
+<p>De captain ghost he swell up, an' he swell up, twell
+he as big as a house, an' he say in a voice whut shake
+de ground:</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>So li'l black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he
+rise up an' mek a bow, an' he proceed toward home
+right libely. He do, indeed.</p>
+
+<p>An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin whin he
+come to de aidge ob de buryin'-ground whut on de hill,
+an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se de kentry round
+about am so populate he ain't able to go frough. Yas,
+sah, seem like all de ghostes in de world havin' de conferince
+right dar. Seem like all de ghosteses whut
+yever was am havin' a convintion on dat spot. An'
+dat li'l black Mose so skeered he jes fall down on e' old
+log whut dar an' screech an' moan! An' all on a suddent
+de log up and spoke to li'l Mose:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Get offen me! Get offen me!</i>" yell dat log.</p>
+
+<p>So li'l black Mose he git offen dat log, an' no mistake.</p>
+
+<p>An' soon as he git offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l
+black Mose he see dat dat log am de king ob all de
+ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, all de congregation
+crowd round li'l black Mose, an' dey am about leben
+millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+annyul Hallowe'en convintion whut li'l black Mose interrup.
+Right dar am all de sperits in de world, an' all
+de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de
+world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters
+in de world, an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin
+dey see li'l black Mose, dey all gnash dey teef an' grin
+'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's lunchtime. So
+de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step on
+top ob li'l Mose's head, an' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De
+sicretary please note who is prisint. De firs' business
+whut come before de convintion am: whut we gwine
+do to a li'l black boy whut stip on de king an' maul
+all ober de king an' treat de king dat disdespictful."</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose jes moan an' sob:</p>
+
+<p>"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't
+mean no harm <i>at</i> all."</p>
+
+<p>But nobody ain't pay no attintion to him at all,
+'ca'se yevery one lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut
+name Bloody Bones, whut rose up an' spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min <i>an'</i>
+ladies," he say, "dis am a right bad case ob <i>lazy
+majesty</i>, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin yevery li'l
+black boy whut choose gwine wander round at night
+an' stip on de king of ghostes, it ain't no time for to
+palaver, it ain't no time for to prevaricate, it ain't no
+time for to cogitate, it ain't no time do nuffin' but tell
+de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin but de truth."</p>
+
+<p>An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey canfabulate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+out loud erbout it, an' de noise soun like de
+rain-doves goin', "Oo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de owls goin',
+"Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!" an' de wind goin', "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!"
+So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an'
+no mistake.</p>
+
+<p>So de king ob de ghosts, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones,
+he place he hand on de head ob li'l black Mose,
+an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black
+Mose turn white.</p>
+
+<p>An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody
+Bones he lay he hand on de head ob li'l black Mose, and
+he hand feel like a toadstool in de cool ob de day, an'
+he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black
+Mose turn white.</p>
+
+<p>An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place
+he hand on de head ob li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel
+like ye yunner side ob a lizard, an' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l
+black Mose turn white <i>as</i> snow.</p>
+
+<p>An' a perticklar bent-up hobgoblin he put hand
+on de head ob li'l black Mose, an' he mek dat same <i>re</i>mark,
+and dat whole convintion ob ghostes an' spicters
+an' ha'nts an' yever-thing, which am more 'n a millium,
+pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+blow outen de cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all
+say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." Yas, sah, dey-all say dem
+wo'ds so fas' it soun like de wind whin it moan frough
+de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An'
+yevery hair whut on li'l black Mose's head turn white.
+Dat whut happen whin a li'l black boy gwine meet a
+ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat's so he ain't gwine
+fergit to remimber dey ain't no ghosts. 'Ca'se ef a
+li'l black boy gwine imaginate dey <i>is</i> ghostes, he gwine
+be skeered in de dark. An' dat a foolish thing for to
+imaginate.</p>
+
+<p>So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de
+fog outen de holler whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l
+black Mose he ain' see 'ca'se for to remain in dat locality
+no longer. He rotch down, an' he raise up de
+pumpkin, an' he perambulate right quick to he ma's
+shack, an' he lift up de latch, an' he open de do', an'
+he yenter in. An' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Yere's de pumpkin."</p>
+
+<p>An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de
+road, an' Mistah Sally Ann, whut her husban', an'
+Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut board at Unc'
+Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks
+whut come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de
+cornder ob de shack, 'ca'se Zack Badget he been done
+tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves gwine "Ooo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"
+an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-<i>whoo</i>-o-o-o!"
+and de wind it gwine, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" an' yever'body
+powerful skeered. 'Ca'se li'l black Mose he come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes whin dat ghost-tale
+mos' skeery, an' yever'body gwine imaginate dat de
+ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah.
+So li'l black Mose he turn he white head, an' he look
+roun' an' peer roun', an' he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Whut you all skeered fo'?"</p>
+
+<p>'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want to be skeered,
+too. Dat's natural. But de school-teacher, whut live
+at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say:</p>
+
+<p>"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"</p>
+
+<p>So li'l black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob
+sneer, an' he 'low:</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l black
+Mose he gwine be so upotish an' contrydict folks whut
+know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an' gin'ral countin'
+widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at
+Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say:</p>
+
+<p>"Huh; whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner way?"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot,
+an' he jes kinder suck he thumb, an' he jes kinder
+'low:</p>
+
+<p>"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't
+no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey
+ain't no ghosts whin yever'body know dey is ghosts;
+but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's
+house, she tek note de hair ob li'l black Mose's head
+am plumb white, an' she tek note li'l black Mose's face<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+am de color of wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm
+round dat li'l black boy, an' she jes snuggle him up,
+an' she say:</p>
+
+<p>"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody
+gwine hurt you. How you know dey ain't no
+ghosts?"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he kinder lean up 'g'inst de
+school-teacher whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house,
+an' he 'low:</p>
+
+<p>"'Ca'se&mdash;'ca'se&mdash;'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I
+met de gin'ral ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met
+all de ghostes whut yever was in de whole worl', an'
+yevery ghost say de same thing: 'Dey ain't no ghosts.'
+An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king
+ghost an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know
+ef dar am ghostes, who does?"</p>
+
+<p>"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say de school-teacher.
+An' she say: "I been s'picious dey ain' no
+ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I know. Ef all de
+ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey <i>ain'</i> no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>So yever'body 'low dat o cep' Zack Badget, whut
+been tellin' de ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis"
+an' he ain' gwine say "No," 'ca'se he right sweet
+on de school-teacher; but he know right well he done
+seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure
+fust. So he say to li'l black Mose:</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big
+ha'nt whut live down de lane whut he name Bloody
+Bones?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "I done met up wid
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain'
+no ghosts?" say Zack Badget.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "he done tell me perzactly
+dat."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if <i>he</i> tol' you dey ain' no ghosts," say Zack
+Badget, "I got to 'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he
+ain't gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody
+Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met
+up wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain't gwine
+tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey
+ain't no ghosts, dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>So yever'body say:</p>
+
+<p>"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>An' dat mek li'l black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se
+he ain' lek ghostes. He reckon he gwine be a heap mo'
+comfortable in he mind sence he know dey ain't no
+ghosts, an' he reckon he ain' gwine be skeered of nuffin'
+never no more. He ain't gwine min' de dark, an'
+he ain't gwine min' de rain-doves whut go, "Ooo-<i>oo</i>-o-o-o!"
+an' he ain' gwine min' de owls whut go,
+"Who-<i>who</i>-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind
+whut go, "You-<i>you</i>-o-o-o!" nor nuffin, nohow. He
+gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know fo' sure dey
+ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, time fo' a li'l black boy whut he name is
+Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed."</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he 'low he gwine wait a bit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+He 'low he gwine jes wait a li'l bit. He 'low he gwine
+be no trouble <i>at</i> all ef he jes been let wait twell he ma
+she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he
+ma she say:</p>
+
+<p>"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut you skeered ob whin
+dey ain't no ghosts?"</p>
+
+<p>An' li'l black Mose he scrooge, an' he twist, an' he
+pucker up he mouf, an' he rub he eyes, an' prisintly he
+say right low:</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain't
+no ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>"Den what am yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.</p>
+
+<p>"Nuffin'," say de li'l black boy whut he name is
+Mose; "but I jes feel kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts
+whut ain't."</p>
+
+<p>Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i228.png" width="500" height="231" alt="The Night Operator" title="The Night Operator" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>X.&mdash;The Night Operator<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Frank L. Packard</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>TODDLES, in the beginning, wasn't exactly
+a railroad man&mdash;for several reasons. First
+he wasn't a man at all; second, he wasn't,
+strictly speaking, on the company's pay roll; third,
+which is apparently irrelevant, everybody said he was
+a bad one; and fourth&mdash;because Hawkeye nicknamed
+him Toddles.</div>
+
+<p>Toddles had another name&mdash;Christopher Hyslop
+Hoogan&mdash;but Big Cloud never lay awake at nights
+losing any sleep over that. On the first run that
+Christopher Hyslop Hoogan ever made, Hawkeye
+looked him over for a minute, said, "Toddles," shortlike&mdash;and,
+shortlike, that settled the matter so far as
+the Hill Division was concerned. His name was Toddles.</p>
+
+<p>Piecemeal, Toddles wouldn't convey anything to you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+to speak of. You'd have to see Toddles coming down
+the aisle of a car to get him at all&mdash;and then the
+chances are you'd turn around after he'd gone by and
+stare at him, and it would be even money that you'd
+call him back and fish for a dime to buy something by
+way of excuse. Toddles got a good deal of business
+that way. Toddles had a uniform and a regular run
+all right, but he wasn't what he passionately longed to
+be&mdash;a legitimate, dyed-in-the-wool railroader. His
+pay check, plus commissions, came from the News
+Company down East that had the railroad concession.
+Toddles was a newsboy. In his blue uniform and
+silver buttons, Toddles used to stack up about the
+height of the back of the car seats as he hawked his
+wares along the aisles; and the only thing that was big
+about him was his head, which looked as though it had
+got a whopping big lead on his body&mdash;and didn't intend
+to let the body cut the lead down any. This
+meant a big cap, and, as Toddles used to tilt the vizor
+forward, the tip of his nose, bar his mouth which was
+generous, was about all one got of his face. Cap, buttons,
+magazines and peanuts, that was Toddles&mdash;all
+except his voice. Toddles had a voice that would make
+you jump if you were nervous the minute he opened
+the car door, and if you weren't nervous you would be
+before he had reached the other end of the aisle&mdash;it
+began low down somewhere on high G and went
+through you shrill as an east wind, and ended like the
+shriek of a brake-shoe with everything the Westinghouse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+equipment had to offer cutting loose on a quick
+stop.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye? That was what Toddles called his
+beady-eyed conductor in retaliation. Hawkeye used
+to nag Toddles every chance he got, and, being Toddles'
+conductor, Hawkeye got a good many chances.
+In a word, Hawkeye, carrying the punch on the local
+passenger, that happened to be the run Toddles was
+given when the News Company sent him out from the
+East, used to think he got a good deal of fun out of
+Toddles&mdash;only his idea of fun and Toddles' idea of
+fun were as divergent as the poles, that was all.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles, however, wasn't anybody's fool, not by several
+degrees&mdash;not even Hawkeye's. Toddles hated
+Hawkeye like poison; and his hate, apart from daily
+annoyances, was deep-seated. It was Hawkeye who
+had dubbed him "Toddles." And Toddles repudiated
+the name with his heart, his soul&mdash;and his fists.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles wasn't anybody's fool, whatever the division
+thought, and he was right down to the basic
+root of things from the start. Coupled with the
+stunted growth that nature in a miserly mood had doled
+out to him, none knew better than himself that the name
+of "Toddles," keeping that nature stuff patently before
+everybody's eyes, damned him in his aspirations
+for a bona fide railroad career. Other boys got
+a job and got their feet on the ladder as call-boys, or
+in the roundhouse; Toddles got&mdash;a grin. Toddles
+pestered everybody for a job. He pestered Carleton,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
+the super. He pestered Tommy Regan, the master
+mechanic. Every time that he saw anybody in authority
+Toddles spoke up for a job, he was in deadly
+earnest&mdash;and got a grin. Toddles with a basket of
+unripe fruit and stale chocolates and his "best-seller"
+voice was one thing; but Toddles as anything else was
+just&mdash;Toddles.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles repudiated the name, and did it forcefully.
+Not that he couldn't take his share of a bit of guying,
+but because he felt that he was face to face with a vital
+factor in the career he longed for&mdash;so he fought.
+And if nature had been niggardly in one respect, she
+had been generous in others; Toddles, for all his size,
+possessed the heart of a lion and the strength of a
+young ox, and he used both, with black and bloody
+effect, on the eyes and noses of the call-boys and
+younger element who called him Toddles. He fought
+it all along the line&mdash;at the drop of the hat&mdash;at a
+whisper of "Toddles." There wasn't a day went by
+that Toddles wasn't in a row; and the women, the
+mothers of the defeated warriors whose eyes were
+puffed and whose noses trickled crimson, denounced
+him in virulent language over their washtubs and the
+back fences of Big Cloud. You see, they didn't understand
+him, so they called him a "bad one," and, being
+from the East and not one of themselves, "a New
+York gutter snipe."</p>
+
+<p>But, for all that, the name stuck. Up and down
+through the Rockies it was&mdash;Toddles. Toddles, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+the idea of getting a lay-over on a siding, even went to
+the extent of signing himself in full&mdash;Christopher
+Hyslop Hoogan&mdash;every time his signature was in order;
+but the official documents in which he was concerned,
+being of a private nature between himself and
+the News Company, did not, in the very nature of
+things, have much effect on the Hill Division. Certainly
+the big fellows never knew he had any name but
+Toddles&mdash;and cared less. But they knew him as
+Toddles, all right! All of them did, every last one
+of them! Toddles was everlastingly and eternally
+bothering them for a job. Any kind of a job, no matter
+what, just so it was real railroading, and so a fellow
+could line up with everybody else when the pay car
+came along, and look forward to being something some
+day.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles, with time, of course, grew older, up to
+about seventeen or so, but he didn't grow any bigger&mdash;not
+enough to make it noticeable! Even Toddles'
+voice wouldn't break&mdash;it was his young heart that
+did all the breaking there was done. Not that he ever
+showed it. No one ever saw a tear in the boy's eyes.
+It was clenched fists for Toddles, clenched fists and
+passionate attack. And therein, while Toddles had
+grasped the basic truth that his nickname militated
+against his ambitions, he erred in another direction that
+was equally fundamental, if not more so.</p>
+
+<p>And here, it was Bob Donkin, the night dispatcher,
+as white a man as his record after years of train-handling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+was white, a railroad man from the ground
+up if there ever was one, and one of the best, who set
+Toddles&mdash;but we'll come to that presently. We've
+got our "clearance" now, and we're off with "rights"
+through.</p>
+
+<p>No. 83, Hawkeye's train&mdash;and Toddles'&mdash;scheduled
+Big Cloud on the eastbound run at 9.05; and, on
+the night the story opens, they were about an hour
+away from the little mountain town that was the divisional
+point, as Toddles, his basket of edibles in the
+crook of his arm, halted in the forward end of the
+second-class smoker to examine again the fistful of
+change that he dug out of his pants pocket with his
+free hand.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles was in an unusually bad humor, and he
+scowled. With exceeding deftness he separated one
+of the coins from the others, using his fingers like the
+teeth of a rake, and dropped the rest back jingling into
+his pocket. The coin that remained he put into his
+mouth, and bit on it&mdash;hard. His scowl deepened.
+Somebody had presented Toddles with a lead quarter.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't so much the quarter, though Toddles' salary
+wasn't so big as some people's who would have felt
+worse over it, it was his <i>amour propre</i> that was
+touched&mdash;deeply. It wasn't often that any one could
+put so bald a thing as lead money across on Toddles.
+Toddles' mind harked back along the aisles of the cars
+behind him. He had only made two sales that round,
+and he had changed a quarter each time&mdash;for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+pretty girl with the big picture hat, who had giggled
+at him when she bought a package of chewing gum;
+and the man with the three-carat diamond tie-pin in
+the parlor car, a little more than on the edge of inebriety,
+who had got on at the last stop, and who had
+bought a cigar from him.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles thought it over for a bit; decided he
+wouldn't have a fuss with a girl anyway, balked at a
+parlor car fracas with a drunk, dropped the coin back
+into his pocket, and went on into the combination baggage
+and express car. Here, just inside the door, was
+Toddles', or, rather, the News Company's chest. Toddles
+lifted the lid; and then his eyes shifted slowly and
+traveled up the car. Things were certainly going
+badly with Toddles that night.</p>
+
+<p>There were four men in the car: Bob Donkin, coming
+back from a holiday trip somewhere up the line;
+MacNicoll, the baggage-master; Nulty, the express
+messenger&mdash;and Hawkeye. Toddles' inventory of
+the contents of the chest had been hurried&mdash;but intimate.
+A small bunch of six bananas was gone, and
+Hawkeye was munching them unconcernedly. It
+wasn't the first time the big, hulking, six-foot conductor
+had pilfered the boy's chest, not by many&mdash;and
+never paid for the pilfering. That was Hawkeye's
+idea of a joke.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye was talking to Nulty, elaborately simulating
+ignorance of Toddles' presence&mdash;and he was talking
+about Toddles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Sure," said Hawkeye, his mouth full of banana,
+"he'll be a great railroad man some day! He's the
+stuff they're made of! You can see it sticking out all
+over him! He's only selling peanuts now till he grows
+up and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Toddles put down his basket and planted himself
+before the conductor.</p>
+
+<p>"You pay for those bananas," said Toddles in a low
+voice&mdash;which was high.</p>
+
+<p>"When'll he grow up?" continued Hawkeye, peeling
+more fruit. "I don't know&mdash;you've got me.
+The first time I saw him two years ago, I'm hanged if
+he wasn't bigger than he is now&mdash;guess he grows
+backwards. Have a banana?" He offered one to
+Nulty, who refused it.</p>
+
+<p>"You pay for those bananas, you big stiff!"
+squealed Toddles belligerently.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye turned his head slowly and turned his little
+beady, black eyes on Toddles, then he turned with
+a wink to the others, and for the first time in two years
+offered payment. He fished into his pocket and
+handed Toddles a twenty-dollar bill&mdash;there always
+was a mean streak in Hawkeye, more or less of a bully,
+none too well liked, and whose name on the pay roll,
+by the way, was Reynolds.</p>
+
+<p>"Take fifteen cents out of that," he said, with no
+idea that the boy could change the bill.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Toddles glared at the yellow-back,
+then a thrill of unholy glee came to Toddles. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
+could just about make it, business all around had been
+pretty good that day, particularly on the run west in
+the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye went on with the exposition of his idea of
+humor at Toddles' expense; and Toddles went back to
+his chest and his reserve funds. Toddles counted out
+eighteen dollars in bills, made a neat pile of four quarters&mdash;the
+lead one on the bottom&mdash;another neat pile
+of the odd change, and returned to Hawkeye. The
+lead quarter wouldn't go very far toward liquidating
+Hawkeye's long-standing indebtedness&mdash;but it would
+help some.</p>
+
+<p>Queer, isn't it&mdash;the way things happen? Think of
+a man's whole life, aspirations, hopes, ambitions, everything,
+pivoting on&mdash;a lead quarter! But then they
+say that opportunity knocks once at the door of every
+man; and, if that be true, let it be remarked in passing
+that Toddles wasn't deaf!</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye, making Toddles a target for a parting
+gibe, took up his lantern and started through the train
+to pick up the fates from the last stop. In due course
+he halted before the inebriated one with the glittering
+tie-pin in the smoking compartment of the parlor
+car.</p>
+
+<p>"Ticket, please," said Hawkeye.</p>
+
+<p>"Too busy to buysh ticket," the man informed him,
+with heavy confidence. "Whash fare Loon Dam to
+Big Cloud?"</p>
+
+<p>"One-fifty," said Hawkeye curtly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The man produced a roll of bills, and from the roll
+extracted a two-dollar note.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye handed him back two quarters, and started
+to punch a cash-fare slip. He looked up to find the
+man holding out one of the quarters insistently, if
+somewhat unsteadily.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" demanded Hawkeye
+brusquely.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>A drummer grinned; and an elderly gentleman,
+from his magazine, looked up inquiringly over his spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad!" Hawkeye brought his elbow sharply around
+to focus his lamp on the coin; then he leaned over and
+rang it on the window sill&mdash;only it wouldn't ring. It
+was indubitably bad. Hawkeye, however, was dealing
+with a drunk&mdash;and Hawkeye always did have a mean
+streak in him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's perfectly good," he asserted gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>The man rolled an eye at the conductor that mingled
+a sudden shrewdness and anger, and appealed to his
+fellow travelers. The verdict was against Hawkeye,
+and Hawkeye ungraciously pocketed the lead piece and
+handed over another quarter.</p>
+
+<p>"Shay," observed the inebriated one insolently,
+"shay, conductor, I don't like you. You thought I
+was&mdash;hic!&mdash;s'drunk I wouldn't know&mdash;eh? Thash
+where you fooled yerself!"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" Hawkeye bridled virtuously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
+for the benefit of the drummer and the old gentleman
+with the spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>And then the other began to laugh immoderately.</p>
+
+<p>"Same ol' quarter," said he. "Same&mdash;hic!&mdash;ol'
+quarter back again. Great system&mdash;peanut boy&mdash;conductor&mdash;hic!
+Pass it off on one&mdash;other passes
+it off on some one else. Just passed it off on&mdash;hic!&mdash;peanut
+boy for a joke. Goin' to give him a dollar
+when he comes back."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you did, did you!" snapped Hawkeye ominously.
+"And you mean to insinuate that I deliberately
+tried to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure!" declared the man heartily.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a liar!" announced Hawkeye, spluttering
+mad. "And what's more, since it came from you,
+you'll take it back!" He dug into his pocket for the
+ubiquitous lead piece.</p>
+
+<p>"Not&mdash;hic!&mdash;on your life!" said the man earnestly.
+"You hang on to it, old top. I didn't pass it
+off on <i>you</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Haw!" exploded the drummer suddenly. "Haw&mdash;haw,
+haw!"</p>
+
+<p>And the elderly gentleman smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye's face went red, and then purple.</p>
+
+<p>"Go 'way!" said the man petulantly. "I don't like
+you. Go 'way! Go an' tell peanuts I&mdash;hic!&mdash;got a
+dollar for him."</p>
+
+<p>And Hawkeye went&mdash;but Toddles never got the
+dollar. Hawkeye went out of the smoking compartment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
+of the parlor car with the lead quarter in his
+pocket&mdash;because he couldn't do anything else&mdash;which
+didn't soothe his feelings any&mdash;and he went out mad
+enough to bite himself. The drummer's guffaw followed
+him, and he thought he even caught a chuckle
+from the elderly party with the magazine and spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye was mad; and he was quite well aware,
+painfully well aware that he had looked like a fool,
+which is about one of the meanest feelings there is to
+feel; and, as he made his way forward through the
+train, he grew madder still. That change was the
+change from his twenty-dollar bill. He had not
+needed to be told that the lead quarter had come from
+Toddles. The only question at all in doubt was
+whether or not Toddles had put the counterfeit coin
+over on him knowingly and with malice aforethought.
+Hawkeye, however, had an intuition deep down inside
+of him that there wasn't any doubt even about that,
+and as he opened the door of the baggage car his intuition
+was vindicated. There was a grin on the faces
+of Nulty, MacNicoll and Bob Donkin that disappeared
+with suspicious celerity at sight of him as he came
+through the door.</p>
+
+<p>There was no hesitation then on Hawkeye's part.
+Toddles, equipped for another excursion through the
+train with a stack of magazines and books that almost
+hid him, received a sudden and vicious clout on the
+side of the ear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You'd try your tricks on me, would you?"
+Hawkeye snarled. "Lead quarters&mdash;eh?" Another
+clout. "I'll teach you, you blasted little runt!"</p>
+
+<p>And with the clouts, the stack of carefully balanced
+periodicals went flying over the floor; and with the
+clouts, the nagging, and the hectoring, and the bullying,
+that had rankled for close on two years in Toddles'
+turbulent soul, rose in a sudden all-possessing
+sweep of fury. Toddles was a fighter&mdash;with the
+heart of a fighter. And Toddles' cause was just. He
+couldn't reach the conductor's face&mdash;so he went for
+Hawkeye's legs. And the screams of rage from his
+high-pitched voice, as he shot himself forward, sounded
+like a cageful of Australian cockatoos on the rampage.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles was small, pitifully small for his age; but
+he wasn't an infant in arms&mdash;not for a minute. And
+in action Toddles was as near to a wild cat as anything
+else that comes handy by way of illustration. Two
+legs and one arm he twined and twisted around Hawkeye's
+legs; and the other arm, with a hard and knotty
+fist on the end of it, caught the conductor a wicked jab
+in the region of the bottom button of the vest. The
+brass button peeled the skin off Toddles' knuckles, but
+the jab doubled the conductor forward, and coincident
+with Hawkeye's winded grunt, the lantern in his hand
+sailed ceilingwards, crashed into the center lamps in
+the roof of the car, and down in a shower of tinkling
+glass, dripping oil and burning wicks, came the wreckage
+to the floor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There was a yell from Nulty; but Toddles hung on
+like grim death. Hawkeye was bawling fluent profanity
+and seeing red. Toddles heard one and sensed
+the other&mdash;and he clung grimly on. He was all doubled
+up around Hawkeye's knees, and in that position
+Hawkeye couldn't get at him very well; and, besides,
+Toddles had his own plan of battle. He was waiting
+for an extra heavy lurch of the car.</p>
+
+<p>It came. Toddles' muscles strained legs and arms
+and back in concert, and for an instant across the car
+they tottered, Hawkeye staggering in a desperate attempt
+to maintain his equilibrium&mdash;and then down&mdash;speaking
+generally, on a heterogeneous pile of express
+parcels; concretely, with an eloquent squnch, on a
+crate of eggs, thirty dozen of them, at forty cents a
+dozen.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles, over his rage, experienced a sickening sense
+of disaster, but still he clung; he didn't dare let go.
+Hawkeye's fists, both in an effort to recover himself
+and in an endeavor to reach Toddles, were going like
+a windmill; and Hawkeye's threats were something
+terrifying to listen to. And now they rolled over, and
+Toddles was underneath; and then they rolled over
+again; and then a hand locked on Toddles' collar, and
+he was yanked, terrier-fashion, to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>His face white and determined, his fists doubled,
+Toddles waited for Hawkeye to get up&mdash;the word
+"run" wasn't in Toddles' vocabulary. He hadn't
+long to wait.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye lunged up, draped in the broken crate&mdash;a
+sight. The road always prided itself on the natty
+uniforms of its train crews, but Hawkeye wasn't
+dressed in uniform then&mdash;mostly egg yolks. He
+made a dash for Toddles, but he never reached the boy.
+Bob Donkin was between them.</p>
+
+<p>"Cut it out!" said Donkin coldly, as he pushed
+Toddles behind him. "You asked for it, Reynolds,
+and you got it. Now cut it out!"</p>
+
+<p>And Hawkeye "cut it out." It was pretty generally
+understood that Bob Donkin never talked much
+for show, and Bob Donkin was bigger than Toddles, a
+whole lot bigger, as big as Hawkeye himself. Hawkeye
+"cut it out."</p>
+
+<p>Funny, the egg part of it? Well, perhaps. But
+the fire wasn't. True, they got it out with the help of
+the hand extinguishers before it did any serious damage,
+for Nulty had gone at it on the jump; but while
+it lasted the burning oil on the car floor looked dangerous.
+Anyway, it was bad enough so that they
+couldn't hide it when they got into Big Cloud&mdash;and
+Hawkeye and Toddles went on the carpet for it the
+next morning in the super's office.</p>
+
+<p>Carleton, "Royal" Carleton, reached for a match,
+and, to keep his lips straight, clamped them firmly on
+the amber mouthpiece of his brier, and stumpy, big-paunched
+Tommy Regan, the master mechanic, who
+was sitting in a chair by the window, reached hurriedly
+into his back pocket for his chewing and looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
+out of the window to hide a grin, as the two came in
+and ranged themselves in front of the super's desk&mdash;Hawkeye,
+six feet and a hundred and ninety pounds,
+with Toddles trailing him, mostly cap and buttons and
+no weight at all.</p>
+
+<p>Carleton didn't ask many questions&mdash;he'd asked
+them before&mdash;of Bob Donkin&mdash;and the dispatcher
+hadn't gone out of his way to invest the conductor with
+any glorified halo. Carleton, always a strict disciplinarian,
+said what he had to say and said it quietly;
+but he meant to let the conductor have the worst of it,
+and he did&mdash;in a way that was all Carleton's own.
+Two years' picking on a youngster didn't appeal to
+Carleton, no matter who the youngster was. Before
+he was half through he had the big conductor squirming.
+Hawkeye was looking for something else&mdash;besides
+a galling and matter-of-fact impartiality that accepted
+himself and Toddles as being on exactly the
+same plane and level.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a case of eggs," said Carleton at the end.
+"You can divide up the damage between you. And
+I'm going to change your runs, unless you've got some
+good reason to give me why I shouldn't?"</p>
+
+<p>He waited for an answer.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye, towering, sullen, his eyes resting bitterly
+on Regan, having caught the master mechanic's grin,
+said nothing; Toddles, whose head barely showed over
+the top of Carleton's desk, and the whole of him sizing
+up about big enough to go into the conductor's pocket,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
+was equally silent&mdash;Toddles was thinking of something
+else.</p>
+
+<p>"Very good," said Carleton suavely, as he surveyed
+the ridiculous incongruity before him. "I'll change
+your runs, then. I can't have you two <i>men</i> brawling
+and prize-fighting every trip."</p>
+
+<p>There was a sudden sound from the window, as
+though Regan had got some of his blackstrap juice
+down the wrong way.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye's face went black as thunder.</p>
+
+<p>Carleton's face was like a sphinx.</p>
+
+<p>"That'll do, then," he said. "You can go, both of
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Hawkeye stamped out of the room and down the
+stairs. But Toddles stayed.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Mr. Carleton, won't you give me a job
+on&mdash;&mdash;" Toddles stopped.</p>
+
+<p>So had Regan's chuckle. Toddles, the irrepressible,
+was at it again&mdash;and Toddles after a job, any kind
+of a job, was something that Regan's experience had
+taught him to fly from without standing on the order
+of his flight. Regan hurried from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles watched him go&mdash;kind of speculatively,
+kind of reproachfully. Then he turned to Carleton.</p>
+
+<p>"Please give me a job, Mr. Carleton," he pleaded.
+"Give me a job, won't you?"</p>
+
+<p>It was only yesterday on the platform that Toddles
+had waylaid the super with the same demand&mdash;and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+about every day before that as far back as Carleton
+could remember. It was hopelessly chronic. Anything
+convincing or appealing about it had gone long
+ago&mdash;Toddles said it parrot-fashion now. Carleton
+took refuge in severity.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, young man," he said grimly, "you were
+brought into this office for a reprimand and not to
+apply for a job! You can thank your stars and Bob
+Donkin you haven't lost the one you've got. Now, get
+out!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd make good if you gave me one," said Toddles
+earnestly. "Honest, I would, Mr. Carleton."</p>
+
+<p>"Get out!" said the super, not altogether unkindly.
+"I'm busy."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles swallowed a lump in his throat&mdash;but not
+until after his head was turned and he'd started for the
+door so the super couldn't see it. Toddles swallowed
+the lump&mdash;and got out. He hadn't expected anything
+else, of course. The refusals were just as chronic as
+the demands. But that didn't make each new one any
+easier for Toddles. It made it worse.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles' heart was heavy as he stepped out into the
+hall, and the iron was in his soul. He was seventeen
+now, and it looked as though he never would get a
+chance&mdash;except to be a newsboy all his life. Toddles
+swallowed another lump. He loved railroading; it
+was his one ambition, his one desire. If he could ever
+get a chance, he'd show them! He'd show them that
+he wasn't a joke, just because he was small!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Toddles turned at the head of the stairs to go down,
+when somebody called his name.</p>
+
+<p>"Here&mdash;Toddles! Come here!"</p>
+
+<p>Toddles looked over his shoulder, hesitated, then
+marched in through the open door of the dispatchers'
+room. Bob Donkin was alone there.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name&mdash;Toddles?" inquired Donkin,
+as Toddles halted before the dispatcher's table.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles froze instantly&mdash;hard. His fists doubled;
+there was a smile on Donkin's face. Then his fists
+slowly uncurled; the smile on Donkin's face had
+broadened, but there wasn't any malice in the smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Christopher Hyslop Hoogan," said Toddles, unbending.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin put his hand quickly to his mouth&mdash;and
+coughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Um-m!" said he pleasantly. "Super hard on you
+this morning&mdash;Hoogan?"</p>
+
+<p>And with the words Toddles' heart went out to the
+big dispatcher: "Hoogan"&mdash;and a man-to-man tone.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Toddles cordially. "Say, I thought you
+were on the night trick."</p>
+
+<p>"Double-shift&mdash;short-handed," replied Donkin.
+"Come from New York, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Toddles.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother and father down there still?"</p>
+
+<p>It came quick and unexpected, and Toddles stared
+for a moment. Then he walked over to the window.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got any," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There wasn't any sound for an instant, save the
+clicking of the instruments; then Donkin spoke again&mdash;a
+little gruffly:</p>
+
+<p>"When are you going to quit making a fool of
+yourself?"</p>
+
+<p><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Toodles'">Toddles</ins> swung from the window, hurt. Donkin,
+after all, was like all the rest of them.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" prompted the dispatcher.</p>
+
+<p>"You go to blazes!" said Toddles bitterly, and
+started for the door.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin halted him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're only fooling yourself, Hoogan," he said
+coolly. "If you wanted what you call a real railroad
+job as much as you pretend you do, you'd get one."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?" demanded Toddles defiantly; and went back
+to the table.</p>
+
+<p>"A fellow," said Donkin, putting a little sting into
+his words, "never got anywhere by going around with
+a chip on his shoulder fighting everybody because they
+called him Toddles, and making a nuisance of himself
+with the Big Fellows until they got sick of the sight of
+him."</p>
+
+<p>It was a pretty stiff arraignment. Toddles choked
+over it, and the angry blood flushed to his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right for you!" he spluttered out hotly.
+"You don't look too small for the train crews or the
+roundhouse, and they don't call you Toddles so's nobody'll
+forget it. What'd <i>you</i> do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you what I'd do," said Donkin quietly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
+"I'd make everybody on the division wish their own
+name was Toddles before I was through with them,
+and I'd <i>make</i> a job for myself."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles blinked helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Getting right down to a cash fare," continued Donkin,
+after a moment, as Toddles did not speak, "they're
+not so far wrong, either, about you sizing up pretty
+small for the train crews or the roundhouse, are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"No-o," admitted Toddles reluctantly; "but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then why not something where there's no handicap
+hanging over you?" suggested the dispatcher&mdash;and
+his hand reached out and touched the sender.
+"The key, for instance?"</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't know anything about it," said Toddles,
+still helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's just it," returned Donkin smoothly. "You
+never tried to learn."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles' eyes widened, and into Toddles' heart
+leaped a sudden joy. A new world seemed to open out
+before him in which aspirations, ambitions, longings all
+were a reality. A key! That <i>was</i> real railroading,
+the top-notch of railroading, too. First an operator,
+and then a dispatcher, and&mdash;and&mdash;and then his face
+fell, and the vision faded.</p>
+
+<p>"How'd I get a chance to learn?" he said miserably.
+"Who'd teach me?"</p>
+
+<p>The smile was back on Donkin's face as he pushed
+his chair from the table, stood up, and held out his
+hand&mdash;man-to-man fashion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I will," he said. "I liked your grit last night,
+Hoogan. And if you want to be a railroad man, I'll
+make you one&mdash;before I'm through. I've some old
+instruments you can have to practice with, and I've
+nothing to do in my spare time. What do you say?"</p>
+
+<p>Toddles didn't say anything. For the first time
+since Toddles' advent to the Hill Division, there were
+tears in Toddles' eyes for some one else to see.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, old man, you're on. See that you don't
+throw me down. And keep your mouth shut; you'll
+need all your wind. It's work that counts, and nothing
+else. Now chase yourself! I'll dig up the things
+you'll need, and you can drop in here and get them
+when you come off your run to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Spare time! Bob Donkin didn't have any spare
+time those days! But that was Donkin's way.
+Spence sick, and two men handling the dispatching
+where three had handled it before, didn't leave Bob
+Donkin much spare time&mdash;not much. But a boost for
+the kid was worth a sacrifice. Donkin went at it as
+earnestly as Toddles did&mdash;and Toddles was in deadly
+earnest.</p>
+
+<p>When Toddles left the dispatcher's office that morning
+with Donkin's promise to teach him the key, Toddles
+had a hazy idea that Donkin had wings concealed
+somewhere under his coat and was an angel in disguise;
+and at the end of two weeks he was sure of it.
+But at the end of a month Bob Donkin was a god!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+Throw Bob Donkin down! Toddles would have sold
+his soul for the dispatcher.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't easy, though; and Bob Donkin wasn't an
+easy-going taskmaster, not by long odds. Donkin had
+a tongue, and on occasions could use it. Short and
+quick in his explanations, he expected his pupil to get
+it short and quick; either that, or Donkin's opinion of
+him. But Toddles stuck. He'd have crawled on his
+knees for Donkin anywhere, and he worked like a
+major&mdash;not only for his own advancement, but for
+what he came to prize quite as much, if not more,
+Donkin's approval.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles, mindful of Donkin's words, didn't fight
+so much as the days went by, though he found it difficult
+to swear off all at once; and on his runs he studied
+his Morse code, and he had the "calls" of every station
+on the division off by heart right from the start. Toddles
+mastered the "sending" by leaps and bounds; but
+the "taking" came slower, as it does for everybody&mdash;but
+even at that, at the end of six weeks, if it wasn't
+thrown at him too fast and hard, Toddles could get it
+after a fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Take it all around, Toddles felt like whistling most
+of the time; and, pleased with his own progress, looked
+forward to starting in presently as a full-fledged operator.</p>
+
+<p>He mentioned the matter to Bob Donkin&mdash;once.
+Donkin picked his words and spoke fervently. Toddles
+never brought the subject up again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And so things went on. Late summer turned to
+early fall, and early fall to still sharper weather, until
+there came the night that the operator at Blind River
+muddled his orders and gave No. 73, the westbound
+fast freight, her clearance against the second section
+of the eastbound Limited that doomed them to meet
+somewhere head-on in the Glacier Ca&ntilde;on; the night that
+Toddles&mdash;but there's just a word or two that comes
+before.</p>
+
+<p>When it was all over, it was up to Sam Beale, the
+Blind River operator, straight enough. Beale blundered.
+That's all there was to it; that covers it all&mdash;he
+blundered. It would have finished Beale's railroad
+career forever and a day&mdash;only Beale played the man,
+and the instant he realized what he had done, even
+while the tail lights of the freight were disappearing
+down the track and he couldn't stop her, he was stammering
+the tale of his mistake over the wire, the sweat
+beads dripping from his wrist, his face gray with horror,
+to Bob Donkin under the green-shaded lamp in
+the dispatchers' room at Big Cloud, miles away.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin got the miserable story over the chattering
+wire&mdash;got it before it was half told&mdash;cut Beale out
+and began to pound the Gap call. And as though it
+were before him in reality, that stretch of track, fifteen
+miles of it, from Blind River to the Gap, unfolded itself
+like a grisly panorama before his mind. There
+wasn't a half mile of tangent at a single stretch in the
+whole of it. It swung like the writhings of a snake,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
+through cuts and tunnels, hugging the ca&ntilde;on walls,
+twisting this way and that. Anywhere else there
+might be a chance, one in a thousand even, that they
+would see each other's headlights in time&mdash;here it was
+disaster quick and absolute.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin's lips were set in a thin, straight line. The
+Gap answered him; and the answer was like the knell
+of doom. He had not expected anything else; he had
+only hoped against hope. The second section of the
+Limited had pulled out of the Gap, eastbound, two minutes
+before. The two trains were in the open against
+each other's orders.</p>
+
+<p>In the next room, Carleton and Regan, over their
+pipes, were at their nightly game of pedro. Donkin
+called them&mdash;and his voice sounded strange to himself.
+Chairs scraped and crashed to the floor, and an
+instant later the super and the master mechanic were
+in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"What's wrong, Bob?" Carleton flung the words
+from him in a single breath.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin told them. But his fingers were on the key
+again as he talked. There was still one chance, worse
+than the thousand-to-one shot; but it was the only one.
+Between the Gap and Blind River, eight miles from the
+Gap, seven miles from Blind River, was Cassil's Siding.
+But there was no night man at Cassil's, and the
+little town lay a mile from the station. It was ten
+o'clock&mdash;Donkin's watch lay face up on the table
+before him&mdash;the day man at Cassil's went off at seven&mdash;the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+chance was that the day man <i>might</i> have come
+back to the station for something or other!</p>
+
+<p>Not much of a chance? No&mdash;not much! It was
+a possibility, that was all; and Donkin's fingers worked&mdash;the
+seventeen, the life and death&mdash;calling, calling
+on the night trick to the day man at Cassil's Siding.</p>
+
+<p>Carleton came and stood at Donkin's elbow, and
+Regan stood at the other; and there was silence now,
+save only for the key that, under Donkin's fingers,
+seemed to echo its stammering appeal about the room
+like the sobbing of a human soul.</p>
+
+<p>"CS&mdash;CS&mdash;CS," Donkin called; and then, "the
+seventeen," and then, "hold second Number Two."
+And then the same thing over and over again.</p>
+
+<p>And there was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>It had turned cold that night and there was a fire in
+the little heater. Donkin had opened the draft a little
+while before, and the sheet-iron sides now began to <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'pur'">purr</ins>
+red-hot. Nobody noticed it. Regan's kindly, good-humored
+face had the stamp of horror in it, and he
+pulled at his scraggly brown mustache, his eyes seemingly
+fascinated by Donkin's fingers. Everybody's
+eyes, the three of them, were on Donkin's fingers and
+the key. Carleton was like a man of stone, motionless,
+his face set harder than face was ever carved
+in marble.</p>
+
+<p>It grew hot in the room; but Donkin's fingers were
+like ice on the key, and, strong man though he was,
+he faltered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my God!" he whispered&mdash;and never a
+prayer rose more fervently from lips than those three
+broken words.</p>
+
+<p>Again he called, and again, and again. The minutes
+slipped away. Still he called&mdash;with the life
+and death&mdash;the "seventeen"&mdash;called and called.
+And there was no answer save that echo in the room
+that brought the perspiration streaming down from
+Regan's face, a harder light into Carleton's eyes
+and a chill like death into Donkin's heart.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Donkin pushed back his chair; and his
+fingers, from the key, touched the crystal of his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"The second section will have passed Cassil's now,"
+he said in a curious, unnatural, matter-of-fact tone.
+"It'll bring them together about a mile east of there&mdash;in
+another minute."</p>
+
+<p>And then Carleton spoke&mdash;master railroader,
+"Royal" Carleton, it was up to him then, all the
+pity of it, the ruin, the disaster, the lives out, all the
+bitterness to cope with as he could. And it was in his
+eyes, all of it. But his voice was quiet. It rang
+quick, peremptory, his voice&mdash;but quiet.</p>
+
+<p>"Clear the line, Bob," he said. "Plug in the
+round-house for the wrecker&mdash;and tell them to send
+uptown for the crew."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles? What did Toddles have to do with this?
+Well, a good deal, in one way and another. We're
+coming to Toddles now. You see, Toddles, since
+his fracas with Hawkeye, had been put on the Elk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
+River local run that left Big Cloud at 9.45 in the morning
+for the run west, and scheduled Big Cloud again
+on the return trip at 10.10 in the evening.</p>
+
+<p>It had turned cold that night, after a day of rain.
+Pretty cold&mdash;the thermometer can drop on occasions
+in the late fall in the mountains&mdash;and by eight
+o'clock, where there had been rain before, there was
+now a thin sheeting of ice over everything&mdash;very
+thin&mdash;you know the kind&mdash;rails and telegraph
+wires glistening like the decorations on a Christmas
+tree&mdash;very pretty&mdash;and also very nasty running
+on a mountain grade. Likewise, the rain, in a way
+rain has, had dripped from the car roofs to the platforms&mdash;the
+local did not boast any closed vestibules&mdash;and
+had also been blown upon the car steps with
+the sweep of the wind, and, having frozen, it stayed
+there. Not a very serious matter; annoying, perhaps,
+but not serious, demanding a little extra caution, that
+was all.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles was in high fettle that night. He had been
+getting on famously of late; even Bob Donkin had admitted
+it. Toddles, with his stack of books and
+magazines, an unusually big one, for a number of the
+new periodicals were out that day, was dreaming rosy
+dreams to himself as he started from the door of the
+first-class smoker to the door of the first-class coach.
+In another hour now he'd be up in the dispatcher's
+room at Big Cloud for his nightly sitting with Bob
+Donkin. He could see Bob Donkin there now; and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+could hear the big dispatcher growl at him in his bluff
+way: "Use your head&mdash;use your head&mdash;<i>Hoogan!</i>"
+It was always "Hoogan," never "Toddles." "Use
+your head"&mdash;Donkin was everlastingly drumming
+that into him; for the dispatcher used to confront him
+suddenly with imaginary and hair-raising emergencies,
+and demand Toddles' instant solution. Toddles
+realized that Donkin was getting to the heart of things,
+and that some day he, Toddles, would be a great dispatcher&mdash;like
+Donkin. "Use your head, Hoogan"&mdash;that's
+the way Donkin talked&mdash;"anybody can learn
+a key, but that doesn't make a railroad man
+think quick and think <i>right</i>. Use your&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Toddles stepped out on the platform&mdash;and walked
+on ice. But that wasn't Toddles' undoing. The
+trouble with Toddles was that he was walking on air
+at the same time. It was treacherous running, they
+were nosing a curve, and in the cab, Kinneard, at the
+throttle, checked with a little jerk at the "air." And
+with the jerk, Toddles slipped; and with the slip, the
+center of gravity of the stack of periodicals shifted,
+and they bulged ominously from the middle. Toddles
+grabbed at them&mdash;and his heels went out from under
+him. He ricocheted down the steps, snatched desperately
+at the handrail, missed it, shot out from the
+train, and, head, heels, arms and body going every
+which way at once, rolled over and over down the embankment.
+And, starting from the point of Toddles'
+departure from the train, the right of way for a hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
+yards was strewn with "the latest magazines"
+and "new books just out to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles lay there, a little, curled, huddled heap,
+motionless in the darkness. The tail lights of the
+local disappeared. No one aboard would miss Toddles
+until they got into Big Cloud&mdash;and found him
+gone. Which is Irish for saying that no one would
+attempt to keep track of a newsboy's idiosyncrasies
+on a train; it would be asking too much of any train
+crew; and, besides, there was no mention of it in the
+rules.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long while before Toddles stirred; a very
+long while before consciousness crept slowly back to
+him. Then he moved, tried to get up&mdash;and fell back
+with a quick, sharp cry of pain. He lay still, then, for
+a moment. His ankle hurt him frightfully, and his
+back, and his shoulder, too. He put his hand to his
+face where something seemed to be trickling warm&mdash;and
+brought it away wet. Toddles, grim little warrior,
+tried to think. They hadn't been going very fast
+when he fell off. If they had, he would have been
+killed. As it was, he was hurt, badly hurt, and his
+head swam, nauseating him.</p>
+
+<p>Where was he? Was he near any help? He'd
+have to get help somewhere, or&mdash;or with the cold
+and&mdash;and everything he'd probably die out here before
+morning. Toddles shouted out&mdash;again and
+again. Perhaps his voice was too weak to carry very
+far; anyway, there was no reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He looked up at the top of the embankment, clamped
+his teeth, and started to crawl. If he got up there,
+perhaps he could tell where he was. It had taken
+Toddles a matter of seconds to roll down; it took him
+ten minutes of untold agony to get up. Then he dashed
+his hand across his eyes where the blood was, and
+cried a little with the surge of relief. East, down the
+track, only a few yards away, the green eye of a switch
+lamp winked at him.</p>
+
+<p>Where there was a switch lamp there was a siding,
+and where there was a siding there was promise of
+a station. Toddles, with the sudden uplift upon him,
+got to his feet and started along the track&mdash;two steps&mdash;and
+went down again. He couldn't walk, the pain
+was more than he could bear&mdash;his right ankle, his
+left shoulder, and his back&mdash;hopping only made it
+worse&mdash;it was easier to crawl.</p>
+
+<p>And so Toddles crawled.</p>
+
+<p>It took him a long time even to pass the switch light.
+The pain made him weak, his senses seemed to trail off
+giddily every now and then, and he'd find himself
+lying flat and still beside the track. It was a white,
+drawn face that Toddles lifted up each time he started
+on again&mdash;miserably white, except where the
+blood kept trickling from his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>And then Toddles' heart, stout as it was, seemed to
+snap. He had reached the station platform, wondering
+vaguely why the little building that loomed ahead
+was dark&mdash;and now it came to him in a flash, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
+recognized the station. It was Cassil's Siding&mdash;<i>and
+there was no night man at Cassil's Siding!</i> The
+switch lights were lighted before the day man left, of
+course. Everything swam before Toddles' eyes.
+There&mdash;there was no help here. And yet&mdash;yet perhaps&mdash;desperate
+hope came again&mdash;perhaps there
+might be. The pain was terrible&mdash;all over him.
+And&mdash;and he'd got so weak now&mdash;but it wasn't far
+to the door.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles squirmed along the platform, and reached
+the door finally&mdash;only to find it shut and fastened.
+And then Toddles fainted on the threshold.</p>
+
+<p>When Toddles came to himself again, he thought
+at first that he was up in the dispatcher's room at Big
+Cloud with Bob Donkin pounding away on the battered
+old key they used to practice with&mdash;only there
+seemed to be something the matter with the key, and
+it didn't sound as loud as it usually did&mdash;it seemed
+to come from a long way off somehow. And then,
+besides, Bob was working it faster than he had ever
+done before when they were practicing. "Hold second"&mdash;second
+something&mdash;Toddles couldn't make
+it out. Then the "seventeen"&mdash;yes, he knew that&mdash;that
+was the life and death. Bob was going pretty
+quick, though. Then "CS&mdash;CS&mdash;CS"&mdash;Toddles'
+brain fumbled a bit over that&mdash;then it came to
+him. CS was the call for Cassil's Siding. <i>Cassil's
+Siding!</i> Toddles' head came up with a jerk.</p>
+
+<p>A little cry burst from Toddles' lips&mdash;and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
+brain cleared. He wasn't at Big Cloud at all&mdash;he
+was at Cassil's Siding&mdash;and he was hurt&mdash;and that
+was the sounder inside calling, calling frantically for
+Cassil's Siding&mdash;where he was.</p>
+
+<p>The life and death&mdash;<i>the seventeen</i>&mdash;it sent a
+thrill through Toddles' pain-twisted spine. He wriggled
+to the window. It, too, was closed, of course,
+but he could hear better there. The sounder was babbling
+madly.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold second&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He missed it again&mdash;and as, on top of it, the "seventeen"
+came pleading, frantic, urgent, he wrung his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold second"&mdash;he got it this time&mdash;"Number
+Two."</p>
+
+<p>Toddles' first impulse was to smash in the window
+and reach the key. And then, like a dash of cold
+water over him, Donkin's words seemed to ring in his
+ears: "Use your head."</p>
+
+<p>With the "seventeen" it meant a matter of minutes,
+perhaps even seconds. Why smash the window?
+Why waste the moment required to do it simply to
+answer the call? The order stood for itself&mdash;"Hold
+second Number Two." That was the second section
+of the Limited, east-bound. Hold her! How?
+There was nothing&mdash;not a thing to stop her with.
+"Use your head," said Donkin in a far-away voice
+to Toddles' wobbling brain.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles looked up the track&mdash;west&mdash;where he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
+had come from&mdash;to where the switch light twinkled
+green at him&mdash;and, with a little sob, he started to
+drag himself back along the platform. If he could
+throw the switch, it would throw the light from green
+to red, and&mdash;and the Limited would take the siding.
+But the switch was a long way off.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles half fell, half bumped from the end of the
+platform to the right of way. He cried to himself
+with low moans as he went along. He had the heart
+of a fighter, and grit to the last tissue; but he needed
+it all now&mdash;needed it all to stand the pain and fight
+the weakness that kept swirling over him in flashes.</p>
+
+<p>On he went, on his hands and knees, slithering from
+tie to tie&mdash;and from one tie to the next was a great
+distance. The life and death, the dispatcher's call&mdash;he
+seemed to hear it yet&mdash;throbbing, throbbing on
+the wire.</p>
+
+<p>On he went, up the track; and the green eye of the
+lamp, winking at him, drew nearer. And then suddenly,
+clear and mellow through the mountains, caught
+up and echoed far and near, came the notes of a chime
+whistle ringing down the gorge.</p>
+
+<p>Fear came upon Toddles then, and a great sob shook
+him. That was the Limited coming now! Toddles'
+fingers dug into the ballast, and he hurried&mdash;that is,
+in bitter pain, he tried to crawl a little faster. And as
+he crawled, he kept his eyes strained up the track&mdash;she
+wasn't in sight yet around the curve&mdash;not yet,
+anyway.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Another foot, only another foot, and he would
+reach the siding switch&mdash;in time&mdash;in plenty of time.
+Again the sob&mdash;but now in a burst of relief that, for
+the moment, made him forget his hurts. He was in
+time!</p>
+
+<p>He flung himself at the switch lever, tugged upon it
+and then, trembling, every ounce of remaining
+strength seeming to ooze from him, he covered his face
+with his hands. It was <i>locked</i>&mdash;padlocked.</p>
+
+<p>Came a rumble now&mdash;a distant roar, growing louder
+and louder, reverberating down the ca&ntilde;on walls&mdash;louder
+and louder&mdash;nearer and nearer. "Hold second
+Number Two. Hold second Number Two"&mdash;the
+"seventeen," the life and death, pleading with him
+to hold Number Two. And she was coming now,
+coming&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;the switch was locked. The
+deadly nausea racked Toddles again; there was nothing
+to do now&mdash;nothing. He couldn't stop her&mdash;couldn't
+stop her. He'd&mdash;he'd tried&mdash;very hard&mdash;and&mdash;and
+he couldn't stop her now. He took his
+hands from his face, and stole a glance up the track,
+afraid almost, with the horror that was upon him, to
+look.</p>
+
+<p>She hadn't swung the curve yet, but she would
+in a minute&mdash;and come pounding down the stretch
+at fifty miles an hour, shoot by him like a rocket to
+where, somewhere ahead, in some form, he did not
+know what, only knew that it was there, death and
+ruin and&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Use your head!</i>" snapped Donkin's voice to his
+consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles' eyes were on the light above his head. It
+blinked <i>red</i> at him as he stood on the track facing it;
+the green rays were shooting up and down the line.
+He couldn't swing the switch&mdash;but the <i>lamp</i> was
+there&mdash;and there was the red side to show just by
+turning it. He remembered then that the lamp fitted
+into a socket at the top of the switch stand, and could
+be lifted off&mdash;if he could reach it!</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't very high&mdash;for an ordinary-sized man&mdash;for
+an ordinary-sized man had to get at it to trim and
+fill it daily&mdash;only Toddles wasn't an ordinary-sized
+man. It was just nine or ten feet above the rails&mdash;just
+a standard siding switch.</p>
+
+<p>Toddles gritted his teeth, and climbed upon the base
+of the switch&mdash;and nearly fainted as his ankle swung
+against the rod. A foot above the base was a footrest
+for a man to stand on and reach up for the lamp, and
+Toddles drew himself up and got his foot on it&mdash;and
+then at his full height the tips of his fingers only just
+touched the bottom of the lamp. Toddles cried aloud,
+and the tears streamed down his face now. Oh, if
+he weren't hurt&mdash;if he could only shin up another
+foot&mdash;but&mdash;but it was all he could do to hang there
+where he was.</p>
+
+<p><i>What was that!</i> He turned his head. Up the
+track, sweeping in a great circle as it swung the curve,
+a headlight's glare cut through the night&mdash;and Toddles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
+"shinned" the foot. He tugged and tore at the
+lamp, tugged and tore at it, loosened it, lifted it from
+its socket, sprawled and wriggled with it to the ground&mdash;and
+turned the red side of the lamp against second
+Number Two.</p>
+
+<p>The quick, short blasts of a whistle answered, then
+the crunch and grind and scream of biting brake-shoes&mdash;and
+the big mountain racer, the 1012, pulling the
+second section of the Limited that night, stopped with
+its pilot nosing a diminutive figure in a torn and silver-buttoned
+uniform, whose hair was clotted red, and
+whose face was covered with blood and dirt.</p>
+
+<p>Masters, the engineer, and Pete Leroy, his fireman,
+swung from the gangways; Kelly, the conductor, came
+running up from the forward coach.</p>
+
+<p>Kelly shoved his lamp into Toddles' face&mdash;and
+whistled low under his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Toddles!" he gasped; and then, quick as a steel
+trap: "What's wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Toddles weakly. "There's&mdash;there's
+something wrong. Get into the clear&mdash;on
+the siding."</p>
+
+<p>"Something wrong," repeated Kelly, "and you
+don't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But Masters cut the conductor short with a grab at
+the other's arm that was like the shutting of a vise&mdash;and
+then bolted for his engine like a gopher for its
+hole. From down the track came the heavy, grumbling
+roar of a freight. Everybody flew then, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
+there was quick work done in the next half minute&mdash;and
+none too quickly done&mdash;the Limited was no more
+than on the siding when the fast freight rolled her long
+string of flats, boxes and gondolas thundering by.</p>
+
+<p>And while she passed, Toddles, on the platform,
+stammered out his story to Kelly.</p>
+
+<p>Kelly didn't say anything&mdash;then. With the express
+messenger and a brakeman carrying Toddles,
+Kelly kicked in the station door, and set his lamp down
+on the operator's table.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold me up," whispered Toddles&mdash;and, while
+they held him, he made the dispatcher's call.</p>
+
+<p>Big Cloud answered him on the instant. Haltingly,
+Toddles reported the second section "in" and the
+freight "out"&mdash;only he did it very slowly, and he
+couldn't think very much more, for things were going
+black. He got an order for the Limited to run to
+Blind River and told Kelly, and got the "complete"&mdash;and
+then Big Cloud asked who was on the wire, and
+Toddles answered that in a mechanical sort of a way
+without quite knowing what he was doing&mdash;and went
+limp in Kelly's arms.</p>
+
+<p>And as Toddles answered, back in Big Cloud, Regan,
+the sweat still standing out in great beads on his
+forehead, fierce now in the revulsion of relief, glared
+over Donkin's left shoulder, as Donkin's left hand
+scribbled on a pad what was coming over the wire.</p>
+
+<p>Regan glared fiercely&mdash;then he spluttered:</p>
+
+<p>"Who's Christopher Hyslop Hoogan&mdash;h'm?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Donkin's lips had a queer smile on them.</p>
+
+<p>"Toddles," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Regan sat down heavily in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>What?</i>" demanded the super.</p>
+
+<p>"Toddles," said Donkin. "I've been trying to
+drum a little railroading into him&mdash;on the key."</p>
+
+<p>Regan wiped his face. He looked helplessly from
+Donkin to the super, and then back again at Donkin.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;but what's he doing at Cassil's Siding?
+How'd he get there&mdash;h'm? H'm? How'd he get
+there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Donkin, his fingers rattling
+the Cassil's Siding call again. "He doesn't answer
+any more. We'll have to wait for the story till they
+make Blind River, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>And so they waited. And presently at Blind River,
+Kelly, dictating to the operator&mdash;not Beale, Beale's
+day man&mdash;told the story. It lost nothing in the telling&mdash;Kelly
+wasn't that kind of man&mdash;he told them
+what Toddles had done, and he left nothing out; and
+he added that they had Toddles on a mattress
+in the baggage car, with a doctor they had discovered
+amongst the passengers looking after him.</p>
+
+<p>At the end, Carleton tamped down the dottle in the
+bowl of his pipe thoughtfully with his forefinger&mdash;and
+glanced at Donkin.</p>
+
+<p>"Got along far enough to take a station key somewhere?"
+he inquired casually. "He's made a pretty
+good job of it as the night operator at Cassil's."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Donkin was smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"No?" Carleton's eyebrows went up. "Well,
+let him come in here with you, then, till he has; and
+when you say he's ready, we'll see what we can do. I
+guess it's coming to him; and I guess"&mdash;he shifted
+his glance to the master mechanic&mdash;"I guess we'll go
+down and meet Number Two when she comes in,
+Tommy."</p>
+
+<p>Regan grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"With our hats in our hands," said the big-hearted
+master mechanic.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you do it," he said. "I don't want him to
+get a swelled head."</p>
+
+<p>Carleton stared; and Regan's hand, reaching into
+his back pocket for his chewing, stopped midway.</p>
+
+<p>Donkin was still smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to make a railroad man out of Toddles,"
+he said.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i268.png" width="500" height="197" alt="Lumber Camp" title="Lumber Camp" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>XI.&mdash;Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Ralph Connor</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IT was due to a mysterious dispensation of Providence
+and a good deal to Leslie Graeme that I
+found myself in the heart of the Selkirks for my
+Christmas eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had
+been my plan to spend my Christmas far away in
+Toronto, with such bohemian and boon companions
+as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly
+city. But Leslie Graeme changed all that, for, discovering
+me in the village of Black Rock, with my
+traps all packed, waiting for the stage to start for the
+Landing, thirty miles away, he bore down upon me
+with resistless force, and I found myself recovering
+from my surprise only after we had gone in his lumber
+sleigh some six miles on our way to his camp up
+in the mountains. I was surprised and much delighted,
+though I would not allow him to think so, to
+find that his old-time power over me was still there.
+He could always in the old varsity days&mdash;dear, wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
+days&mdash;make me do what he liked. He was so handsome
+and so reckless, brilliant in his class work, and
+the prince of half backs on the Rugby field, and with
+such power of fascination as would "extract the heart
+out of a wheelbarrow," as Barney Lundy used to say.
+And thus it was that I found myself just three weeks
+later&mdash;I was to have spent two or three days&mdash;on
+the afternoon of December 24, standing in Graeme's
+Lumber Camp No. 2, wondering at myself. But I
+did not regret my changed plans, for in those three
+weeks I had raided a cinnamon bear's den and had
+wakened up a grizzly&mdash;&mdash; But I shall let the grizzly
+finish the tale; he probably sees more humor in it than
+I.</div>
+
+<p>The camp stood in a little clearing, and consisted
+of a group of three long, low shanties with smaller
+shacks near them, all built of heavy, unhewn logs,
+with door and window in each. The grub camp, with
+cook-shed attached, stood in the middle of the clearing;
+at a little distance was the sleeping camp with
+the office built against it, and about a hundred yards
+away on the other side of the clearing stood the stables,
+and near them the smiddy. The mountains rose
+grandly on every side, throwing up their great peaks
+into the sky. The clearing in which the camp stood
+was hewn out of a dense pine forest that filled the
+valley and climbed halfway up the mountain sides and
+then frayed out in scattered and stunted trees.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of those wonderful Canadian winter days,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
+bright, and with a touch of sharpness in the air that
+did not chill, but warmed the blood like drafts of wine.
+The men were up in the woods, and the shrill scream
+of the bluejay flashing across the open, the impudent
+chatter of the red squirrel from the top of the grub
+camp, and the pert chirp of the whisky-jack, hopping
+about on the rubbish-heap, with the long, lone cry of
+the wolf far down the valley, only made the silence felt
+the more.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood drinking in with all my soul the glorious
+beauty and the silence of mountain and forest, with
+the Christmas feeling stealing into me, Graeme came
+out from his office, and catching sight of me, called
+out, "Glorious Christmas weather, old chap!" And
+then, coming nearer, "Must you go to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear so," I replied, knowing well that the Christmas
+feeling was on him, too.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I were going with you," he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>I turned eagerly to persuade him, but at the look
+of suffering in his face the words died at my lips,
+for we both were thinking of the awful night of
+horror when all his bright, brilliant life crashed down
+about him in black ruin and shame. I could only
+throw my arm over his shoulder and stand silent beside
+him. A sudden jingle of bells roused him, and,
+giving himself a little shake, he exclaimed, "There
+are the boys coming home."</p>
+
+<p>Soon the camp was filled with men talking, laughing,
+chaffing like light-hearted boys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"They are a little wild to-night," said Graeme,
+"and to-morrow they'll paint Black Rock red."</p>
+
+<p>Before many minutes had gone the last teamster
+was "washed up," and all were standing about waiting
+impatiently for the cook's signal&mdash;the supper to-night
+was to be "something of a feed"&mdash;when the
+sound of bells drew their attention to a light sleigh
+drawn by a buckskin broncho coming down the hillside
+at a great pace.</p>
+
+<p>"The preacher, I'll bet, by his driving," said one
+of the men.</p>
+
+<p>"Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey!"
+said Blaney, a good-natured, jovial Irishman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, or for pay-day, more like," said Keefe, a
+black-browed, villainous fellow countryman of
+Blaney's and, strange to say, his great friend.</p>
+
+<p>Big Sandy McNaughton, a Canadian Highlander
+from Glengarry, rose up in wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"Bill Keefe," said he with deliberate emphasis,
+"you'll just keep your dirty tongue off the minister;
+and as for your pay, it's little he sees of it, or any
+one else except Mike Slavin, when you's too dry to
+wait for some one to treat you, or perhaps Father
+Ryan, when the fear of hell-fire is on you."</p>
+
+<p>The men stood amazed at Sandy's sudden anger and
+length of speech.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i> Dat's good for you, my bully boy," said
+Baptiste, a wiry little French-Canadian, Sandy's sworn
+ally and devoted admirer ever since the day when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
+big Scotchman, under great provocation, had knocked
+him clean off the dump into the river and then jumped
+in for him.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till afterward I learned the cause of
+Sandy's sudden wrath which urged him to such unwonted
+length of speech. It was not simply that the
+Presbyterian blood carried with it reverence for the
+minister, but that he had a vivid remembrance of how,
+only a month ago, the minister had got him out of
+Mike Slavin's saloon and out of the clutches of Keefe
+and Slavin and their gang of bloodsuckers.</p>
+
+<p>Keefe started up with a curse. Baptiste sprang to
+Sandy's side, slapped him on the back, and called out:</p>
+
+<p>"You keel him, I'll hit [eat] him up, me."</p>
+
+<p>It looked as if there might be a fight, when a harsh
+voice said in a low, savage tone:</p>
+
+<p>"Stop your row, you fools; settle it, if you want to,
+somewhere else."</p>
+
+<p>I turned, and was amazed to see old man Nelson,
+who was very seldom moved to speech.</p>
+
+<p>There was a look of scorn on his hard iron-gray
+face, and of such settled fierceness as made me quite
+believe the tales I had heard of his deadly fights in the
+mines at the coast. Before any reply could be made
+the minister drove up and called out in a cheery
+voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Merry Christmas, boys! Hello, Sandy! <i>Comment
+&ccedil;a va</i>, Baptiste? How do you do, Mr. Graeme?"</p>
+
+<p>"First rate. Let me introduce my friend, Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
+Connor, sometime medical student, now artist, hunter,
+and tramp at large, but not a bad sort."</p>
+
+<p>"A man to be envied," said the minister, smiling.
+"I am glad to know any friend of Mr. Graeme's."</p>
+
+<p>I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good
+eyes that looked straight out at you, a clean-cut, strong
+face well set on his shoulders, and altogether an upstanding,
+manly bearing. He insisted on going with
+Sandy to the stables to see Dandy, his broncho, put
+up.</p>
+
+<p>"Decent fellow," said Graeme; "but though he is
+good enough to his broncho, it is Sandy that's in his
+mind now."</p>
+
+<p>"Does he come out often? I mean, are you part
+of his parish, so to speak?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no doubt he thinks so; and I'm blowed if
+he doesn't make the Presbyterians of us think so too."
+And he added after a pause: "A dandy lot of parishioners
+we are for any man. There's Sandy, now, he
+would knock Keefe's head off as a kind of religious
+exercise; but to-morrow Keefe will be sober and Sandy
+will be drunk as a lord, and the drunker he is the better
+Presbyterian he'll be, to the preacher's disgust." Then
+after another pause he added bitterly: "But it is not
+for me to throw rocks at Sandy. I am not the same
+kind of fool, but I am a fool of several other sorts."</p>
+
+<p>Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the
+bottom of a dishpan. Baptiste answered with a yell.
+But though keenly hungry, no man would demean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+himself to do other than walk with apparent reluctance
+to his place at the table. At the further end of
+the camp was a big fireplace, and from the door of
+the fireplace extended the long board tables, covered
+with platters of turkey not too scientifically carved,
+dishes of potatoes, bowls of apple sauce, plates of
+butter, pies, and smaller dishes distributed at regular
+intervals. Two lanterns hanging from the roof and a
+row of candles stuck into the wall on either side by
+means of slit sticks cast a dim, weird light over the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence, and at a nod from
+Graeme Mr. Craig rose and said:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how you feel about it, men, but to
+me this looks good enough to be thankful for."</p>
+
+<p>"Fire ahead, sir," called out a voice quite respectfully,
+and the minister bent his head and said:</p>
+
+<p>"For Christ the Lord who came to save us, for
+all the love and goodness we have known, and for
+these Thy gifts to us this Christmas night, our Father,
+make us thankful. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i> Dat's fuss rate," said Baptiste. "Seems
+lak dat's make me hit [eat] more better for sure."
+And then no word was spoken for a quarter of an
+hour. The occasion was far too solemn and moments
+too precious for anything so empty as words. But
+when the white piles of bread and the brown piles of
+turkey had for a second time vanished, and after the
+last pie had disappeared, there came a pause and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
+hush of expectancy, whereupon the cook and cookee,
+each bearing aloft a huge, blazing pudding, came forth.</p>
+
+<p>"Hooray!" yelled Blaney; "up wid yez!" and
+grabbing the cook by the shoulders from behind, he
+faced him about.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the
+cookee in the same way, called out: "Squad, fall in!
+quick march!" In a moment every man was in the
+procession.</p>
+
+<p>"Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel!" shouted
+Blaney, the appellation a concession to the minister's
+presence; and away went Baptiste in a rollicking
+French song with the English chorus&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+Then blow, ye winds, in the morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow, ye winds, ay oh!</span><br />
+Blow, ye winds, in the morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow, blow, blow.</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>And at each "blow" every boot came down with a
+thump on the plank floor that shook the solid roof.
+After the second round Mr. Craig jumped upon the
+bench and called out:</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for Billy the cook!"</p>
+
+<p>In the silence following the cheers Baptiste was
+heard to say:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i> Dat's mak me feel lak hit dat puddin' all
+hup meself, me."</p>
+
+<p>"Hear till the little baste!" said Blaney in disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"Batchees," remonstrated Sandy gravely, "ye've
+more stomach than manners."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Fu sure! but de more stomach, dat's more better
+for dis puddin'," replied the little Frenchman cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>After a time the tables were cleared and pushed
+back to the wall and pipes were produced. In all
+attitudes suggestive of comfort the men disposed themselves
+in a wide circle about the fire, which now roared
+and crackled up the great wooden chimney hanging
+from the roof. The lumberman's hour of bliss had
+arrived. Even old man Nelson looked a shade less
+melancholy than usual as he sat alone, well away from
+the fire, smoking steadily and silently. When the
+second pipes were well a-going one of the men took
+down a violin from the wall and handed it to Lachlan
+Campbell. There were two brothers Campbell just
+out from Argyll, typical Highlanders: Lachlan, dark,
+silent, melancholy, with the face of a mystic, and
+Angus, red-haired, quick, impulsive, and devoted to
+his brother, a devotion he thought proper to cover
+under biting, sarcastic speech.</p>
+
+<p>Lachlan, after much protestation, interposed with
+gibes from his brother, took the violin, and in response
+to the call from all sides struck up "Lord Macdonald's
+Reel."</p>
+
+<p>In a moment the floor was filled with dancers,
+whooping and cracking their fingers in the wildest
+manner. Then Baptiste did the "Red River Jig," a
+most intricate and difficult series of steps, the men
+keeping time to the music with hands and feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>When the jig was finished Sandy called for
+"Lochaber No More," but Campbell said:</p>
+
+<p>"No! no! I cannot play that to-night. Mr. Craig
+will play."</p>
+
+<p>Craig took the violin, and at the first note I knew
+he was no ordinary player. I did not recognize the
+music, but it was soft and thrilling, and got in by the
+heart till every one was thinking his tenderest and
+saddest thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>After he had played two or three exquisite bits he
+gave Campbell his violin, saying, "Now, 'Lochaber,'
+Lachlan."</p>
+
+<p>Without a word Lachlan began, not "Lochaber"&mdash;he
+was not ready for that yet&mdash;but "The Flowers
+o' the Forest," and from that wandered through
+"Auld Robin Gray" and "The Land o' the Leal,"
+and so got at last to that most soul-subduing of Scottish
+laments, "Lochaber No More." At the first
+strain his brother, who had thrown himself on some
+blankets behind the fire, turned over on his face feigning
+sleep. Sandy McNaughton took his pipe out of
+his mouth and sat up straight and stiff, staring into
+vacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, drew a short,
+sharp breath. We had often sat, Graeme and I, in
+our student days, in the drawing-room at home, listening
+to his father wailing out "Lochaber" upon the
+pipes, and I well knew that the awful minor strains
+were now eating their way into his soul.</p>
+
+<p>Over and over again the Highlander played his lament.
+He had long since forgotten us, and was seeing
+visions of the hills and lochs and glens of his far-away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
+native land, and making us, too, see strange
+things out of the dim past. I glanced at old man
+Nelson, and was startled at the eager, almost piteous
+look in his eyes, and I wished Campbell would stop.
+Mr. Craig caught my eye, and stepping over to Campbell
+held out his hand for the violin. Lingeringly and
+lovingly the Highlander drew out the last strain and
+silently gave the minister his instrument.</p>
+
+<p>Without a moment's pause, and while the spell of
+"Lochaber" was still upon us, the minister, with
+exquisite skill, fell into the refrain of that simple and
+beautiful camp-meeting hymn, "The Sweet By-and-By."
+After playing the verse through once he sang
+softly the refrain. After the first verse the men
+joined in the chorus; at first timidly, but by the time
+the third verse was reached they were shouting with
+throats full open, "We shall meet on that beautiful
+shore." When I looked at Nelson the eager light
+had gone out of his eyes, and in its place was a kind
+of determined hopelessness, as if in this new music he
+had no part.</p>
+
+<p>After the voices had ceased Mr. Craig played again
+the refrain, more and more softly and slowly; then
+laying the violin on Campbell's knees, he drew from
+his pocket his little Bible and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Men, with Mr. Graeme's permission I want to
+read you something this Christmas eve. You will all
+have heard it before, but you will like it none the less
+for that."</p>
+
+<p>His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as he
+read the eternal story of the angels and the shepherds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
+and the Babe. And as he read, a slight motion of the
+hand or a glance of an eye made us see, as he was
+seeing, that whole radiant drama. The wonder, the
+timid joy, the tenderness, the mystery of it all, were
+borne in upon us with overpowering effect. He
+closed the book, and in the same low, clear voice went
+on to tell us how, in his home years ago, he used to
+stand on Christmas eve listening in thrilling delight
+to his mother telling him the story, and how she used
+to make him see the shepherds and hear the sheep
+bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory
+used to make his heart jump.</p>
+
+<p>"I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because
+a boy told me they were ghosts; but my mother told
+me better, and I didn't fear them any more. And
+the Baby, the dear little Baby&mdash;we all love a baby."
+There was a quick, dry sob; it was from Nelson.
+"I used to peek through under to see the little one in
+the straw, and wonder what things swaddling clothes
+were. Oh, it was so real and so beautiful!" He
+paused, and I could hear the men breathing.</p>
+
+<p>"But one Christmas eve," he went on in a lower,
+sweeter tone, "there was no one to tell me the story,
+and I grew to forget it and went away to college, and
+learned to think that it was only a child's tale and was
+not for men. Then bad days came to me and worse,
+and I began to lose my grip of myself, of life, of hope,
+of goodness, till one black Christmas, in the slums of
+a far-away city, when I had given up all and the devil's
+arms were about me, I heard the story again. And
+as I listened, with a bitter ache in my heart&mdash;for I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
+had put it all behind me&mdash;I suddenly found myself
+peeking under the shepherds' arms with a child's
+wonder at the Baby in the straw. Then it came over
+me like great waves that His name was Jesus, because
+it was He that should save men from their sins.
+Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon my
+ears, and before I knew I had called out, 'Oh! can
+He save me?' It was in a little mission meeting on
+one of the side streets, and they seemed to be used to
+that sort of thing there, for no one was surprised;
+and a young fellow leaned across the aisle to me and
+said: 'Why, you just bet He can!' His surprise
+that I should doubt, his bright face and confident tone,
+gave me hope that perhaps it might be so. I held to
+that hope with all my soul, and"&mdash;stretching up his
+arms, and with a quick glow in his face and a little
+break in his voice&mdash;"He hasn't failed me yet; not
+once, not once!"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal like
+making a fool of myself, for in those days I had not
+made up my mind about these things. Graeme, poor
+old chap, was gazing at him with a sad yearning in his
+dark eyes; big Sandy was sitting very stiff and staring
+harder than ever into the fire; Baptiste was trembling
+with excitement; Blaney was openly wiping the tears
+away, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'But'">but</ins> the face that held my eyes was that of old
+man Nelson. It was white, fierce, hungry-looking,
+his sunken eyes burning, his lips parted as if to cry.
+The minister went on.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean to tell you this, men; it all came over
+me with a rush; but it is true, every word, and not a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
+word will I take back. And, what's more, I can tell
+you this: what He did for me He can do for any man,
+and it doesn't make any difference what's behind him,
+and"&mdash;leaning slightly forward, and with a little
+thrill of pathos vibrating in his voice&mdash;"oh, boys,
+why don't you give Him a chance at you? Without
+Him you'll never be the men you want to be, and
+you'll never get the better of that that's keeping some
+of you now from going back home. You know you'll
+never go back till you're the men you want to be."
+Then, lifting up his face and throwing back his head,
+he said, as if to himself, "Jesus! He shall save His
+people from their sins," and then, "Let us pray."</p>
+
+<p>Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands;
+Baptiste and Blaney dropped on their knees; Sandy,
+the Campbells, and some others stood up. Old man
+Nelson held his eye steadily on the minister.</p>
+
+<p>Only once before had I seen that look on a human
+face. A young fellow had broken through the ice on
+the river at home, and as the black water was dragging
+his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there
+came over his face that same look. I used to wake up
+for many a night after in a sweat of horror, seeing the
+white face with its parting lips and its piteous, dumb
+appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down.</p>
+
+<p>Nelson's face brought it all back; but during the
+prayer the face changed and seemed to settle into resolve
+of some sort, stern, almost gloomy, as of a man
+with his last chance before him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a
+Christmas dinner next day in Black Rock. "And because
+you are an independent lot, we'll charge you half
+a dollar for dinner and the evening show." Then
+leaving a bundle of magazines and illustrated papers
+on the table&mdash;a godsend to the men&mdash;he said good-by
+and went out.</p>
+
+<p>I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into the
+sleigh first and waited while he said good-by to
+Graeme, who had been hard hit by the whole service
+and seemed to want to say something. I heard Mr.
+Craig say cheerfully and confidently: "It's a true
+bill: try Him."</p>
+
+<p>Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while that
+interesting broncho was attempting with great success
+to balance himself on his hind legs, came to say
+good-by.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and see me first thing, Sandy."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye! I know; I'll see ye, Mr. Craig," said Sandy
+earnestly as Dandy dashed off at a full gallop across
+the clearing and over the bridge, steadying down when
+he reached the hill.</p>
+
+<p>"Steady, you idiot!"</p>
+
+<p>This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side
+spring into the deep snow, almost upsetting us. A
+man stepped out from the shadow. It was old man
+Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh and, ignoring
+my presence completely, said:</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this? Will it
+work?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean," said Craig, taking him up promptly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+"can Jesus Christ save you from your sins and
+make a man of you?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on
+the other's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, here's His message to you: 'The Son of
+Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.'"</p>
+
+<p>"To me? To me?" said the old man eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen; this, too, is His word: 'Him that cometh
+unto Me I will in no wise cast out.' That's for you,
+for here you are, coming."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know me, Mr. Craig. I left my baby
+fifteen years ago because&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" said the minister. "Don't tell me, at
+least not to-night; perhaps never. Tell Him who
+knows it all now and who never betrays a secret.
+Have it out with Him. Don't be afraid to trust
+Him."</p>
+
+<p>Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, and
+said in a husky voice:</p>
+
+<p>"If this is no good, it's hell for me."</p>
+
+<p>"If it is no good," replied Craig almost sternly,
+"it's hell for all of us."</p>
+
+<p>The old man straightened himself up, looked up at
+the stars, then back at Mr. Craig, then at me, and
+drawing a deep breath said:</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try Him." As he was turning away the minister
+touched him on the arm and said quietly:</p>
+
+<p>"Keep an eye on Sandy to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Nelson nodded and we went on; but before we took
+the next turn I looked back and saw what brought a
+lump into my throat. It was old man Nelson on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
+knees in the snow, with his hands spread upward to
+the stars, and I wondered if there was any One above
+the stars and nearer than the stars who could see.
+And then the trees hid him from my sight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i285.png" width="500" height="114" alt="The Story that the Keg Told Me" title="The Story that the Keg Told Me" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>XII.&mdash;The Story That the Keg Told Me</h2>
+
+<h3><i>By Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The author is "Adirondack Murray" because he, more
+than any other man, rediscovered for the past and present
+generation the wonderful Adirondack Woods. We are
+grateful to Mr. Archibald Rutledge for having shortened the
+story, and to Mr. Murray's publishers, De Wolfe and Fiske
+Company, for permission to print it in the abbreviated form.</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The
+Editor.</span></p></div>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IT was near the close of a sultry day in midsummer,
+which I had spent in exploring a part of the shore
+line of the lake where I was camping, and wearied
+with the trip I had made, I was returning toward the
+camp.</div>
+
+<p>The lake was a very secluded sheet of water hidden
+away between the mountains, not marked on the map,
+whose very existence was unsuspected by me until I
+had a few days before accidentally stumbled upon it.
+Indeed, in all the world there is hardly another sheet
+of water so likely to escape the eye, not only of the
+tourist and the sportsman, but also of the hunter and
+the trapper. Day by day as I paddled over the lake or
+explored its shores the conviction grew upon me that
+the place had never before been visited by any human
+being. The more I examined and explored, the more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
+this belief grew upon me. The thought was ever
+with me. But on this afternoon as I was paddling
+leisurely along, my paddle struck some curious object
+in the water. I reached down and lifted it into the
+boat. It was a Keg!</p>
+
+<p>Amazed, I sat looking at this proof that my lake
+was not so unknown as I had supposed it to be.
+Where had it come from? How did it get here?
+Who brought it, and for what purpose? These and
+similar questions I put to myself as I paddled onward
+toward my camp.</p>
+
+<p>After having built my camp fire I seated myself
+with my back against a pine; it was then that my gaze
+again fell on the Keg, which I had brought up from
+the boat and had set on the ground across the fire
+from me. I sat wondering where it had come from,
+and what had become of him who must once have
+handled it.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. It may be that I was awake; it may
+be that I was asleep; but as I was thus looking steadily
+and curiously at the Keg, it seemed to change its appearance.
+It was no longer a Keg: it was a man! A
+queer little man he was, with strange little legs, and the
+funniest little body, and the tiniest little face! Then,
+standing bold upright, and looking at me with eyes
+that glistened like black beads, the miraculous Keg-Man
+opened his mouth and began to talk!</p>
+
+<p>"I desire to tell you my story," it said; "the story
+of the man who brought me here; why he did it, and
+what became of him; how he lived and died.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"The earliest remembrance I have of myself is of
+the cooper's shop where I was made. Although I
+look worn now, I can recall the time when all my
+staves were smooth and clean, so that the oak-grain
+showed clearly from the top to the bottom of me, and
+my steel hoops were strong and bright. The cooper
+made me on his honor and took a deal of honest pride
+in putting me together, as every workman should in
+doing his work. I remember that when I was finished
+and the cooper had sanded me off and oiled me, he set
+me up on a bench and said to his apprentice boy:
+'There, that Keg will last till the Judgment Day, and
+well on toward night at that.' I wondered at that.</p>
+
+<p>"One day a few weeks later a man came into the
+shop and said, 'Have you a good strong keg for
+sale?'</p>
+
+<p>"He put the question in such a half-spiteful, half-suspicious
+way that I eyed him curiously. And a
+very peculiar man I saw. He was not more than
+forty years old, of good height and strongly built.
+He was a gentleman, evidently, although his face was
+darkly tanned and his clothes were old and threadbare.
+His mouth was small. His lips were thin, and had a
+look of being drawn tightly over his teeth. His chin
+was long, his jaws large and strong. His hair was
+thin and brown. But the remarkable feature of his
+face was his eyes. They were blue-gray in color,
+small, and deeply set under his arching eye-brows.
+How hard and steel-like they were, and restless as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
+rat's! And what an intense look of suspicion there
+was in them; a half-scared, defiant look, as if their
+owner felt every one to be his enemy. Ah, what eyes
+they were! I came to know them well afterward,
+and to know what the wild, strange light in them
+meant; but of that by and by.</p>
+
+<p>"'Have you a good strong keg for sale?' he shouted
+to my master, who turned round and looked
+squarely at the questioner.</p>
+
+<p>"'Yes, I have, Mr. Roberts. Do you want one?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Yes!' returned the other; 'but I want a strong
+one&mdash;<i>strong</i>, do you hear?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Here's a keg,' said my master, tapping me with
+his mallet, 'that I made with my own hands from the
+very best stuff. It will last as long as steel and white
+oak staves will last.'</p>
+
+<p>"The price was paid with a muttered protest and
+Roberts hoisted me under his arm and bore me from
+the shop.</p>
+
+<p>"As we hurried along, I noticed that my new master
+spoke to no one, and that people looked at him
+coldly or wonderingly. At last we came to a
+common-looking house set back from the road, with
+a very high fence built around it and a heavy padlock
+on the front gate. There were great strong wooden
+shutters at every window. My master entered the
+house and set me down on the floor, then went to the
+door and locked it, drawing two large iron bars across
+it. He went to every window to see if it was fastened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Carrying a candle in one hand and a great bludgeon
+in the other, he examined every room, every closet,
+the attic, and the cellar. After this he came back to
+me, set me on a table, started one of my hoops, and
+took out one of my heads. From a cupboard he got
+a large sheepskin, and with a pair of shears fitted me
+with a lining of it. I must say that he did it with
+cleverness, and he seemed well pleased with his
+work.</p>
+
+<p>"When he had done all this, he brought his bludgeon
+and laid it on the table beside me; also he laid
+there a large knife. Then he went to the chimney
+and brought the ash-pail, which was full of ashes;
+from the cupboard he brought an earthen jar; from
+under the bed he fetched a bag; from the cellar he
+returned with a sack, all damp and moldy. When he
+had all these side by side near the table, he sat down.
+Then out of the ash-pail he took a small pot, and
+having carefully blown the ashes off, he turned it
+bottom-upward on the table. And what do you think
+was in it?</p>
+
+<p>"Gold coins! Some red and some yellow, but all
+gold!</p>
+
+<p>"He emptied each of the other receptacles, and out
+there flowed heaps of gold coins almost without
+number! How they gleamed and glistened! How
+they clinked and jingled! And how the deep and
+narrow eyes of my master glittered, but how the lips
+drew apart in a wild smile!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It was a fearful sight to see him playing with the
+gold and to hear him laugh over his treasure. It was
+dreadful to think that a human soul could love money
+so. And he did love it&mdash;madly, with all the strength
+of his nature.</p>
+
+<p>"He would take up a coin and look at it as a father
+might look upon the face of a favorite child. Ah,
+me, 'twas dreadful! He would take up a piece and
+say to it, 'Thou art better to me than a wife'; and to
+another, 'Thou art dearer than father or mother!'
+Ah, such blasphemy as I heard that night! How
+the sweet and blessed things of human life were derided,
+and the things that are divine and holy sneered
+at!</p>
+
+<p>"At length he fell to counting his gold; and for a
+long, long time he counted, until his hands shook, and
+his eyes gleamed as if he were mad. When he had
+counted all, he jumped from his seat, shouting like a
+maniac, 'Sixteen thousand, six hundred and sixty-six
+dollars!' Again and again he shouted this in wild
+triumph.</p>
+
+<p>"After a while he sobered down, and inside of me
+he began to pack away his treasures&mdash;carefully,
+caressingly, as a mother might lay her children to
+sleep. When I was full to the brim with shining
+gold, he put my head on, fitted the upper hoop on
+snugly, and then put me in the bed. The great knife
+he slipped under the pillow. Then, blowing out the
+light, he lay down beside me with one arm thrown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
+about me. So the miser, clasping me to his heart,
+fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Day after day, night after night, this selfsame
+performance was repeated. My master did little
+work; indeed, he did not seem eager to increase his
+store, but merely to hold it safely. But about this he
+was so anxious that he was in a fever of excitement
+all the time. For days he would not leave the house.
+Never was he free from the fear of losing his money.
+And this suspicion had poisoned his whole life, had
+made him hate his kind and lose all belief in the love
+and the goodness of God, that he had once professed.</p>
+
+<p>"One day in summer he left the front door open.
+I was drowsing, when suddenly I heard him give a
+frightened yell. In the doorway stood a man and a
+woman. The man was the village pastor, and the
+woman, I soon learned, was my master's wife. For
+a moment my master stood looking angrily at them.
+Then he said abruptly, 'Why did you come here?'</p>
+
+<p>"'John,' said the woman, 'your child Mary is
+dying; and I thought that you, her father, would want
+to see her before she passed away.' Her voice choked,
+and her breast heaved with sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"'Dying, is she?' said my master brutally. 'I
+don't believe it. You are simply after my gold. You
+might as well get away from here,' he added with a
+threatening look.</p>
+
+<p>"'John,' returned the woman, great tears coming
+to her eyes, 'I never in my life lied to you. Mary is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
+dying, and I could not let her go without giving you
+a chance to see her. Last night in her delirium she
+begged for you. She wants you, John; she wants to
+say good-by to you!'</p>
+
+<p>"But my master remained unmoved. The sinister
+look in the eyes, the doggedness of the face did not
+change. He stared at them; then he shouted in
+frenzy: 'You lie! You want my money! Everybody
+wants it! Everybody loves it! There isn't an
+honest man in the world! All are thieves! All are
+lovers of gold! I know by your looks that you love
+it,' he went on; 'and you can't fool me by your tears
+and your preaching. You get out of this house!' he
+suddenly shrieked, 'or I will kill you,&mdash;both of you!'
+He swore a terrible oath and stepped back to seize the
+heavy bludgeon on the table. The woman cried out
+in fear and turned away weeping. But the parson
+stood his ground.</p>
+
+<p>"'John Roberts,' he said, 'thou art a doomed man.
+The lust of gold that destroys so many is in thee
+strong and mighty, and only God can save thee, nor
+He against thy will. Repent, or thou shalt perish in
+a lonely place, on a dark night, with none to help thee
+or hear thy cries; and all thy gold shall perish with
+thee.' So saying, he turned and slowly left the house.</p>
+
+<p>"For a moment my master stood glaring at the
+retreating forms of those who had come to him as
+friends, but whom he had treated as enemies; then
+he rushed for the door and locked it. After that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
+lifted me tenderly upon the table, laughed softly, patted
+me with his hands, and stroked me caressingly.
+'My gold,' he kept repeating, 'my precious, precious
+gold!' And as night came on, he poured out the gold
+and counted the glittering pieces. Again and again
+he counted his treasure until deep midnight had settled
+over all.</p>
+
+<p>"But when he awoke in the morning he was very
+nervous. All day long he neither opened the door
+nor unbarred the shutters. All the while he kept muttering
+to himself as if planning some crafty plot. I
+could not know what all this might mean, but I caught
+enough of his talk to understand that he was more
+than ever suspicious of losing his money, was fearing
+all man-kind more and more, and was trying to devise
+some scheme whereby he could find a place where no
+one could molest him or try to steal his gold. 'They
+will get it yet,' he kept saying, 'unless I can go where
+no one can find me.' Then he would curse his kind.</p>
+
+<p>"At last, after hours of muttering and tramping
+back and forth in the darkened house, he suddenly
+seemed to find his decision. I shall never forget the
+terrible expression of evil triumph on his face as he
+paused before me and shouted:</p>
+
+<p>"'I'll go! Go where they can never find me! I
+want to be alone with my money, where I can spread
+it out and see it shine! I will go where there is not
+a man!'</p>
+
+<p>"After my master had said that, he made no further<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
+remarks; but he began with eager haste to pack a
+few things for his journey. He put me in a sack in
+which I could neither see nor hear what was happening;
+and that was all I knew for many a day. But
+all the while I felt myself being <i>carried, carried,
+carried!</i> One day I realized that I had been put in a
+boat; then we went on and on, day after day. Finally
+the boat was stopped and I was carried ashore. Then
+for the first time in many a long day I was taken from
+the bag. Again I saw the world about me. But how
+different were my surroundings from those of my
+old home! Where was I? I was on the very point
+of land off which you found me this evening.</p>
+
+<p>"For the first few weeks of our stay on the shores
+of this lonely lake, things continued almost as they
+had been at home. The gold was my master's single
+thought. He seemed happy, almost joyous, in the
+thought that he and I were at last out of the reach of
+men. Most of his time was spent looking at his gold.
+Every morning and every evening he would take me
+down to that point yonder where the sun shines
+clearly, and there would pour the treasure out in a
+great pile. He always did this exultingly. And his
+greatest pleasure was to play with the yellow coins, to
+count them over and over, and to laugh to himself in
+a satisfied way.</p>
+
+<p>"But after a time I could see that a change was
+coming over my master. He grew grave and quiet.
+No, more, as he poured out his gold, did he chuckle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
+and laugh to himself. All his movements seemed
+listless. He counted his money less frequently, and
+when he did so it was in a half-hearted manner. One
+day I even saw him go away and leave the yellow heap
+lying on the sands. At last one day he came, packed
+the gold in me, and put in my head with the greatest
+care. Moreover, when he went back to the camp, he
+left me there on the beach! I felt very strange and
+lonely, and the night seemed long indeed.</p>
+
+<p>"At last the daybreak came, and glad I was to see
+it. But it was not until near sunset that my master
+came down to the point where I was. His face was
+as I had never seen it before. It was the countenance
+of a man who had suffered much, and who was still
+suffering. He came to me, paused before me, and
+said: 'For thee, thou cursed gold, I have wasted my
+life and ruined my soul!'</p>
+
+<p>"For some time he stood thus looking at me; then
+he began to walk up and down the strip of beach,
+wringing his hands and beating his breast. 'Oh, if
+I could only do it!' he kept saying; 'if I could only do
+it! If I could, there might be hope, even for me.
+Lord, help me to do it! Lord, help me!'</p>
+
+<p>"After many hours of this, which I knew to be
+mental torment for my poor wretched master, when
+he was exhausted in body and in mind, he came back
+along the sands toward me. To my astonishment he
+knelt down beside me, he placed his hands together,
+he lifted his face skyward. My master prayed!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'Lord of the great world,' he said, 'come to my
+aid or I am lost. In Thy great mercy, save me!
+Hear where no man may hear, hear Thou my cry;
+Thou Lord of heavenly mercy, lend me thine aid!'</p>
+
+<p>"He paused, and over his face I seemed to see the
+dawning of a deep peace. He rose to his feet, lifted
+me, and bore me down to the boat. Then he slowly
+paddled away toward the center of the lake, repeating
+his prayer. At last he checked the boat; then, having
+looked toward the sky, he said in a low, sweet voice,
+'Lord, Thou hast given me grace and strength.' At
+that he lifted me high above his head&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>There was a crash as if pieces of wood were falling
+together and my eyes opened with a snap. My fire
+had smoldered down. The Keg, heated by the fire,
+had tumbled inward, and lay there in a confused heap.</p>
+
+<p>"What a queer dream," I said to myself. I was
+really beginning to believe that these things had
+happened. I rose to my feet and stepped down to the
+edge of the lonely water. I am not ashamed to say
+that my blood was chilled at what I saw. As I looked
+across the lake, within twenty feet of where I had
+found the Keg, there was a boat with a man sitting
+motionless in it!</p>
+
+<p>When that mysterious canoe appeared on the bosom
+of the lonely lake, I thought that I was looking upon a
+vision of a spectral nature. In spite of all my belief
+that I was alone on this remote beach, there sat the
+man in the boat, only a few rods off shore. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
+as a mirage, as silent as the very lake itself. A few
+eerie moments passed; then the boat began to move
+slowly toward me, gently propelled by a skillful
+paddle. As it approached, the light of the full moon
+streaming upon it made it easy for me to study its occupants.
+Near the bow I could discern a hound
+crouching. In the stern sat the paddler, his rifle
+across his knees.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, the camp there!" shouted the man in the
+boat.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" I called, glad enough to find that my
+strange visitor was no apparition.</p>
+
+<p>The canoe came ashore, I greeted the boatman, and
+together we walked up toward the camp, the hound
+following us in a leisurely fashion. There I replenished
+the fire. Then for a moment the stranger and
+I stood and looked at each other. He was over six
+feet in height, but so symmetrically proportioned in
+his physical stature that, great as it was, he was
+neither awkward nor ungainly. But for the fact that
+his eye had lost its earlier brightness and that his hair
+was sprinkled with threads of gray, it would have been
+impossible to believe that he had reached three-score
+years and ten, for his form was still erect, his step
+elastic, and his voice clear and strong. His features
+were regular and strong, giving proof of the man's
+self-reliant and indomitable character. Years, perhaps
+a lifetime of activity in the woods and on the
+lakes, had bronzed the man. From beneath heavy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
+eyebrows looked eyes gray in color and baffling in
+depth. The man's whole appearance attracted me singularly.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank ye for your welcome, mister," he began.
+"I shouldn't have dropped in on ye at this onseemly
+hour, but the line of your smoke caught my eye as I
+was turning the point yonder. I didn't expect to
+find a human being on these shores. I ax your pardon
+for comin' in on ye, but I have memories of this spot
+that made me think strange things when I saw your
+camp. I am John Norton, the trapper. And who
+might you be, young man?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am Henry Herbert," I replied; "but just call
+me plain Henry."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Henry," began the old trapper, "I am going
+to call you that. When men meet in the woods they
+don't put on any airs. I have been in these woods
+sixty-two years, and they have been a home for me,
+for my father and mother are gone, and I have never
+had wife nor child of my own. And I have heard of
+you, Henry. Ye be no stranger to me. For ten
+years back I have heard how you like to travel the
+woods and the waters by yourself, larning things that
+Nature does not tell about in crowds. I have heard,
+too, that you be a good shot, and that you know the
+ways of outwitting the trout and the pickerel. Hearing
+about you this way, I knew some day that I would
+come across your trail; but I never thought to run
+agin you to-night, for I'd no idee that mortal man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
+knowed this lake, save me&mdash;save me and that
+other.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;."</p>
+
+<p>The old man paused, seated himself on the end of
+a log, and gazed into the fire with a solemn look on
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>I did not feel like breaking in on his meditations,
+whatever they might be. I was silent out of deference
+to his memories.</p>
+
+<p>"This lake," John Norton said at length, "this
+lake is a strange place. I have been here for eleven
+years. No other place in all this wide country makes
+me feel as this place does."</p>
+
+<p>Again he fell into a reverie. I, meanwhile, busied
+myself with supper; and as soon as this was prepared,
+the two of us enjoyed it as only woodmen can.</p>
+
+<p>"If you know me," I said, "we are no strangers to
+each other, for I know you. Who draws the steadiest
+bead with a rifle; who is the best boatman who ever
+feathered paddle, and who is as honest a man as ever
+drew breath?&mdash;who, but John Norton, whom I have
+always been wanting to meet. No man could be as
+welcome to my camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," laughed the old man, "when you're
+at home you must be one of them detective fellows.
+I see we aren't no strangers to each other. And if
+while in these woods old John Norton can teach you
+any trick of huntin' or of fishin' or of trappin', be
+sure he will do so for the welcome you have give
+him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So we sat on either side of the fire, silent for a few
+moments. Then the old trapper said:</p>
+
+<p>"I am thinking of the things that happened here
+long years agone. Strange things have come to pass
+on this very point. It is eleven year this very night
+that me and the hound slept here, and a solemn night
+it was, too.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. God of heaven, man, what is
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man's startled ejaculation brought me to
+my feet as if a panther were upon me. Glancing
+at the spot he had indicated by look and gesture, I beheld
+only the shattered portion of the Keg. Not
+knowing what to make of the trapper's excited action,
+I said: "That? That is only a Keg I picked up in the
+lake this evening."</p>
+
+<p>John Norton rose in silence to his feet and went
+over to where the staves lay. One of these he picked
+up and held contemplatively in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"The ways of the Lord are past the knowing of
+mortals," he said. "But perhaps in the long run He
+brings the wrong to the right, and so makes the evil
+in the world to praise him. Henry," said the Old
+Trapper, looking keenly at me, "I have a mind to tell
+you the story of the man who owned that Keg. A
+strange tale it be, but a true one, and the teachings of
+it be solemn."</p>
+
+<p>Eagerly I urged him to give me the story, a part of
+which, at least, I felt that I already knew.</p>
+
+<p>"It was eleven year agone, in this very month, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
+I came down the inlet yonder into the lake. The moon
+was nigh her full, and everything looked solemn and
+white just as it do now. Lord knows I little thought
+to meet a man in these solitudes when I run agin what
+I am telling ye of.</p>
+
+<p>"I was paddling down this side of the lake when I
+heard the strangest sounds I ever heard coming out of
+a bird or beast. Ye better believe, Henry, that I sot
+and listened until I was nothing but ears. But nary
+a thing could I make out of it. After awhile I said
+I would try to ambush the creetur and find out what
+mouth had a language that old John Norton couldn't
+understand. As I got nearer the shore, my boat just
+drifting in the moonlight, I heerd a kind of crawling
+sound as if the brute was a-trailing himself on the
+ground. The shake of a bush give me the line on him,
+and I felt sure that in a minute I could let the lead
+drive where it ought to go. I had my rifle to my face,
+when by the Lord of marcy, Henry, I diskivered I
+had ambushed a man!</p>
+
+<p>"And, Henry," he continued, "the words of the
+man was words of prayer. Never in my life was I
+taken so unawares or was so unbalanced as when I
+heard the voice of that man I had mistook for an
+animal break out in prayer. For a minute the blood
+stopped in my heart and my hair moved in my scalp;
+then I shook like a man with the chills. I had come
+that nigh being a murderer, Henry!</p>
+
+<p>"How that man prayed! He prayed for help as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
+one calls to a comrade when his boat has gone down
+under him in the rapids, and he knows he must have
+help or die. This man's soul was struggling hard, I
+tell ye. The words of his cry come out of his mouth
+like the words of one who is surely lost unless somebody
+saves him. It's dreadful for a man to live in
+such a way that he has to pray in that fashion; for we
+ought to live, Henry, so that it is cheerful-like to meet
+the Lord, and pleasant to hold converse with Him.</p>
+
+<p>"I sot in my boat till his praying was done; then
+I hugged myself close in under the bushes, for I heard
+him coming down toward the shore. And he did
+come, and come close to me; and in his arms he carried
+something very heavy. In a moment I heard him
+shove a boat out from the bushes; then, getting in, he
+pushed off into the lake. He held for the center of
+it; and when he had come nigh to the middle of it, he
+laid his paddle down, and lifted something into the
+air. This he turned upside down, and out streamed
+into the water something that glinted in the moonlight.
+After that, he come paddling back for the shore. Myself&mdash;I
+kept shy of the man that night, but the next
+morning I went to the stranger's camp.</p>
+
+<p>"There was nothing in sight but an old ragged tent,
+sagging at every seam. I called aloud so that mayhap
+the man would answer me. But no answer came. I
+walked up to the tent and drew aside the rotten flap.
+And, Henry, there lay the man senseless before me!
+I thought he was dead, and I onkivered my head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
+But the hound here knowed better, for he began to
+wag his tail. I went in, and found that the man was
+still breathing. I lifted him in my arms, Henry, and
+bore him out of the foul air of that tent, taking him
+down to the warm sunshine on the point.</p>
+
+<p>"For a long while I thought he was going to die
+in my arms. He just lay there lifeless-like, a-looking
+across the lake with eyes half-shut. But the sun and
+air revived him; and after a long while he stirs and
+says:</p>
+
+<p>"'Old man, who are you who are so kind to
+me?'</p>
+
+<p>"I tells him I was John Norton, the trapper.</p>
+
+<p>"'I am John Roberts,' he says, 'and I haven't a
+friend on the earth, nor do I deserve one. Old man,
+you cannot understand, because you have lived an innocent
+life, but I am a sinner&mdash;a wretched sinner.
+And my moments here are numbered. I will tell you
+of my crimes; I will confess them, for they lie heavy
+on my heart.</p>
+
+<p>"'John Norton, I was a miser; I had a heart with
+a passion for gold. For the evil love of money I turned
+my face away from my kind. My wife I deserted.
+My only child I refused, with curses, to see, even when
+she sent for me as she lay dying. John Norton, I gave
+all for gold. And the more I loved it, the more I hated
+man. With my dreadful lust there grew suspicion of
+every one. All ties of affection were severed. I
+lived alone, hoarding my gold and gloating over it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'At last I fled from the habitations of men, bringing
+my gold, my god, with me in a Keg. Here on this
+lonely shore I thought to be happy, far from my own
+kind, far from any danger that my precious treasure
+be stolen. But, John Norton&mdash;and a dying man is
+speaking&mdash;for all my counting of the bright gold on
+the sands here, and my dancing about it as a devil
+might, laughing and singing&mdash;I was unhappy. I
+knew that God was watching me and was disapproving.
+I could not but think of my wife and child. The
+thought of them began to make the gold hateful to
+me. Ah, then, old man, I began to pray the Lord to
+deliver me! It was a bitter struggle I fought, but at
+length He rescued me. He gave me strength, John
+Norton, to overcome the Wicked One; He gave me
+strength to break away from my sin; He gave me
+strength last night to pour every piece of gold that had
+been for me both love and life, into the lake there. I
+shall never see it more, and I am happy.'</p>
+
+<p>"After that, he lay silent-like, looking up at the
+blue sky. Then his eyes closed, and I thought him
+sleeping. But suddenly he started up, 'A light, a light!
+I see a light!' Then, Henry, he sank back into my
+arms and spoke no more. I hope my passing may be
+as peaceful as his, and my face as calm as was his after
+his battle of life was over.</p>
+
+<p>"The next day I buried him up yonder under them
+hemlocks&mdash;having no one to help me, but doing it
+respectful-like, as all such should be done. There he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
+lies, Henry, the man who was the owner of that
+Keg&mdash;John Roberts&mdash;the miser who repented before
+it was too late. Nor do I doubt," he added, in
+his kindly tone, "but he's been forgiven by those he
+wronged."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> From <i>Days Off</i>. Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's
+Sons. Used by permission of the publishers.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> From <i>Wildfire</i>. Copyright, 1916, by Harper and Brothers,
+New York and London. Reprinted by special permission of
+author and publisher.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> From <i>Roughing It de Luxe</i>. Copyright, 1914, by George H.
+Doran Company. Reprinted by special permission of author and
+publisher.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> From <i>Arizona Nights</i>. Reprinted by special permission of
+publisher and author. Copyright, 1907, by Doubleday, Page and
+Company.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> From <i>The Crimson Garden</i>. Copyright, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1916,
+by Harper and Brothers. Reprinted by special permission of
+publisher and author.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> From <i>Lost Face</i>. Copyright, 1910, by the Macmillan Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of the publisher.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> From <i>A Man For the Ages</i>. Copyright, 1919, by the Bobbs-Merrill
+Company. Used by special permission of the publishers.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> From <i>Bar-20 Days</i>. Copyright, 1911, by A. C. McClurg and
+Company. Reprinted by special permission of author and
+publisher.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Copyright, 1913, by the Century Company. Reprinted by
+special permission of the author.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> One of a number of stories from book bearing same title,
+<i>The Night Operator</i>. Copyright, 1919, by George H. Doran Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of publisher and author.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> From <i>Black Rock</i>. Reprinted by special permission of publisher,
+The Fleming H. Revell Company.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>
+<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p>
+<p>Words that have varied hyphenation: a-way, clean-cut, camp-fire, east-bound, round-house.</p>
+<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Franklin K. Mathiews
+
+Release Date: August 29, 2008 [EBook #26475]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAMPFIRE STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK OF CAMPFIRE STORIES
+
+[Illustration: THERE, STANDING KNEE-DEEP IN THE WATER, WAS THE BIGGEST
+AND BLACKEST MOOSE IN THE WORLD]
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS BOOK OF CAMPFIRE STORIES
+
+          EDITED
+          WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
+
+BY
+
+FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS
+
+          CHIEF SCOUT LIBRARIAN,
+          BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
+
+PUBLISHED FOR
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY
+          INCORPORATED
+          NEW YORK             1933
+
+
+
+          COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
+
+          D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+          All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof,
+          must not be reproduced in any form without
+          permission of the publishers.
+
+          PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
+
+THE campfire for ages has been the place of council and friendship and
+story-telling. The mystic glow of the fire quickens the mind, warms the
+heart, awakens memories of happy, glowing tales that fairly leap to the
+lips. The Boy Scouts of America has incorporated the "campfire" in its
+program for council and friendship and story-telling. In one volume, the
+_Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories_ makes available to scoutmasters
+and other leaders a goodly number of stories worthy of their attention,
+and when well told likely to arrest and hold the interest of boys in
+their early teens, when "stirs the blood--to bubble in the veins."
+
+At this time, when the boy is growing so rapidly in brain and body, he
+can have no better teacher than some mighty woodsman. Now should be
+presented to him stirring stories of the adventurous lives of men who
+live in and love the out-of-doors. Says Professor George Walter Fiske:
+"Let him emulate savage woodcraft; the woodsman's keen, practiced
+vision; his steadiness of nerve; his contempt for pain, hardship and the
+weather; his power of endurance, his observation and heightened senses;
+his delight in out-of-door sports and joys and unfettered happiness with
+untroubled sleep under the stars; his calmness, self-control, emotional
+steadiness; his utter faithfulness in friendships; his honesty, his
+personal bravery."
+
+The Editor likes to think that quite a few of the stories found in the
+_Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories_ present companions for the mind
+of this hardy sort, and hopes, whether boys read or are told these
+stories, they will prove to be such as exalt and inspire while they
+thrill and entertain.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                            PAGE
+        INTRODUCTION                                                    v
+     I. SILVERHORNS                                  _Henry van Dyke_   1
+    II. WILD HORSE HUNTER                                 _Zane Grey_  21
+   III. HYDROPHOBIC SKUNK                             _Irvin S. Cobb_  90
+    IV. THE OLE VIRGINIA                       _Stewart Edward White_ 100
+     V. THE WEIGHT OF OBLIGATION                          _Rex Beach_ 108
+    VI. THAT SPOT                                       _Jack London_ 140
+   VII. WHEN LINCOLN LICKED A BULLY                _Irving Bacheller_ 155
+  VIII. THE END OF THE TRAIL                    _Clarence E. Mulford_ 180
+    IX. DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS                     _Ellis Parker Butler_ 201
+     X. THE NIGHT OPERATOR                         _Frank L. Packard_ 218
+    XI. CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP                 _Ralph Connor_ 258
+   XII. THE STORY THAT THE KEG TOLD ME _Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray_ 275
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.--Silverhorns[1]
+
+_By Henry van Dyke_
+
+
+THE railway station of Bathurst, New Brunswick, did not look
+particularly merry at two o'clock of a late September morning. There was
+an easterly haze driving in from the Baie des Chaleurs and the darkness
+was so saturated with chilly moisture that an honest downpour of rain
+would have been a relief. Two or three depressed and somnolent travelers
+yawned in the waiting room, which smelled horribly of smoky lamps. The
+telegraph instrument in the ticket office clicked spasmodically for a
+minute, and then relapsed into a gloomy silence. The imperturbable
+station master was tipped back against the wall in a wooden armchair,
+with his feet on the table, and his mind sunk in an old Christmas number
+of the _Cowboy Magazine_. The express agent, in the baggage-room, was
+going over his last week's waybills and accounts by the light of a
+lantern, trying to locate an error, and sighing profanely to himself as
+he failed to find it. A wooden trunk tied with rope, a couple of dingy
+canvas bags, a long box marked "Fresh Fish! Rush!" and two large leather
+portmanteaus with brass fittings were piled on the luggage truck at the
+far end of the platform; and beside the door of the waiting room,
+sheltered by the overhanging eaves, was a neat traveling bag, with a gun
+case and a rod case leaning against the wall. The wet rails glittered
+dimly northward and southward away into the night. A few blurred lights
+glimmered from the village across the bridge.
+
+Dudley Hemenway had observed all these features of the landscape with
+silent dissatisfaction, as he smoked steadily up and down the platform,
+waiting for the Maritime Express. It is usually irritating to arrive at
+the station on time for a train on the Intercolonial Railway. The
+arrangement is seldom mutual; and sometimes yesterday's train does not
+come along until to-morrow afternoon. Moreover, Hemenway was inwardly
+discontented with the fact that he was coming out of the woods instead
+of going in. "Coming out" always made him a little unhappy, whether his
+expedition had been successful or not. He did not like the thought that
+it was all over; and he had the very bad habit, at such times, of
+looking ahead and computing the slowly lessening number of chances that
+were left to him.
+
+"Sixty odd years--I may get to be that old and keep my shooting sight,"
+he said to himself. "That would give me a couple of dozen more camping
+trips. It's a short allowance. I wonder if any of them will be more
+lucky than this one. This makes the seventh year I've tried to get a
+moose; and the odd trick has gone against me every time."
+
+He tossed away the end of his cigar, which made a little trail of sparks
+as it rolled along the sopping platform, and turned to look in through
+the window of the ticket office. Something in the agent's attitude of
+literary absorption aggravated him. He went round to the door and opened
+it.
+
+"Don't you know or care when this train is coming?"
+
+"Nope," said the man placidly.
+
+"Well, when? What's the matter with her? When is she due?"
+
+"Doo twenty minits ago," said the man. "Forty minits late down to
+Moocastle. Git here quatter to three, ef nothin' more happens."
+
+"But what has happened? What's wrong with the beastly old road, anyhow?"
+
+"Freight car skipped the track," said the man, "up to Charlo. Everythin'
+hung up an' kinder goin' slow till they git the line clear. Dunno
+nothin' more."
+
+With this conclusive statement the agent seemed to disclaim all
+responsibility for the future of impatient travelers, and dropped his
+mind back into the magazine again. Hemenway lit another cigar and went
+into the baggage room to smoke with the expressman. It was nearly three
+o'clock when they heard the far-off shriek of the whistle sounding up
+from the south; then, after an interval, the puffing of the engine on
+the upgrade; then the faint ringing of the rails, the increasing clatter
+of the train, and the blazing headlight of the locomotive swept slowly
+through the darkness, past the platform. The engineer was leaning on one
+arm, with his head out of the cab window, and Hemenway nodded as he
+passed and hurried into the ticket office, where the ticktack of a
+conversation by telegraph was soon under way. The black porter of the
+Pullman car was looking out from the vestibule, and when he saw Hemenway
+his sleepy face broadened into a grin reminiscent of many generous tips.
+
+"Howdy, Mr. Hennigray," he cried; "glad to see yo' ag'in, sah! I got yo'
+section all right, sah! Lemme take yo' things, sah! Train gwine to stop
+hy'eh fo' some time yet, I reckon."
+
+"Well, Charles," said Hemenway, "you take my things and put them in the
+car. Careful with that gun now! The Lord only knows how much time this
+train's going to lose. I'm going ahead to see the engineer."
+
+Angus McLeod was a grizzle-bearded Scotchman who had run a locomotive on
+the Intercolonial ever since the road was cut through the woods from New
+Brunswick to Quebec. Every one who traveled often on that line knew him,
+and all who knew him well enough to get below his rough crust, liked
+him for his big heart.
+
+"Hallo, McLeod," said Hemenway as he came up through the darkness, "is
+that you?"
+
+"It's nane else," answered the engineer as he stepped down from his cab
+and shook hands warmly. "Hoo are ye, Dud, an' whaur hae ye been
+murderin' the innocent beasties noo? Hae ye kilt yer moose yet? Ye've
+been chasin' him these mony years."
+
+"Not much murdering," replied Hemenway. "I had a queer trip this
+time--away up the Nepisiguit, with old McDonald. You know him, don't
+you?"
+
+"Fine do I ken Rob McDonald, an' a guid mon he is. Hoo was it that ye
+couldna slaughter stacks o' moose wi' him to help ye? Did ye see nane at
+all?"
+
+"Plenty, and one with the biggest horns in the world! But that's a long
+story, and there's no time to tell it now."
+
+"Time to burrn, Dud, nae fear o' it! 'Twill be an hour afore the line's
+clear to Charlo an' they lat us oot o' this. Come awa' up into the cab,
+mon, an' tell us yer tale. 'Tis couthy an' warm in the cab, an' I'm
+willin' to leesten to yer bluidy advaintures."
+
+So the two men clambered up into the engineer's seat. Hemenway gave
+McLeod his longest and strongest cigar, and filled his own briar-wood
+pipe. The rain was now pattering gently on the roof of the cab. The
+engine hissed and sizzled patiently in the darkness. The fragrant smoke
+curled steadily from the glowing tip of the cigar; but the pipe went out
+half a dozen times while Hemenway was telling the story of Silverhorns.
+
+"We went up the river to the big rock, just below Indian Falls. There we
+made our main camp, intending to hunt on Forty-two Mile Brook. There's
+quite a snarl of ponds and bogs at the head of it, and some burned hills
+over to the west, and it's very good moose country.
+
+"But some other party had been there before us, and we saw nothing on
+the ponds, except two cow moose and a calf. Coming out the next morning
+we got a fine deer on the old wood road--a beautiful head. But I have
+plenty of deer heads already."
+
+"Bonny creature!" said McLeod. "An' what did ye do wi' it, when ye had
+murdered it?"
+
+"Ate it, of course. I gave the head to Billy Boucher, the cook. He said
+he could get ten dollars for it. The next evening we went to one of the
+ponds again, and Injun Pete tried to 'call' a moose for me. But it was
+no good. McDonald was disgusted with Pete's calling; said it sounded
+like the bray of a wild ass of the wilderness. So the next day we gave
+up calling and traveled the woods over toward the burned hills.
+
+"In the afternoon McDonald found an enormous moose-track; he thought it
+looked like a bull's track, though he wasn't quite positive. But then,
+you know, a Scotchman never likes to commit himself, except about
+theology or politics."
+
+"Humph!" grunted McLeod in the darkness, showing that the strike had
+counted.
+
+"Well, we went on, following that track through the woods, for an hour
+or two. It was a terrible country, I tell you: tamarack swamps, and
+spruce thickets, and windfalls, and all kinds of misery. Presently we
+came out on a bare rock on the burned hillside, and there, across a
+ravine, we could see the animal lying down, just below the trunk of a
+big dead spruce that had fallen. The beast's head and neck were hidden
+by some bushes, but the fore shoulder and side were in clear view, about
+two hundred and fifty yards away. McDonald seemed to be inclined to
+think that it was a bull and that I ought to shoot. So I shot, and
+knocked splinters out of the spruce log. We could see them fly. The
+animal got up quickly, and looked at us for a moment, shaking her long
+ears; then the huge unmitigated cow vamoosed into the brush. McDonald
+remarked that it was 'a varra fortunate shot, almaist providaintial!'
+And so it was; for if it had gone six inches lower, and the news gotten
+out at Bathurst, it would have cost me a fine of two hundred dollars."
+
+"Ye did weel, Dud," puffed McLeod; "varra weel indeed--for the coo!"
+
+"After that," continued Hemenway, "of course my nerve was a little
+shaken, and we went back to the main camp on the river, to rest over
+Sunday. That was all right, wasn't it, Mac!"
+
+"Aye!" replied McLeod, who was a strict member of the Presbyterian
+church at Moncton. "That was surely a varra safe thing to do. Even a
+hunter, I'm thinkin', wouldna like to be breakin' twa commandments in
+the ane day--the foorth and the saxth!"
+
+"Perhaps not. It's enough to break one, as you do once a fortnight when
+you run your train into Riviere du Loup Sunday morning. How's that, you
+old Calvinist?"
+
+"Dudley, ma son," said the engineer, "dinna airgue a point that ye canna
+understond. There's guid an' suffeecient reasons for the train. But
+ye'll ne'er be claimin' that moose huntin' is a wark o' necessity or
+maircy?"
+
+"No, no, of course not; but then, you see, barring Sundays, we felt that
+it was necessary to do all we could to get a moose, just for the sake of
+our reputations. Billy, the cook, was particularly strong about it. He
+said that an old woman in Bathurst, a kind of fortune teller, had told
+him that he was going to have 'la bonne chance' on this trip. He wanted
+to try his own mouth at 'calling.' He had never really done it before.
+But he had been practicing all winter in imitation of a tame cow moose
+that Johnny Moreau had, and he thought he could make the sound 'b'en
+bon.' So he got the birch-bark horn and gave us a sample of his skill.
+McDonald told me privately that it was 'nae sa bad; a deal better than
+Pete's feckless bellow.' We agreed to leave the Indian to keep the camp
+(after locking up the whisky flask in my bag), and take Billy with us on
+Monday to 'call' at Hogan's Pond.
+
+"It's a small bit of water, about three quarters of a mile long and four
+hundred yards across, and four miles back from the river. There is no
+trail to it, but a blazed line runs part of the way, and for the rest
+you follow up the little brook that runs out of the pond. We stuck up
+our shelter in a hollow on the brook, half a mile below the pond, so
+that the smoke of our fire would not drift over the hunting ground, and
+waited till five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we went up to the pond,
+and took our position in a clump of birch trees on the edge of the open
+meadow that runs round the east shore. Just at dark Billy began to call,
+and it was beautiful. You know how it goes. Three short grunts, and then
+a long ooooo-aaaa-ooooh, winding up with another grunt! It sounded
+lonelier than a love-sick hippopotamus on the house top. It rolled and
+echoed over the hills as if it would wake the dead.
+
+"There was a fine moon shining, nearly full, and a few clouds floating
+by. Billy called, and called, and called again. The air grew colder and
+colder; light frost on the meadow grass; our teeth were chattering,
+fingers numb.
+
+"Then we heard a bull give a short bawl, away off to the southward.
+Presently we could hear his horns knock against the trees, far up on
+the hill. McDonald whispered, 'He's comin',' and Billy gave another
+call.
+
+"But it was another bull that answered, back of the north end of the
+pond, and pretty soon we could hear him rapping along through the woods.
+Then everything was still. 'Call agen,' says McDonald, and Billy called
+again.
+
+"This time the bawl came from another bull, on top of the western hill,
+straight across the pond. It seemed to start up the other two bulls, and
+we could hear all three of them thrashing along, as fast as they could
+come, towards the pond. 'Call agen, a wee one,' says McDonald, trembling
+with joy. And Billy called a little seducing call, with two grunts at
+the end.
+
+"Well, sir, at that, a cow and a calf came rushing down through the
+brush not two hundred yards away from us, and the three bulls went
+splash into the water, one at the south end, one at the north end, and
+one on the west shore. 'Land,' whispers McDonald, 'it's a meenadgerie!'"
+
+"Dud," said the engineer, getting down to open the furnace door a crack,
+"this is mair than murder ye're comin' at; it's a buitchery--or else
+it's juist a pack o' lees."
+
+"I give you my word," said Hemenway, "it's all true as the catechism.
+But let me go on. The cow and the calf only stayed in the water a few
+minutes, and then ran back through the woods. But the three bulls went
+sloshing around in the pond as if they were looking for something. We
+could hear them, but we could not see any of them, for the sky had
+clouded up, and they kept far away from us. Billy tried another short
+call, but they did not come any nearer. McDonald whispered that he
+thought the one in the south end might be the biggest, and he might be
+feeding, and the two others might be young bulls, and they might be
+keeping away because they were afraid of the big one. This seemed
+reasonable; and I said that I was going to crawl around the meadow to
+the south end. 'Keep near a tree,' says Mac; and I started.
+
+"There was a deep trail, worn by animals, through the high grass; and in
+this I crept along on my hands and knees. It was very wet and muddy. My
+boots were full of cold water. After ten minutes I came to a little
+point running out into the pond, and one young birch growing on it.
+Under this I crawled, and rising up on my knees looked over the top of
+the grass and bushes.
+
+"There, in a shallow bay, standing knee-deep in the water, and rooting
+up the lily stems with his long, pendulous nose, was the biggest and
+blackest bull moose in the world. As he pulled the roots from the mud
+and tossed up his dripping head I could see his horns--four and a half
+feet across, if they were an inch, and the palms shining like tea trays
+in the moonlight. I tell you, old Silverhorns was the most beautiful
+monster I ever saw.
+
+"But he was too far away to shoot by that dim light, so I left my birch
+tree and crawled along toward the edge of the bay. A breath of wind must
+have blown across me to him, for he lifted his head, sniffed, grunted,
+came out of the water, and began to trot slowly along the trail which
+led past me. I knelt on one knee and tried to take aim. A black cloud
+came over the moon. I couldn't see either of the sights on the gun. But
+when the bull came opposite to me, about fifty yards off, I blazed away
+at a venture.
+
+"He reared straight up on his hind legs--it looked as if he rose fifty
+feet in the air--wheeled, and went walloping along the trail, around the
+south end of the pond. In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by,
+Silverhorns!"
+
+"Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a fresh cigar. "Fegs!
+Ah doot Sir Walter himsel' couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the
+way ye didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm joyfu' to be
+hearin'."
+
+"Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not the end, by a long shot.
+There's worse to follow. The next morning we returned to the pond at
+day-break, for McDonald thought I might have wounded the moose. We
+searched the bushes and the woods where he went out very carefully,
+looking for drops of blood on his trail."
+
+"Bluid!" groaned the engineer. "Hech, mon, wouldna that come nigh to
+mak' ye greet, to find the beast's red bluid splashed over the leaves,
+and think o' him staggerin' on thro' the forest, drippin' the heart oot
+o' him wi' every step?"
+
+"But we didn't find any blood, you old sentimentalist. That shot in the
+dark was a clear miss. We followed the trail by broken bushes and
+footprints, for half a mile, and then came back to the pond and turned
+to go down through the edge of the woods to the camp.
+
+"It was just after sunrise. I was walking a few yards ahead, McDonald
+next, and Billy last. Suddenly he looked around to the left, gave a low
+whistle and dropped to the ground, pointing northward. Away at the head
+of the pond, beyond the glitter of the sun on the water, the big
+blackness of Silverhorns' head and body was pushing through the bushes,
+dripping with dew.
+
+"Each of us flopped down behind the nearest shrub as if we had been
+playing squat tag. Billy had the birch-bark horn with him, and he gave a
+low, short call. Silverhorns heard it, turned, and came parading slowly
+down the western shore, now on the sand beach, now splashing through the
+shallow water. We could see every motion and hear every sound. He
+marched along as if he owned the earth, swinging his huge head from side
+to side and grunting at each step.
+
+"You see, we were just in the edge of the woods, strung along the south
+end of the pond, Billy nearest the west shore, where the moose was
+walking, McDonald next, and I last, perhaps fifteen yards farther to
+the east. It was a fool arrangement, but we had no time to think about
+it. McDonald whispered that I should wait until the moose came close to
+us and stopped.
+
+"So I waited. I could see him swagger along the sand and step out around
+the fallen logs. The nearer he came the bigger his horns looked; each
+palm was like an enormous silver fish fork with twenty prongs. Then he
+went out of my sight for a minute as he passed around a little bay in
+the southwest corner, getting nearer and nearer to Billy. But I could
+still hear his steps distinctly--slosh, slosh, slosh--thud, thud, thud
+(the grunting had stopped)--closer came the sound, until it was directly
+behind the dense green branches of a fallen balsam tree, not twenty feet
+away from Billy. Then suddenly the noise ceased. I could hear my own
+heart pounding at my ribs, but nothing else. And of Silverhorns not hair
+nor hide was visible. It looked as if he must be a Boojum, and had the
+power to 'softly and silently vanish away.'
+
+"Billy and Mac were beckoning to me fiercely and pointing to the green
+balsam top. I gripped my rifle and started to creep toward them. A
+little twig, about as thick as the tip of a fishing rod, cracked under
+my knee. There was a terrible crash behind the balsam, a plunging
+through the underbrush and a rattling among the branches, a lumbering
+gallop up the hill through the forest, and Silverhorns was gone into the
+invisible.
+
+"He had stopped behind the tree because he smelled the grease on
+Billy's boots. As he stood there, hesitating, Billy and Mac could see
+his shoulder and his side through a gap in the branches--a dead-easy
+shot. But so far as I was concerned, he might as well have been in
+Alaska. I told you that the way we had placed ourselves was a fool
+arrangement. But McDonald would not say anything about it, except to
+express his conviction that it was not predestinated we should get that
+moose."
+
+"Ah dinna ken ould Rob had sae much theology aboot him," commented
+McLeod. "But noo I'm thinkin' ye went back to yer main camp, an' lat
+puir Seelverhorrns live oot his life?"
+
+"Not much, did we! For now we knew that he wasn't badly frightened by
+the adventure of the night before, and that we might get another chance
+at him. In the afternoon it began to rain; and it poured for forty-eight
+hours. We covered in our shelter before a smoky fire, and lived on short
+rations of crackers and dried prunes--it was a hungry time."
+
+"But wasna there slathers o' food at the main camp? Ony fule wad ken
+enough to gae doon to the river an' tak' a guid fill-up."
+
+"But that wasn't what we wanted. It was Silverhorns. Billy and I made
+McDonald stay, and Thursday afternoon, when the clouds broke away, we
+went back to the pond to have a last try at turning our luck.
+
+"This time we took our positions with great care, among some small
+spruces on a joint that ran out from the southern meadow. I was farthest
+to the west; McDonald (who had also brought his gun) was next; Billy,
+with the horn, was farthest away from the point where he thought the
+moose would come out. So Billy began to call, very beautifully. The long
+echoes went bellowing over the hills. The afternoon was still and the
+setting sun shone through a light mist, like a ball of red gold.
+
+"Fifteen minutes after sundown Silverhorns gave a loud bawl from the
+western ridge and came crashing down the hill. He cleared the bushes two
+or three hundred yards to our left with a leap, rushed into the pond,
+and came wading around the south shore toward us. The bank here was
+rather high, perhaps four feet above the water, and the mud below it was
+deep, so that the moose sank in to his knees. I give you my word, as he
+came along there was nothing visible to Mac and me except his ears and
+his horns. Everything else was hidden below the bank.
+
+"There were we behind our little spruce trees. And there was
+Silverhorns, standing still now, right in front of us. And all that Mac
+and I could see were those big ears and those magnificent antlers,
+appearing and disappearing as he lifted and lowered his head. It was a
+fearful situation. And there was Billy, with his birch-bark hooter,
+forty yards below us--he could see the moose perfectly.
+
+"I looked at Mac, and he looked at me. He whispered something about
+predestination. Then Billy lifted his horn and made ready to give a
+little soft grunt, to see if the moose wouldn't move along a bit, just
+to oblige us. But as Billy drew in his breath, one of those fool flies
+that are always blundering around a man's face flew straight down his
+throat. Instead of a call he burst out with a furious, strangling fit of
+coughing. The moose gave a snort, and a wild leap in the water, and
+galloped away under the bank, the way he had come. Mac and I both fired
+at his vanishing ears and horns, but of course----"
+
+"All Aboooard!" The conductor's shout rang along the platform.
+
+"Line's clear," exclaimed McLeod, rising. "Noo we'll be off! Wull ye
+stay here wi' me, or gang awa' back to yer bed?"
+
+"Here," answered Hemenway, not budging from his place on the bench.
+
+The bell clanged, and the powerful machine puffed out on its flaring way
+through the night. Faster and faster came the big explosive breaths,
+until they blended in a long steady roar, and the train was sweeping
+northward at forty miles an hour. The clouds had broken; the night had
+grown colder; the gibbous moon gleamed over the vast and solitary
+landscape. It was a different thing to Hemenway, riding in the cab of
+the locomotive, from an ordinary journey in the passenger car or an
+unconscious ride in the sleeper. Here he was on the crest of motion, at
+the forefront of speed, and the quivering engine with the long train
+behind it seemed like a living creature leaping along the track. It
+responded to the labor of the fireman and the touch of the engineer
+almost as if it could think and feel. Its pace quickened without a jar;
+its great eye pierced the silvery space of moonlight with a shaft of
+blazing yellow; the rails sang before it and trembled behind it; it was
+an obedient and joyful monster, conquering distance and devouring
+darkness.
+
+On the wide level barrens beyond the Tete-a-Gouche River the locomotive
+reached its best speed, purring like a huge cat and running smoothly.
+McLeod leaned back on his bench with a satisfied air.
+
+"She's doin' fine, the nicht," said he. "Ah'm thinkin', whiles, o' yer
+auld Seelverhorrns. Whaur is he noo? Awa' up on Higan' Pond, gallantin'
+around i' the licht o' the mune wi' a lady moose, an' the gladness juist
+bubblin' in his hairt. Ye're no sorry that he's leevin' yet, are ye,
+Dud?"
+
+"Well," answered Hemenway slowly, between the puffs of his pipe, "I
+can't say I'm sorry that he's alive and happy, though I'm not glad that
+I lost him. But he did his best, the old rogue; he played a good game,
+and he deserved to win. Where he is now nobody can tell. He was
+traveling like a streak of lightning when I last saw him. By this time
+he may be----"
+
+"What's yon?" cried McLeod, springing up. Far ahead, in the narrow apex
+of the converging rails stood a black form, motionless, mysterious.
+McLeod grasped the whistle cord. The black form loomed higher in the
+moonlight and was clearly silhouetted against the horizon--a big moose
+standing across the track. They could see his grotesque head, his
+shadowy horns, high, sloping shoulders. The engineer pulled the cord.
+The whistle shrieked loud and long.
+
+The moose turned and faced the sound. The glare of the headlight
+fascinated, challenged, angered him. There he stood defiant, front feet
+planted wide apart, head lowered, gazing steadily at the unknown enemy
+that was rushing toward him. He was the monarch of the wilderness. There
+was nothing in the world that he feared, except those strange-smelling
+little beasts on two legs who crept around through the woods and shot
+fire out of sticks. This was surely not one of those treacherous
+animals, but some strange new creature that dared to shriek at him and
+try to drive him out of its way. He would not move. He would try his
+strength against this big yellow-eyed beast.
+
+"Losh!" cried McLeod; "he's gaun' to fecht us!" and he dropped the cord,
+grabbed the levers, and threw the steam off and the brakes on hard. The
+heavy train slid groaning and jarring along the track. The moose never
+stirred. The fire smoldered in his small narrow eyes. His black crest
+was bristling. As the engine bore down upon him, not a rod away, he
+reared high in the air, his antlers flashing in the blaze, and struck
+full at the headlight with his immense fore feet. There was a shattering
+of glass, a crash, a heavy shock, and the train slid on through the
+darkness, lit only by the moon.
+
+Thirty or forty yards beyond, the momentum was exhausted and the engine
+came to a stop. Hemenway and McLeod clambered down and ran back, with
+the other trainmen and a few of the passengers. The moose was lying in
+the ditch beside the track, stone dead and frightfully shattered. But
+the great head and the vast spreading antlers were intact.
+
+"Seelverhorrns, sure enough!" said McLeod, bending over him. "He was
+crossin' frae the Nepisiguit to the Jacquet; but he didna get across.
+Weel, Dud, are ye glad? Ye hae kilt yer first moose!"
+
+"Yes," said Hemenway, "it's my first moose. But it's your first moose,
+too. And I think it's our last. Ye gods, what a fighter!"
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[1] From _Days Off_. Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Used
+by permission of the publishers.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+II.--The Wild-Horse Hunter[2]
+
+_By Zane Grey_
+
+
+I
+
+THREE wild-horse hunters made camp one night beside a little stream in
+the Sevier Valley, five hundred miles, as a crow flies, from Bostil's
+Ford.
+
+These hunters had a poor outfit, excepting, of course, their horses.
+They were young men, rangy in build, lean and hard from life in the
+saddle, bronzed like Indians, still-faced, and keen-eyed. Two of them
+appeared to be tired out, and lagged at the camp-fire duties. When the
+meager meal was prepared they sat, cross-legged, before a ragged
+tarpaulin, eating and drinking in silence.
+
+The sky in the west was rosy, slowly darkening. The valley floor
+billowed away, ridged and cut, growing gray and purple and dark. Walls
+of stone, pink with the last rays of the setting sun, inclosed the
+valley, stretching away toward a long, low, black mountain range.
+
+The place was wild, beautiful, open, with something nameless that made
+the desert different from any other country. It was, perhaps, a
+loneliness of vast stretches of valley and stone, clear to the eye, even
+after sunset. That black mountain range, which looked close enough to
+ride to before dark, was a hundred miles distant.
+
+The shades of night fell swiftly, and it was dark by the time the
+hunters finished the meal. Then the camp fire had burned low. One of the
+three dragged branches of dead cedars and replenished the fire. Quickly
+it flared up, with the white flame and crackle characteristic of dry
+cedar. The night wind had risen, moaning through the gnarled, stunted
+cedars near by, and it blew the fragrant wood smoke into the faces of
+the two hunters, who seemed too tired to move.
+
+"I reckon a pipe would help me make up my mind," said one.
+
+"Wal, Bill," replied the other, dryly, "your mind's made up, else you'd
+not say smoke."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because there ain't three pipefuls of thet precious tobacco left."
+
+"Thet's one apiece, then. . . . Lin, come an' smoke the last pipe with
+us."
+
+The tallest of the three, he who had brought the firewood, stood in the
+bright light of the blaze. He looked the born rider, light, lithe,
+powerful.
+
+"Sure, I'll smoke," he replied.
+
+Then, presently, he accepted the pipe tendered him, and, sitting down
+beside the fire, he composed himself to the enjoyment which his
+companions evidently considered worthy of a decision they had reached.
+
+"So this smokin' means you both want to turn back?" queried Lin, his
+sharp gaze glancing darkly bright in the glow of the fire.
+
+"Yep, we'll turn back. An', Gee! the relief I feel!" replied one.
+
+"We've been long comin' to it, Lin, an' thet was for your sake," replied
+the other.
+
+Lin slowly pulled at his pipe and blew out the smoke as if reluctant to
+part with it. "Let's go on," he said, quietly.
+
+"No. I've had all I want of chasin' thet wild stallion," returned Bill,
+shortly.
+
+The other spread wide his hands and bent an expostulating look upon the
+one called Lin. "We're two hundred miles out," he said. "There's only a
+little flour left in the bag. No coffee! Only a little salt! All the
+hosses except your big Nagger are played out. We're already in strange
+country. An' you know what we've heerd of this an' all to the south.
+It's all canyons, an' somewheres down there is thet awful canyon none of
+our people ever seen. But we've heerd of it. An awful cut-up country."
+
+He finished with a conviction that no one could say a word against the
+common sense of his argument. Lin was silent, as if impressed.
+
+Bill raised a strong, lean, brown hand in a forcible gesture. "We can't
+ketch Wildfire!"
+
+That seemed to him, evidently, a more convincing argument than his
+comrade's.
+
+"Bill is sure right, if I'm wrong, which I ain't," went on the other.
+"Lin, we've trailed thet wild stallion for six weeks. Thet's the longest
+chase he ever had. He's left his old range. He's cut out his band, an'
+left them, one by one. We've tried every trick we know on him. An' he's
+too smart for us. There's a hoss! Why, Lin, we're all but gone to the
+dogs chasin' Wildfire. An' now I'm done, an' I'm glad of it."
+
+There was another short silence, which presently Bill opened his lips to
+break.
+
+"Lin, it makes me sick to quit. I ain't denyin' thet for a long time
+I've had hopes of ketchin' Wildfire. He's the grandest hoss I ever laid
+eyes on. I reckon no man, onless he was an Arab, ever seen as good a
+one. But now thet's neither here nor there. . . . We've got to hit the
+back trail."
+
+"Boys, I reckon I'll stick to Wildfire's tracks," said Lin, in the same
+quiet tone.
+
+Bill swore at him, and the other hunter grew excited and concerned.
+
+"Lin Slone, are you gone plumb crazy over thet red hoss?"
+
+"I--reckon," replied Slone. The working of his throat as he swallowed
+could be plainly seen by his companions.
+
+Bill looked at his ally as if to confirm some sudden understanding
+between them. They took Slone's attitude gravely and they wagged their
+heads doubtfully. . . . It was significant of the nature of riders that
+they accepted his attitude and had consideration for his feelings. For
+them the situation subtly changed. For weeks they had been three
+wild-horse wranglers on a hard chase after a valuable stallion. They had
+failed to get even close to him. They had gone to the limit of their
+endurance and of the outfit, and it was time to turn back. But Slone had
+conceived that strange and rare longing for a horse--a passion
+understood, if not shared, by all riders. And they knew that he would
+catch Wildfire or die in the attempt. From that moment their attitude
+toward Slone changed as subtly as had come the knowledge of his feeling.
+The gravity and gloom left their faces. It seemed they might have
+regretted what they had said about the futility of catching Wildfire.
+They did not want Slone to see or feel the hopelessness of his task.
+
+"I tell you, Lin," said Bill, "your hoss Nagger's as good as when we
+started."
+
+"Aw, he's better," vouchsafed the other rider. "Nagger needed to lose
+some weight. Lin, have you got an extra set of shoes for him?"
+
+"No full set. Only three left," replied Lin, soberly.
+
+"Wal, thet's enough. You can keep Nagger shod. An' _mebbe_ thet red
+stallion will get sore feet an' go lame. Then you'd stand a chance."
+
+"But Wildfire keeps travelin' the valleys--the soft ground," said Slone.
+
+"No matter. He's leavin' the country, an' he's bound to strike sandstone
+sooner or later. Then, by gosh! mebbe he'll wear off them hoofs."
+
+"Say, can't he ring bells offen the rocks?" exclaimed Bill.
+
+"Boys, do you think he's leavin' the country?" inquired Slone,
+anxiously.
+
+"Sure he is," replied Bill. "He ain't the first stallion I've chased off
+the Sevier range. An' I know. It's a stallion thet makes for new
+country, when you push him hard."
+
+"Yep, Lin, he's sure leavin'," added the other comrade. "Why, he's
+traveled a bee line for days! I'll bet he's seen us many a time.
+Wildfire's about as smart as any man. He was born wild, an' his dam was
+born wild, an' there you have it. The wildest of all wild creatures--a
+wild stallion, with the intelligence of a man! A grand hoss, Lin, but
+one thet has killed stallions all over the Sevier range. A wild
+stallion thet's a killer! I never liked him for thet. Could he be
+broke?"
+
+"I'll break him," said Lin Slone, grimly. "It's gettin' him thet's the
+job. I've got patience to break a hoss. But patience can't catch a
+streak of lightnin'."
+
+"Nope; you're right," replied Bill. "If you have some luck you'll get
+him--mebbe. If he wears out his feet, or if you crowd him into a narrow
+canyon, or run him into a bad place where he can't get by you. Thet might
+happen. An' then, with Nagger, you stand a chance. Did you ever tire
+thet hoss?"
+
+"Not yet."
+
+"An' how fur did you ever run him without a break? Why, when we ketched
+thet sorrel last year I rode Nagger myself--thirty miles, most at a hard
+gallop. An' he never turned a hair!"
+
+"I've beat thet," replied Lin. "He could run hard fifty miles--mebbe
+more. Honestly, I never seen him tired yet. If only he was fast!"
+
+"Wal, Nagger ain't so slow, come to think of thet," replied Bill, with a
+grunt. "He's good enough for you not to want another hoss."
+
+"Lin, you're goin' to wear out Wildfire, an' then trap him somehow--is
+thet the plan?" asked the other comrade.
+
+"I haven't any plan. I'll just trail him, like a cougar trails a deer."
+
+"Lin, if Wildfire gives you the slip he'll have to fly. You've got the
+best eyes for tracks of any wrangler in Utah."
+
+Slone accepted the compliment with a fleeting, doubtful smile on his
+dark face. He did not reply, and no more was said by his comrades. They
+rolled with backs to the fire. Slone put on more wood, for the keen wind
+was cold and cutting; and then he lay down, his head on his saddle, with
+a goatskin under him and a saddle blanket over him.
+
+All three were soon asleep. The wind whipped the sand and ashes and
+smoke over the sleepers. Coyotes barked from near in darkness, and from
+the valley ridge came the faint mourn of a hunting wolf. The desert
+night grew darker and colder.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Stewart brothers were wild-horse hunters for the sake of trades and
+occasional sales. But Lin Slone never traded nor sold a horse he had
+captured. The excitement of the game, and the lure of the desert, and
+the love of a horse were what kept him at the profitless work. His type
+was rare in the uplands.
+
+These were the early days of the settlement of Utah, and only a few of
+the hardiest and most adventurous pioneers had penetrated the desert in
+the southern part of that vast upland. And with them came some of that
+wild breed of riders to which Slone and the Stewarts belonged. Horses
+were really more important and necessary than men; and this singular
+fact gave these lonely riders a calling.
+
+Before the Spaniards came there were no horses in the West. Those
+explorers left or lost horses all over the southwest. Many of them were
+Arabian horses of purest blood. American explorers and travelers, at the
+outset of the nineteenth century, encountered countless droves of wild
+horses all over the plains. Across the Grand canyon, however, wild horses
+were comparatively few in number in the early days; and these had
+probably come in by way of California.
+
+The Stewarts and Slone had no established mode of catching wild horses.
+The game had not developed fast enough for that. Every chase of horse or
+drove was different; and once in many attempts they met with success.
+
+A favorite method originated by the Stewarts was to find a water hole
+frequented by the band of horses or the stallion wanted, and to build
+round this hole a corral with an opening for the horses to get in. Then
+the hunters would watch the trap at night, and if the horses went in to
+drink, a gate was closed across the opening.
+
+Another method of the Stewarts was to trail a coveted horse up on a mesa
+or highland, places which seldom had more than one trail of ascent and
+descent, and there block the escape, and cut lines of cedars, into which
+the quarry was run till captured. Still another method, discovered by
+accident, was to shoot a horse lightly in the neck and sting him. This
+last, called creasing, was seldom successful, and for that matter in
+any method ten times as many horses were killed as captured.
+
+Lin Slone helped the Stewarts in their own way, but he had no especial
+liking for their tricks. Perhaps a few remarkable captures of remarkable
+horses had spoiled Slone. He was always trying what the brothers claimed
+to be impossible. He was a fearless rider, but he had the fault of
+saving his mount, and to kill a wild horse was a tragedy for him. He
+would much rather have hunted alone, and he had been alone on the trail
+of the stallion Wildfire when the Stewarts had joined him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lin Slone awoke next morning and rolled out of his blanket at his usual
+early hour. But he was not early enough to say good-by to the Stewarts.
+They were gone.
+
+The fact surprised him and somehow relieved him. They had left him more
+than his share of the outfit, and perhaps that was why they had slipped
+off before dawn. They knew him well enough to know that he would not
+have accepted it. Besides, perhaps they felt a little humiliation at
+abandoning a chase which he chose to keep up. Anyway, they were gone,
+apparently without breakfast.
+
+The morning was clear, cool, with the air dark like that before a storm,
+and in the east, over the steely wall of stone, shone a redness growing
+brighter.
+
+Slone looked away to the west, down the trail taken by his comrades,
+but he saw nothing moving against that cedar-dotted waste.
+
+"Good-by," he said, and he spoke as if he was saying good-by to more
+than comrades.
+
+"I reckon I won't see Sevier Village soon again--an' maybe never," he
+soliloquized.
+
+There was no one to regret him, unless it was old Mother Hall, who had
+been kind to him on those rare occasions when he got out of the
+wilderness. Still, it was with regret that he gazed away across the red
+valley to the west. Slone had no home. His father and mother had been
+lost in the massacre of a wagon train by Indians, and he had been one of
+the few saved and brought to Salt Lake. That had happened when he was
+ten years old. His life thereafter had been hard, and but for his sturdy
+Texas training he might not have survived. The last five years he had
+been a horse hunter in the wild uplands of Nevada and Utah.
+
+Slone turned his attention to the pack of supplies. The Stewarts had
+divided the flour and the parched corn equally, and unless he was
+greatly mistaken they had left him most of the coffee and all of the
+salt.
+
+"Now I hold that decent of Bill an' Abe," said Slone, regretfully. "But
+I could have got along without it better 'n they could."
+
+Then he swiftly set about kindling a fire and getting a meal. In the
+midst of his task a sudden ruddy brightness fell around him. Lin Slone
+paused in his work to look up.
+
+The sun had risen over the eastern wall.
+
+"Ah!" he said, and drew a deep breath.
+
+The cold, steely, darkling sweep of desert had been transformed. It was
+now a world of red earth and gold rocks and purple sage, with everywhere
+the endless straggling green cedars. A breeze whipped in, making the
+fire roar softly. The sun felt warm on his cheek. And at the moment he
+heard the whistle of his horse.
+
+"Good old Nagger!" he said. "I shore won't have to track you this
+mornin'."
+
+Presently he went off into the cedars to find Nagger and the mustang
+that he used to carry a pack. Nagger was grazing in a little open patch
+among the trees, but the pack horse was missing. Slone seemed to know in
+what direction to go to find the trail, for he came upon it very soon.
+The pack horse wore hobbles, but he belonged to the class that could
+cover a great deal of ground when hobbled. Slone did not expect the
+horse to go far, considering that the grass thereabouts was good. But in
+a wild-horse country it was not safe to give any horse a chance. The
+call of his wild brethren was irresistible. Slone, however, found the
+mustang standing quietly in a clump of cedars, and, removing the
+hobbles, he mounted and rode back to camp. Nagger caught sight of him
+and came at his call.
+
+This horse Nagger appeared as unique in his class as Slone was rare
+among riders. Nagger seemed of several colors, though black
+predominated. His coat was shaggy, almost woolly, like that of a sheep.
+He was huge, raw-boned, knotty, long of body and long of leg, with the
+head of a war charger. His build did not suggest speed. There appeared
+to be something slow and ponderous about him, similar to an elephant,
+with the same suggestion of power and endurance.
+
+Slone discarded the pack saddle and bags. The latter were almost empty.
+He roped the tarpaulin on the back of the mustang, and, making a small
+bundle of his few supplies, he tied that to the tarpaulin. His blanket
+he used for a saddle blanket on Nagger. Of the utensils left by the
+Stewarts he chose a couple of small iron pans, with long handles. The
+rest he left. In his saddle bags he had a few extra horseshoes, some
+nails, bullets for his rifle, and a knife with a heavy blade.
+
+"Not a rich outfit for a far country," he mused. Slone did not talk very
+much, and when he did he addressed Nagger and himself simultaneously.
+Evidently he expected a long chase, one from which he would not return,
+and light as his outfit was it would grow too heavy.
+
+Then he mounted and rode down the gradual slope, facing the valley and
+the black, bold, flat mountain to the southeast. Some few hundred yards
+from camp he halted Nagger and bent over in the saddle to scrutinize
+the ground.
+
+The clean-cut track of a horse showed in the bare, hard sand. The hoof
+marks were large, almost oval, perfect in shape, and manifestly they
+were beautiful to Lin Slone. He gazed at them for a long time, and then
+he looked across the dotted red valley up to the vast ridgy steppes,
+toward the black plateau and beyond. It was the look that an Indian
+gives to a strange country. Then Slone slipped off the saddle and knelt
+to scrutinize the horse tracks. A little sand had blown into the
+depressions, and some of it was wet and some of it was dry. He took his
+time about examining it, and he even tried gently blowing other sand
+into the tracks, to compare that with what was already there. Finally he
+stood up and addressed Nagger.
+
+"Reckon we won't have to argue with Abe an' Bill this mornin'," he said,
+with satisfaction. "Wildfire made that track yesterday, before sunup."
+
+Thereupon Slone remounted and put Nagger to a trot. The pack horse
+followed with an alacrity that showed he had no desire for loneliness.
+
+As straight as a bee line Wildfire had left a trail down into the floor
+of the valley. He had not stopped to graze, and he had not looked for
+water. Slone had hoped to find a water hole in one of the deep washes in
+the red earth, but if there had been any water there Wildfire would have
+scented it. He had not had a drink for three days that Slone knew of.
+And Nagger had not drunk for forty hours. Slone had a canvas water bag
+hanging over the pommel, but it was a habit of his to deny himself, as
+far as possible, till his horse could drink also. Like an Indian, Slone
+ate and drank but little.
+
+It took four hours of steady trotting to reach the middle and bottom of
+that wide, flat valley. A network of washes cut up the whole center of
+it, and they were all as dry as bleached bone. To cross these Slone had
+only to keep Wildfire's trail. And it was proof of Nagger's quality that
+he did not have to veer from the stallion's course.
+
+It was hot down in the lowland. The heat struck up, reflected from the
+sand. But it was a March sun, and no more than pleasant to Slone. The
+wind rose, however, and blew dust and sand in the faces of horse and
+rider. Except lizards Slone did not see any living things.
+
+Miles of low greasewood and sparse yellow sage led to the first almost
+imperceptible rise of the valley floor on that side. The distant cedars
+beckoned to Slone. He was not patient, because he was on the trail of
+Wildfire; but, nevertheless, the hours seemed short.
+
+Slone had no past to think about, and the future held nothing except a
+horse, and so his thoughts revolved the possibilities connected with
+this chase of Wildfire. The chase was hopeless in such country as he was
+traversing, and if Wildfire chose to roam around valleys like this one
+Slone would fail utterly. But the stallion had long ago left his band of
+horses, and then, one by one his favorite consorts, and now he was
+alone, headed with unerring instinct for wild, untrammeled ranges. He
+had been used to the pure, cold water and the succulent grass of the
+cold desert uplands. Assuredly he would not tarry in such barren lands
+as these.
+
+For Slone an ever-present and growing fascination lay in Wildfire's
+clear, sharply defined tracks. It was as if every hoof mark told him
+something. Once, far up the interminable ascent, he found on a ridge top
+tracks showing where Wildfire had halted and turned.
+
+"Ha, Nagger!" cried Slone, exultingly. "Look there! He's begun facin'
+about. He's wonderin' if we're still after him. He's worried. . . . But
+we'll keep out of sight--a day behind."
+
+When Slone reached the cedars the sun was low down in the west. He
+looked back across the fifty miles of valley to the colored cliffs and
+walls. He seemed to be above them now, and the cool air, with tang of
+cedar and juniper, strengthened the impression that he had climbed high.
+
+A mile or more ahead of him rose a gray cliff with breaks in it and a
+line of dark cedars or pinyons on the level rims. He believed these
+breaks to be the mouths of canyons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's
+trail led into the mouth of a narrow canyon with very steep and high
+walls. Nagger snorted his perception of water, and the mustang whistled.
+Wildfire's tracks led to a point under the wall where a spring gushed
+forth. There were mountain lion and deer tracks also, as well as those
+of smaller game.
+
+Slone made camp here. The mustang was tired. But Nagger, upon taking a
+long drink, rolled in the grass as if he had just begun the trip. After
+eating, Slone took his rifle and went out to look for deer. But there
+appeared to be none at hand. He came across many lion tracks, and saw,
+with apprehension, where one had taken Wildfire's trail. Wildfire had
+grazed up the canyon, keeping on and on, and he was likely to go miles in
+a night. Slone reflected that as small as were his own chances of
+getting Wildfire, they were still better than those of a mountain lion.
+Wildfire was the most cunning of all animals--a wild stallion; his speed
+and endurance were incomparable; his scent as keen as those animals that
+relied wholly upon scent to warn them of danger; and as for sight, it
+was Slone's belief that no hoofed creature, except the mountain sheep
+used to high altitudes, could see as far as a wild horse.
+
+It bothered Slone a little that he was getting into a lion country.
+Nagger showed nervousness, something unusual for him. Slone tied both
+horses with long halters and stationed them on patches of thick grass.
+Then he put a cedar stump on the fire and went to sleep. Upon awakening
+and going to the spring he was somewhat chagrined to see that deer had
+come down to drink early. Evidently they were numerous. A lion country
+was always a deer country, for the lions followed the deer.
+
+Slone was packed and saddled and on his way before the sun reddened the
+canyon wall. He walked the horses. From time to time he saw signs of
+Wildfire's consistent progress. The canyon narrowed and the walls grew
+lower and the grass increased. There was a decided ascent all the time.
+Slone could find no evidence that the canyon had ever been traveled by
+hunters or Indians. The day was pleasant and warm and still. Every once
+in a while a little breath of wind would bring a fragrance of cedar and
+pinyon, and a sweet hint of pine and sage. At every turn he looked ahead,
+expecting to see the green of pine and the gray of sage. Toward the
+middle of the afternoon, coming to a place where Wildfire had taken to a
+trot, he put Nagger to that gait, and by sundown had worked up to where
+the canyon was only a shallow ravine. And finally it turned once more, to
+lose itself in a level where straggling pines stood high above the
+cedars, and great, dark-green silver spruces stood above the pines. And
+here were patches of sage, fresh and pungent, and long reaches of
+bleached grass. It was the edge of a forest. Wildfire's trail went on.
+Slone came at length to a group of pines, and here he found the remains
+of a camp fire, and some flint arrow-heads. Indians had been in there,
+probably having come from the opposite direction to Slone's. This
+encouraged him, for where Indians could hunt so could he. Soon he was
+entering a forest where cedars and pinyons and pines began to grow
+thickly. Presently he came upon a faintly defined trail, just a dim,
+dark line even to an experienced eye. But it was a trail, and Wildfire
+had taken it.
+
+Slone halted for the night. The air was cold. And the dampness of it
+gave him an idea there were snow banks somewhere not far distant. The
+dew was already heavy on the grass. He hobbled the horses and put a bell
+on Nagger. A bell might frighten lions that had never heard one. Then he
+built a fire and cooked his meal.
+
+It had been long since he had camped high up among the pines. The sough
+of the wind pleased him, like music. There had begun to be prospects of
+pleasant experience along with the toil of chasing Wildfire. He was
+entering new and strange and beautiful country. How far might the chase
+take him? He did not care. He was not sleepy, but even if he had been it
+developed that he must wait till the coyotes ceased their barking round
+his camp fire. They came so close that he saw their gray shadows in the
+gloom. But presently they wearied of yelping at him and went away. After
+that the silence, broken only by the wind as it roared and lulled,
+seemed beautiful to Slone. He lost completely that sense of vague regret
+which had remained with him, and he forgot the Stewarts. And suddenly he
+felt absolutely free, alone, with nothing behind to remember, with wild,
+thrilling, nameless life before him. Just then the long mourn of a
+timber wolf wailed in with the wind. Seldom had he heard the cry of one
+of those night wanderers. There was nothing like it--no sound like it to
+fix in the lone camper's heart the great solitude and the wild.
+
+
+II
+
+In the early morning when all was gray and the big, dark pines were
+shadowy specters, Slone was awakened by the cold. His hands were so numb
+that he had difficulty starting a fire. He stood over the blaze, warming
+them. The air was nipping, clear and thin, and sweet with frosty
+fragrance.
+
+Daylight came while he was in the midst of his morning meal. A white
+frost covered the ground and crackled under his feet as he went out to
+bring in the horses. He saw fresh deer tracks. Then he went back to camp
+for his rifle. Keeping a sharp lookout for game, he continued his search
+for the horses.
+
+The forest was open and parklike. There were no fallen trees or
+evidences of fire. Presently he came to a wide glade in the midst of
+which Nagger and the pack mustang were grazing with a herd of deer. The
+size of the latter amazed Slone. The deer he had hunted back on the
+Sevier range were much smaller than these. Evidently these were mule
+deer, closely allied to the elk. They were so tame they stood facing him
+curiously, with long ears erect. It was sheer murder to kill a deer
+standing and watching like that, but Slone was out of meat and hungry
+and facing a long, hard trip. He shot a buck, which leaped spasmodically
+away, trying to follow the herd, and fell at the edge of the glade.
+Slone cut out a haunch, and then, catching the horses, he returned to
+camp, where he packed and saddled, and at once rode out on the dim
+trail.
+
+The wilderness of the country he was entering was evident in the fact
+that as he passed the glade where he had shot the deer a few minutes
+before, there were coyotes quarreling over the carcass.
+
+Slone could see ahead and on each side several hundred yards, and
+presently he ascertained that the forest floor was not so level as he
+had supposed. He had entered a valley or was traversing a wide, gently
+sloping pass. He went through thickets of juniper, and had to go around
+clumps of quaking asp. The pines grew larger and farther apart. Cedars
+and pinyons had been left behind, and he had met with no silver spruces
+after leaving camp. Probably that point was the height of a divide.
+There were banks of snow in some of the hollows on the north side.
+Evidently the snow had very recently melted, and it was evident also
+that the depth of snow through here had been fully ten feet, judging
+from the mutilation of the juniper trees where the deer, standing on the
+hard, frozen crust, had browsed upon the branches.
+
+The quiet of the forest thrilled Slone. And the only movement was the
+occasional gray flash of a deer or coyote across a glade. No birds of
+any species crossed Slone's sight. He came, presently, upon a lion track
+in the trail, made probably a day before. Slone grew curious about it,
+seeing how it held, as he was holding, to Wildfire's tracks. After a
+mile or so he made sure the lion had been trailing the stallion, and for
+a second he felt a cold contraction of his heart. Already he loved
+Wildfire, and by virtue of all this toil of travel considered the wild
+horse his property.
+
+"No lion could ever get close to Wildfire," he soliloquized, with a
+short laugh. Of that he was absolutely certain.
+
+The sun rose, melting the frost, and a breath of warm air, laden with
+the scent of pine, moved heavily under the huge, yellow trees. Slone
+passed a point where the remains of an old camp fire and a pile of deer
+antlers were further proof that Indians visited this plateau to hunt.
+From this camp broader, more deeply defined trails led away to the south
+and east. Slone kept to the east trail, in which Wildfire's tracks and
+those of the lion showed clearly. It was about the middle of the
+forenoon when the tracks of the stallion and lion left the trail to lead
+up a little draw where grass grew thick. Slone followed, reading the
+signs of Wildfire's progress, and the action of his pursuer, as well as
+if he had seen them. Here the stallion had plowed into a snow bank,
+eating a hole two feet deep; then he had grazed around a little; then on
+and on; there his splendid tracks were deep in the soft earth. Slone
+knew what to expect when the track of the lion veered from those of the
+horse, and he followed the lion tracks. The ground was soft from the
+late melting of snow, and Nagger sunk deep. The lion left a plain track.
+Here he stole steadily along; there he left many tracks at a point where
+he might have halted to make sure of his scent. He was circling on the
+trail of the stallion, with cunning intent of ambush. The end of this
+slow, careful stalk of the lion, as told in his tracks, came upon the
+edge of a knoll where he had crouched to watch and wait. From this perch
+he had made a magnificent spring--Slone estimating it to be forty
+feet--but he had missed the stallion. There were Wildfire's tracks
+again, slow and short, and then deep and sharp where in the impetus of
+fright he had sprung out of reach. A second leap of the lion, and then
+lessening bounds, and finally an abrupt turn from Wildfire's trail told
+the futility of that stalk. Slone made certain that Wildfire was so keen
+that as he grazed along he had kept to open ground.
+
+Wildfire had run for a mile, then slowed down to a trot, and he had
+circled to get back to the trail he had left. Slone believed the horse
+was just so intelligent. At any rate, Wildfire struck the trail again,
+and turned at right angles to follow it.
+
+Here the forest floor appeared perfectly level. Patches of snow became
+frequent, and larger as Slone went on. At length the patches closed up,
+and soon extended as far as he could see. It was soft, affording
+difficult travel. Slone crossed hundreds of deer tracks, and the trail
+he was on evidently became a deer runway.
+
+Presently, far down one of the aisles between the great pines Slone saw
+what appeared to be a yellow cliff, far away. It puzzled him. And as he
+went on he received the impression that the forest dropped out of sight
+ahead. Then the trees grew thicker, obstructing his view. Presently the
+trail became soggy and he had to help his horse. The mustang floundered
+in the soft snow and earth. Cedars and pinyons appeared again, making
+travel still more laborious.
+
+All at once there came to Slone a strange consciousness of light and
+wind and space and void. On the instant his horse halted with a snort.
+Slone quickly looked up. Had he come to the end of the world? An abyss,
+a canyon, yawned beneath him, beyond all comparison in its greatness. His
+keen eye, educated to desert distance and dimension swept down and
+across, taking in the tremendous truth, before it staggered his
+comprehension. But a second sweeping glance, slower, becoming
+intoxicated with what it beheld, saw gigantic cliff steppes and yellow
+slopes dotted with cedars, leading down to clefts filled with purple
+smoke, and these led on and on to a ragged red world of rock, bare,
+shining, bold, uplifted in mesa, dome, peak, and crag, clear and strange
+in the morning light, still and sleeping like death.
+
+This, then, was the great canyon, which had seemed like a hunter's fable
+rather than truth. Slone's sight dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he
+found that his eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away and looked
+again and again, until he was confounded by the vastness and grandeur
+and the vague sadness of the scene. Nothing he had ever looked at had
+affected him like this canyon, although the Stewarts had tried to prepare
+him for it.
+
+It was the horse hunter's passion that reminded him of his pursuit. The
+deer trail led down through a break in the wall. Only a few rods of it
+could be seen. This trail was passable, even though choked with snow.
+But the depth beyond this wall seemed to fascinate Slone and hold him
+back, used as he was to desert trails. Then the clean mark of Wildfire's
+hoof brought back the old thrill.
+
+"This place fits you, Wildfire," muttered Slone, dismounting.
+
+He started down, leading Nagger. The mustang followed. Slone kept to the
+wall side of the trail, fearing the horses might slip. The snow held
+firmly at first and Slone had no trouble. The gap in the rim rock
+widened to a slope thickly grown over with cedars and pinyons and
+manzanita. This growth made the descent more laborious, yet afforded
+means at least for Slone to go down with less danger. There was no
+stopping. Once started, the horses had to keep on. Slone saw the
+impossibility of ever climbing out while that snow was there. The trail
+zigzagged down and down. Very soon the yellow wall hung tremendously
+over him, straight up. The snow became thinner and softer. The horses
+began to slip. They slid on their haunches. Fortunately the slope grew
+less steep, and Slone could see below where it reached out to
+comparatively level ground. Still, a mishap might yet occur. Slone kept
+as close to Nagger as possible, helping him whenever he could do it. The
+mustang slipped, rolled over, and then slipped past Slone, went down the
+slope to bring up in a cedar. Slone worked down to him and extricated
+him. Then the huge Nagger began to slide. Snow and loose rock slid with
+him, and so did Slone. The little avalanche stopped of its own accord,
+and then Slone dragged Nagger on down and down, presently to come to the
+end of the steep descent. Slone looked up to see that he had made short
+work of a thousand-foot slope. Here cedars and pinyons grew thickly
+enough to make a forest. The snow thinned out to patches, and then
+failed. But the going remained bad for a while as the horses sank deep
+in a soft red earth. This eventually grew more solid and finally dry.
+Slone worked out of the cedars to what appeared a grassy plateau
+inclosed by the great green and white slope with its yellow wall
+overhanging, and distant mesas and cliffs. Here his view was restricted.
+He was down on the first bench of the great canyon. And there was the
+deer trail, a well-worn path keeping to the edge of the slope. Slone
+came to a deep cut in the earth, and the trail headed it, where it began
+at the last descent of the slope. It was the source of a canyon. He
+could look down to see the bare, worn rock, and a hundred yards from
+where he stood the earth was washed from its rims and it began to show
+depth and something of that ragged outline which told of violence of
+flood. The trail headed many canyons like this, all running down across
+this bench, disappearing, dropping invisibly. The trail swung to the
+left under the great slope, and then presently it climbed to a higher
+bench. Here were brush and grass and huge patches of sage, so pungent
+that it stung Slone's nostrils. Then he went down again, this time to
+come to a clear brook lined by willows. Here the horses drank long and
+Slone refreshed himself. The sun had grown hot. There was fragrance of
+flowers he could not see and a low murmur of a waterfall that was
+likewise invisible. For most of the time his view was shut off, but
+occasionally he reached a point where through some break he saw towers
+gleaming red in the sun. A strange place, a place of silence, and smoky
+veils in the distance. Time passed swiftly. Toward the waning of the
+afternoon he began to climb what appeared to be a saddle of land,
+connecting the canyon wall on the left with a great plateau, gold-rimmed
+and pine-fringed, rising more and more in his way as he advanced. At
+sunset Slone was more shut in than for several hours. He could tell the
+time was sunset by the golden light on the cliff wall again overhanging
+him. The slope was gradual up to this pass to the saddle, and upon
+coming to a spring and the first pine trees, he decided to halt for
+camp. The mustang was almost exhausted.
+
+Thereupon he hobbled the horses in the luxuriant grass round the spring,
+and then unrolled his pack. Once as dusk came stealing down, while he
+was eating his meal, Nagger whistled in fright. Slone saw a gray,
+pantherish form gliding away into the shadows. He took a quick shot at
+it, but missed.
+
+"It's a lion country, all right," he said. And then he set about
+building a big fire on the other side of the grassy plot, so as to have
+the horses between fires. He cut all the venison into thin strips, and
+spent an hour roasting them. Then he lay down to rest, and he said:
+"Wonder where Wildfire is to-night? Am I closer to him? Where's he
+headin' for?"
+
+The night was warm and still. It was black near the huge cliff, and
+overhead velvety blue, with stars of white fire. It seemed to him that
+he had become more thoughtful and observing of the aspects of his wild
+environment, and he felt a welcome consciousness of loneliness. Then
+sleep came to him and the night seemed short. In the gray dawn he arose
+refreshed.
+
+The horses were restive. Nagger snorted a welcome. Evidently they had
+passed an uneasy night. Slone found lion tracks at the spring and in
+sandy places. Presently he was on his way up to the notch between the
+great wall and the plateau. A growth of thick scrub oak made travel
+difficult. It had not appeared far up to that saddle, but it was far.
+There were straggling pine trees and huge rocks that obstructed his
+gaze. But once up he saw that the saddle was only a narrow ridge, curved
+to slope up on both sides.
+
+Straight before Slone and under him opened the canyon, blazing and
+glorious along the peaks and ramparts, where the rising sun struck,
+misty and smoky and shadowy down in those mysterious depths.
+
+It took an effort not to keep on gazing. But Slone turned to the grim
+business of his pursuit. The trail he saw leading down had been made by
+Indians. It was used probably once a year by them; and also by wild
+animals, and it was exceedingly steep and rough. Wildfire had paced to
+and fro along the narrow ridge of that saddle, making many tracks,
+before he had headed down again. Slone imagined that the great stallion
+had been daunted by the tremendous chasm, but had finally faced it,
+meaning to put this obstacle between him and his pursuers. It never
+occurred to Slone to attribute less intelligence to Wildfire than that.
+So, dismounting, Slone took Nagger's bridle and started down. The
+mustang with the pack was reluctant. He snorted and whistled and pawed
+the earth. But he would not be left alone, so he followed.
+
+The trail led down under cedars that fringed a precipice. Slone was
+aware of this without looking. He attended only to the trail and to his
+horse. Only an Indian could have picked out that course, and it was
+cruel to put a horse to it. But Nagger was powerful, sure-footed, and
+he would go anywhere that Slone led him. Gradually Slone worked down and
+away from the bulging rim wall. It was hard, rough work, and risky
+because it could not be accomplished slowly. Brush and rocks, loose
+shale and weathered slope, long, dusty inclines of yellow earth, and
+jumbles of stone--these made bad going for miles of slow, zigzag trail
+down out of the cedars. Then the trail entered what appeared to be a
+ravine.
+
+That ravine became a canyon. At its head it was a dry wash, full of
+gravel and rocks. It began to cut deep into the bowels of the earth. It
+shut out sight of the surrounding walls and peaks. Water appeared from
+under a cliff and, augmented by other springs, became a brook. Hot, dry,
+and barren at its beginning, this cleft became cool and shady and
+luxuriant with grass and flowers and amber moss with silver blossoms.
+The rocks had changed color from yellow to deep red. Four hours of
+turning and twisting, endlessly down and down, over bowlders and banks
+and every conceivable roughness of earth and rock, finished the pack
+mustang; and Slone mercifully left him in a long reach of canyon where
+grass and water never failed. In this place Slone halted for the noon
+hour, letting Nagger have his fill of the rich grazing. Nagger's three
+days in grassy upland, despite the continuous travel by day, had
+improved him. He looked fat, and Slone had not yet caught the horse
+resting. Nagger was iron to endure. Here Slone left all the outfit
+except what was on his saddle, and the sack containing the few pounds
+of meat and supplies, and the two utensils. This sack he tied on the
+back of his saddle, and resumed his journey.
+
+Presently he came to a place where Wildfire had doubled on his trail and
+had turned up a side canyon. The climb out was hard on Slone, if not on
+Nagger. Once up, Slone found himself upon a wide, barren plateau of
+glaring red rock and clumps of greasewood and cactus. The plateau was
+miles wide, shut in by great walls and mesas of colored rock. The
+afternoon sun beat down fiercely. A blast of wind, as if from a furnace,
+swept across the plateau, and it was laden with red dust. Slone walked
+here, where he could have ridden. And he made several miles of
+up-and-down progress over this rough plateau. The great walls of the
+opposite side of the canyon loomed appreciably closer. What, Slone
+wondered, was at the bottom of this rent in the earth? The great desert
+river was down there, of course, but he knew nothing of it. Would that
+turn back Wildfire? Slone thought grimly how he had always claimed
+Nagger to be part fish and part bird. Wildfire was not going to escape.
+
+By and by only isolated mescal plants with long, yellow-plumed spears
+broke the bare monotony of the plateau. And Slone passed from red sand
+and gravel to a red, soft shale, and from that to hard, red rock. Here
+Wildfire's tracks were lost, the first time in seven weeks. But Slone
+had his direction down that plateau with the cleavage lines of canyons
+to right and left. At times Slone found a vestige of the old Indian
+trail, and this made him doubly sure of being right. He did not need to
+have Wildfire's tracks. He let Nagger pick the way, and the horse made
+no mistake in finding the line of least resistance. But that grew harder
+and harder. This bare rock, like a file, would soon wear Wildfire's
+hoofs thin. And Slone rejoiced. Perhaps somewhere down in this awful
+chasm he and Nagger would have if out with the stallion. Slone began to
+look far ahead, beginning to believe that he might see Wildfire. Twice
+he had seen Wildfire, but only at a distance. Then he had resembled a
+running streak of fire, whence his name, which Slone had given him.
+
+This bare region of rock began to be cut up into gullies. It was
+necessary to head them or to climb in and out. Miles of travel really
+meant little progress straight ahead. But Slone kept on. He was hot and
+Nagger was hot, and that made hard work easier. Sometimes on the wind
+came a low thunder. Was it a storm or an avalanche slipping or falling
+water? He could not tell. The sound was significant and haunting.
+
+Of one thing he was sure--that he could not have found his back trail.
+But he divined he was never to retrace his steps on this journey. The
+stretch of broken plateau before him grew wilder and bolder of outline,
+darker in color, weirder in aspect and progress across it grew slower,
+more dangerous. There were many places Nagger should not have been put
+to--where a slip meant a broken leg. But Slone could not turn back. And
+something besides an indomitable spirit kept him going. Again the sound
+resembling thunder assailed his ears, louder this time. The plateau
+appeared to be ending in a series of great capes or promontories. Slone
+feared he would soon come out upon a promontory from which he might see
+the impossibility of further travel. He felt relieved down in the
+gullies, where he could not see far. He climbed out of one, presently,
+from which there extended a narrow ledge with a slant too perilous for
+any horse. He stepped out upon that with far less confidence than
+Nagger. To the right was a bulge of low wall, and a few feet to the left
+a dark precipice. The trail here was faintly outlined, and it was six
+inches wide and slanting as well. It seemed endless to Slone, that
+ledge. He looked only down at his feet and listened to Nagger's steps.
+The big horse trod carefully, but naturally, and he did not slip. That
+ledge extended in a long curve, turning slowly away from the precipice,
+and ascending a little at the further end. Slone drew a deep breath of
+relief when he led Nagger up on level rock.
+
+Suddenly a strange yet familiar sound halted Slone, as if he had been
+struck. The wild, shrill, high-pitched, piercing whistle of a stallion!
+Nagger neighed a blast in reply and pounded the rock with his iron-shod
+hoofs. With a thrill Slone looked ahead.
+
+There, some few hundred yards distant, on a promontory, stood a red
+horse.
+
+"It's Wildfire!" breathed Slone, tensely.
+
+He could not believe his sight. He imagined he was dreaming. But as
+Nagger stamped and snorted defiance Slone looked with fixed and keen
+gaze, and knew that beautiful picture was no lie.
+
+Wildfire was as red as fire. His long mane, wild in the wind, was like a
+whipping, black-streaked flame. Silhouetted there against that canyon
+background he seemed gigantic, a demon horse, ready to plunge into fiery
+depths. He was looking back over his shoulder, his head very high, and
+every line of him was instinct with wildness. Again he sent out that
+shrill, air-splitting whistle. Slone understood it to be a clarion call
+to Nagger. If Nagger had been alone Wildfire would have killed him. The
+red stallion was a killer of horses. All over the Utah ranges he had
+left the trail of a murderer. Nagger understood this, too, for he
+whistled back in rage and terror. It took an iron arm to hold him. Then
+Wildfire plunged, apparently down, and vanished from Slone's sight.
+
+Slone hurried onward, to be blocked by a huge crack in the rocky
+plateau. This he had to head. And then another and like obstacle checked
+his haste to reach that promontory. He was forced to go more slowly.
+Wildfire had been close only as to sight. And this was the great canyon
+that dwarfed distance and magnified proximity. Climbing down and up,
+toiling on, he at last learned patience. He had seen Wildfire at close
+range. That was enough. So he plodded on, once more returning to careful
+regard of Nagger. It took an hour of work to reach the point where
+Wildfire had disappeared.
+
+A promontory indeed it was, overhanging a valley a thousand feet below.
+A white torrent of a stream wound through it. There were lines of green
+cottonwoods following the winding course. Then Slone saw Wildfire slowly
+crossing the flat toward the stream. He had gone down that cliff, which
+to Slone looked perpendicular.
+
+Wildfire appeared to be walking lame. Slone, making sure of this,
+suffered a pang. Then, when the significance of such lameness dawned
+upon him he whooped his wild joy and waved his hat. The red stallion
+must have heard, for he looked up. Then he went on again and waded into
+the stream, where he drank long. When he started to cross, the swift
+current drove him back in several places. The water wreathed white
+around him. But evidently it was not deep, and finally he crossed. From
+the other side he looked up again at Nagger and Slone, and, going on, he
+soon was out of sight in the cottonwoods.
+
+"How to get down!" muttered Slone.
+
+There was a break in the cliff wall, a bare stone slant where horses had
+gone down and come up. That was enough for Slone to know. He would have
+attempted the descent if he were sure no other horse but Wildfire had
+ever gone down there. But Slone's hair began to rise stiff on his head.
+A horse like Wildfire, and mountain sheep and Indian ponies, were all
+very different from Nagger. The chances were against Nagger.
+
+"Come on, old boy. If I can do it, you can," he said.
+
+Slone had never seen a trail as perilous as this. He was afraid for his
+horse. A slip there meant death. The way Nagger trembled in every muscle
+showed his feelings. But he never flinched. He would follow Slone
+anywhere, providing Slone rode him or led him. And here, as riding was
+impossible, Slone went before. If the horse slipped there would be a
+double tragedy, for Nagger would knock his master off the cliff. Slone
+set his teeth and stepped down. He did not let Nagger see his fear. He
+was taking the greatest risk he had ever run.
+
+The break in the wall led to a ledge, and the ledge dropped from step to
+step, and these had bare, slippery slants between. Nagger was splendid
+on a bad trail. He had methods peculiar to his huge build and great
+weight. He crashed down over the stone steps, both front hoofs at once.
+The slants he slid down on his haunches with his forelegs stiff and the
+iron shoes scraping. He snorted and heaved and grew wet with sweat. He
+tossed his head at some of the places. But he never hesitated and it was
+impossible for him to go slowly. Whenever Slone came to corrugated
+stretches in the trail he felt grateful. But these were few. The rock
+was like smooth red iron. Slone had never seen such hard rock. It took
+him long to realize that it was marble. His heart seemed a tense,
+painful knot in his breast, as if it could not beat, holding back in the
+strained suspense. But Nagger never jerked on the bridle. He never
+faltered. Many times he slipped, often with both front feet, but never
+with all four feet. So he did not fall. And the red wall began to loom
+above Sloan. Then suddenly he seemed brought to a point where it was
+impossible to descend. It was a round bulge, slanting fearfully, with
+only a few rough surfaces to hold a foot. Wildfire had left a broad,
+clear-swept mark at that place, and red hairs on some of the sharp
+points. He had slid down. Below was an offset that fortunately prevented
+further sliding. Slone started to walk down this place, but when Nagger
+began to slide Slone had to let go the bridle and jump. Both he and the
+horse landed safely. Luck was with them. And they went on, down and
+down, to reach the base of the great wall, scraped and exhausted, wet
+with sweat, but unhurt. As Slone gazed upward he felt the impossibility
+of believing what he knew to be true. He hugged and petted the horse.
+Then he led on to the roaring stream.
+
+It was green water white with foam. Slone waded in and found the water
+cool and shallow and very swift. He had to hold to Nagger to keep from
+being swept downstream. They crossed in safety. There in the sand
+showed Wildfire's tracks. And here were signs of another Indian camp,
+half a year old.
+
+The shade of the cotton woods was pleasant. Slone found this valley
+oppressively hot. There was no wind and the sand blistered his feet
+through his boots. Wildfire held to the Indian trail that had guided him
+down into this wilderness of worn rock. And that trail crossed the
+stream at every turn of the twisting, narrow valley. Slone enjoyed
+getting into the water. He hung his gun over the pommel and let the
+water roll him. A dozen times he and Nagger forded the rushing torrent.
+Then they came to a boxlike closing of the valley to canyon walls, and
+here the trail evidently followed the stream bed. There was no other
+way. Slone waded in, and stumbled, rolled, and floated ahead of the
+sturdy horse. Nagger was wet to his breast, but he did not fall. This
+gulch seemed full of a hollow rushing roar. It opened out into a wide
+valley. And Wildfire's tracks took to the left side and began to climb
+the slope.
+
+Here the traveling was good, considering what had been passed. Once up
+out of the valley floor Slone saw Wildfire far ahead, high on the slope.
+He did not appear to be limping, but he was not going fast. Slone
+watched as he climbed. What and where would be the end of this chase?
+
+Sometimes Wildfire was plain in his sight for a moment, but usually he
+was hidden by rocks. The slope was one great talus, a jumble of
+weathered rock, fallen from what appeared a mountain of red and yellow
+wall. Here the heat of the sun fell upon him like fire. The rocks were
+so hot Slone could not touch them with bare hand. The close of the
+afternoon was approaching, and this slope was interminably long. Still,
+it was not steep, and the trail was good.
+
+At last from the height of slope Wildfire appeared, looking back and
+down. Then he was gone. Slone plodded upward. Long before he reached
+that summit he heard the dull rumble of the river. It grew to be a roar,
+yet it seemed distant. Would the great desert river stop Wildfire in his
+flight? Slone doubted it. He surmounted the ridge, to find the canyon
+opening in a tremendous gap, and to see down, far down, a glittering,
+sun-blasted slope merging into a deep, black gulch where a red river
+swept and chafed and roared.
+
+Somehow the river was what he had expected to see. A force that had cut
+and ground this canyon could have been nothing but a river like that. The
+trail led down, and Slone had no doubt that it crossed the river and led
+up out of the canyon. He wanted to stay there and gaze endlessly and
+listen. At length he began the descent. As he proceeded it seemed that
+the roar of the river lessened. He could not understand why this was so.
+It took half an hour to reach the last level, a ghastly, black, and
+iron-ribbed canyon bed, with the river splitting it. He had not had a
+glimpse of Wildfire on this side of the divide, but he found his tracks,
+and they led down off the last level, through a notch in the black bank
+of marble to a sand bar and the river.
+
+Wildfire had walked straight off the sand into the water. Slone studied
+the river and shore. The water ran slow, heavily, in sluggish eddies.
+From far up the canyon came the roar of a rapid, and from below the roar
+of another, heavier and closer. The river appeared tremendous, in ways
+Slone felt rather than realized, yet it was not swift. Studying the
+black, rough wall of rock above him, he saw marks where the river had
+been sixty feet higher than where he stood on the sand. It was low,
+then. How lucky for him that he had gotten there before flood season! He
+believed Wildfire had crossed easily, and he knew Nagger could make it.
+Then he piled and tied his supplies and weapons high on the saddle, to
+keep them dry, and looked for a place to take to the water.
+
+Wildfire had sunk deep before reaching the edge. Manifestly he had
+lunged the last few feet. Slone found a better place, and waded in,
+urging Nagger. The big horse plunged, almost going under, and began to
+swim. Slone kept upstream beside him. He found, presently, that the
+water was thick and made him tired, so it was necessary to grasp a
+stirrup and be towed. The river appeared only a few hundred feet wide,
+but probably it was wider than it looked. Nagger labored heavily near
+the opposite shore; still, he landed safely upon a rocky bank. There
+were patches of sand in which Wildfire's tracks showed so fresh that
+the water had not yet dried out of them.
+
+Slone rested his horse before attempting to climb out of that split in
+the rock. However, Wildfire had found an easy ascent. On this side of
+the canyon the bare rock did not predominate. A clear trail led up a
+dusty, gravelly slope, upon which scant greasewood and cactus appeared.
+Half an hour's climbing brought Slone to where he could see that he was
+entering a vast valley, sloping up and narrowing to a notch in the dark
+cliffs, above which towered the great red wall and about that the slopes
+of cedar and the yellow rim rock.
+
+And scarcely a mile distant, bright in the westering sunlight, shone the
+red stallion, moving slowly.
+
+Slone pressed on steadily. Just before dark he came to an ideal spot to
+camp. The valley had closed up, so that the lofty walls cast shadows
+that met. A clump of cottonwoods surrounding a spring, abundance of rich
+grass, willows and flowers lining the banks, formed an oasis in the bare
+valley. Slone was tired out from the day of ceaseless toil down and up,
+and he could scarcely keep his eyes open. But he tried to stay awake.
+The dead silence of the valley, the dry fragrance, the dreaming walls,
+the advent of night low down, when up on the ramparts the last red rays
+of the sun lingered, the strange loneliness--these were sweet and
+comforting to him.
+
+And that night's sleep was as a moment. He opened his eyes to see the
+crags and towers and peaks and domes, and the lofty walls of that vast,
+broken chaos of canyons across the river. They were now emerging from the
+misty gray of dawn, growing pink and lilac and purple under the rising
+sun.
+
+He arose and set about his few tasks, which, being soon finished,
+allowed him an early start.
+
+Wildfire had grazed along no more than a mile in the lead. Slone looked
+eagerly up the narrowing canyon, but he was not rewarded by a sight of
+the stallion. As he progressed up a gradually ascending trail he became
+aware of the fact that the notch he had long looked up to was where the
+great red walls closed in and almost met. And the trail zigzagged up
+this narrow vent, so steep that only a few steps could be taken without
+rest. Slone toiled up for an hour--an age--till he was wet, burning,
+choked, with a great weight on his chest. Yet still he was only halfway
+up that awful break between the walls. Sometimes he could have tossed a
+stone down upon a part of the trail, only a few rods below, yet many,
+many weary steps of actual toil. As he got farther up the notch widened.
+What had been scarcely visible from the valley below was now colossal in
+actual dimensions. The trail was like a twisted mile of thread between
+two bulging mountain walls leaning their ledges and fronts over this
+tilted pass.
+
+Slone rested often. Nagger appreciated this and heaved gratefully at
+every halt. In this monotonous toil Slone forgot the zest of his
+pursuit. And when Nagger suddenly snorted in fright Slone was not
+prepared for what he saw.
+
+Above him ran a low, red wall, around which evidently the trail led. At
+the curve, which was a promontory, scarcely a hundred feet in an air
+line above him, he saw something red moving, bobbing, coming out into
+view. It was a horse.
+
+Wildfire--no farther away than the length of three lassos!
+
+There he stood looking down. He fulfilled all of Slone's dreams. Only he
+was bigger. But he was so magnificently proportioned that he did not
+seem heavy. His coat was shaggy and red. It was not glossy. The color
+was what made him shine. His mane was like a crest, mounting, then
+falling low. Slone had never seen so much muscle on a horse. Yet his
+outline was graceful, beautiful. The head was indeed that of the wildest
+of all wild creatures--a stallion born wild--and it was beautiful,
+savage, splendid, everything but noble. Slone thought that if a horse
+could express hate, surely Wildfire did then. It was certain that he did
+express curiosity and fury.
+
+Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the horse were
+human. That was a natural action for a rider of his kind. Wildfire
+turned away, showed bright against the dark background, and then
+disappeared.
+
+
+III
+
+That was the last Slone saw of Wildfire for three days.
+
+It took all of this day to climb out of the canyon. The second was a slow
+march of thirty miles into a scrub cedar and pinyon forest, through which
+the great red and yellow walls of the canyon could be seen. That night
+Slone found a water hole in a rocky pocket and a little grass for
+Nagger. The third day's travel consisted of forty miles or more through
+level pine forest, dry and odorous, but lacking the freshness and beauty
+of the forest on the north side of the canyon. On this south side a
+strange feature was that all the water, when there was any, ran away
+from the rim. Slone camped this night at a muddy pond in the woods,
+where Wildfire's tracks showed plainly.
+
+On the following day Slone rode out of the forest into a country of
+scanty cedars, bleached and stunted, and out of this to the edge of a
+plateau, from which the shimmering desert flung its vast and desolate
+distances, forbidding and menacing. This was not the desert upland
+country of Utah, but a naked and bony world of colored rock and sand--a
+painted desert of heat and wind and flying sand and waterless wastes and
+barren ranges. But it did not daunt Slone. For far down on the bare,
+billowing ridges moved a red speck, at a snail's pace, a slowly moving
+dot of color which was Wildfire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On open ground like this, Nagger, carrying two hundred and fifty pounds,
+showed his wonderful quality. He did not mind the heat nor the sand nor
+the glare nor the distance nor his burden. He did not tire. He was an
+engine of tremendous power.
+
+Slone gained upon Wildfire, and toward evening of that day he reached to
+within half a mile of the stallion. And he chose to keep that far
+behind. That night he camped where there was dry grass, but no water.
+
+Next day he followed Wildfire down and down, over the endless swell of
+rolling red ridges, bare of all but bleached white grass and meager
+greasewood, always descending in the face of that painted desert of bold
+and ragged steppes. Slone made fifty miles that day, and gained the
+valley bed, where a slender stream ran thin and spread over a wide sandy
+bottom. It was salty water, but it was welcome to both man and beast.
+
+The following day he crossed, and the tracks of Wildfire were still wet
+on the sand bars. The stallion was slowing down. Slone saw him, limping
+along, not far in advance. There was a ten-mile stretch of level ground,
+blown hard as rock, from which the sustenance had been bleached, for not
+a spear of grass grew there. And following that was a tortuous passage
+through a weird region of clay dunes, blue and violet and heliotrope and
+lavender, all worn smooth by rain and wind. Wildfire favored the soft
+ground now. He had deviated from his straight course. And he was partial
+to washes and dips in the earth where water might have lodged. And he
+was not now scornful of a green-scummed water hole with its white margin
+of alkali. That night Slone made camp with Wildfire in plain sight. The
+stallion stopped when his pursuers stopped. And he began to graze on the
+same stretch with Nagger. How strange this seemed to Slone!
+
+Here at this camp was evidence of Indians. Wildfire had swung round to
+the north in his course. Like any pursued wild animal, he had begun to
+circle. And he had pointed his nose toward the Utah he had left.
+
+Next morning Wildfire was not in sight, but he had left his tracks in
+the sand. Slone trailed him with Nagger at a trot. Toward the head of
+this sandy flat Slone came upon old cornfields, and a broken dam where
+the water had been stored, and well-defined trails leading away to the
+right. Somewhere over there in the desert lived Indians. At this point
+Wildfire abandoned the trail he had followed for many days and cut out
+more to the north. It took all the morning hours to climb three great
+steppes and benches that led up to the summit of a mesa, vast in extent.
+It turned out to be a sandy waste. The wind rose and everywhere were
+moving sheets of sand, and in the distance circular yellow dust devils,
+rising high like water spouts, and back down in the sun-scorched valley
+a sandstorm moved along majestically, burying the desert in its yellow
+pall.
+
+Then two more days of sand and another day of a slowly rising ground
+growing from bare to gray and gray to green, and then to the purple of
+sage and cedar--these three grinding days were toiled out with only one
+water hole.
+
+And Wildfire was lame and in distress and Nagger was growing gaunt and
+showing strain; and Slone, haggard and black and worn, plodded miles and
+miles on foot to save his horse.
+
+Slone felt that it would be futile to put the chase to a test of speed.
+Nagger could never head that stallion. Slone meant to go on and on,
+always pushing Wildfire, keeping him tired, wearied, and worrying him,
+till a section of the country was reached where he could drive Wildfire
+into some kind of a natural trap. The pursuit seemed endless. Wildfire
+kept to open country where he could not be surprised.
+
+There came a morning when Slone climbed to a cedared plateau that rose
+for a whole day's travel, and then split into a labyrinthine maze of
+canyons. There were trees, grass, water. It was a high country, cool and
+wild, like the uplands he had left. For days he camped on Wildfire's
+trail, always relentlessly driving him, always watching for the trap he
+hoped to find. And the red stallion spent much of this time of flight in
+looking backward. Whenever Slone came in sight of him he had his head
+over his shoulder, watching. And on the soft ground of these canyons he
+had begun to recover from his lameness. But this did not worry Slone.
+Sooner or later Wildfire would go down into a high-walled wash, from
+which there would be no outlet; or he would wander into a box canyon; or
+he would climb out on a mesa with no place to descend, unless he passed
+Slone; or he would get cornered on a soft, steep slope where his hoofs
+would sink deep and make him slow. The nature of the desert had changed.
+Slone had entered a wonderful region, the like of which he had not
+seen--a high plateau criss-crossed in every direction by narrow canyons
+with red walls a thousand feet high.
+
+And one of the strange turning canyons opened into a vast valley of
+monuments.
+
+The plateau had weathered and washed away, leaving huge sections of
+stone walls, all standing isolated, different in size and shape, but all
+clean-cut, bold, with straight lines. They stood up everywhere,
+monumental, towering, many-colored, lending a singular and beautiful
+aspect to the great green and gray valley, billowing away to the north,
+where dim, broken battlements mounted to the clouds.
+
+The only living thing in Slone's sight was Wildfire. He shone red down
+on the green slope.
+
+Slone's heart swelled. This was the setting for that grand horse--a
+perfect wild range. But also it seemed the last place where there might
+be any chance to trap the stallion. Still that did not alter Slone's
+purpose, though it lost to him the joy of former hopes. He rode down the
+slope, out upon the billowing floor of the valley. Wildfire looked back
+to see his pursuers, and then the solemn stillness broke to a wild,
+piercing whistle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Day after day, camping where night found him, Slone followed the
+stallion, never losing sight of him till darkness had fallen. The valley
+was immense and the monuments miles apart. But they always seemed close
+together and near him. The air magnified everything. Slone lost track of
+time. The strange, solemn, lonely days and the silent, lonely nights,
+and the endless pursuit, and the wild, weird valley--these completed the
+work of years on Slone and he became satisfied, unthinking, almost
+savage.
+
+The toil and privation had worn him down and he was like iron. His
+garments hung in tatters; his boots were ripped and soleless. Long since
+his flour had been used up, and all his supplies except the salt. He
+lived on the meat of rabbits, but they were scarce, and the time came
+when there were none. Some days he did not eat. Hunger did not make him
+suffer. He killed a desert bird now and then, and once a wildcat
+crossing the valley. Eventually he felt his strength diminishing, and
+then he took to digging out the pack rats and cooking them. But these,
+too, were scarce. At length starvation faced Slone. But he knew he would
+not starve. Many times he had been within rifle shot of Wildfire. And
+the grim, forbidding thought grew upon him that he must kill the
+stallion. The thought seemed involuntary, but his mind rejected it.
+Nevertheless, he knew that if he could not catch the stallion he would
+kill him. That had been the end of many a desperate rider's pursuit of a
+coveted horse.
+
+While Slone kept on his merciless pursuit, never letting Wildfire rest
+by day, time went on just as relentlessly. Spring gave way to early
+summer. The hot sun bleached the grass; water holes failed out in the
+valley, and water could be found only in the canyons; and the dry winds
+began to blow the sand. It was a sandy valley, green and gray only at a
+distance, and out toward the north there were no monuments, and the slow
+heave of sand lifted toward the dim walls.
+
+Wildfire worked away from this open valley, back to the south end, where
+the great monuments loomed, and still farther back, where they grew
+closer, till at length some of them were joined by weathered ridges to
+the walls of the surrounding plateau. For all that Slone could see,
+Wildfire was in perfect condition. But Nagger was not the horse he had
+been. Slone realized that in one way or another the pursuit was
+narrowing down to the end.
+
+He found a water hole at the head of a wash in a split in the walls, and
+here he let Nagger rest and graze one whole day--the first day for a
+long time that he had not kept the red stallion in sight. That day was
+marked by the good fortune of killing a rabbit, and while eating it his
+gloomy, fixed mind admitted that he was starving. He dreaded the next
+sunrise. But he could not hold it back. There, behind the dark
+monuments, standing sentinel-like, the sky lightened and reddened and
+burnt into gold and pink, till out of the golden glare the sun rose
+glorious. And Slone, facing the league-long shadows of the monuments,
+rode out again into the silent, solemn day, on his hopeless quest.
+
+For a change Wildfire had climbed high up a slope of talus, through a
+narrow pass, rounded over with drifting sand. And Slone gazed down into
+a huge amphitheater full of monuments, like all that strange country. A
+basin three miles across lay beneath him. Walls and weathered slants of
+rock and steep slopes of reddish-yellow sand inclosed this oval
+depression. The floor was white, and it seemed to move gently or radiate
+with heat waves. Studying it, Slone made out that the motion was caused
+by wind in long bleached grass. He had crossed small areas of this grass
+in different parts of the region.
+
+Wildfire's tracks led down into this basin, and presently Slone, by
+straining his eyes, made out the red spot that was the stallion.
+
+"He's lookin' to quit the country," soliloquized Slone, as he surveyed
+the scene.
+
+With keen, slow gaze Slone studied the lay of wall and slope, and when
+he had circled the huge depression he made sure that Wildfire could not
+get out except by the narrow pass through which he had gone in. Slone
+sat astride Nagger in the mouth of this pass--a wash a few yards wide,
+walled by broken, rough rock on one side and an insurmountable slope on
+the other.
+
+"If this hole was only little, now," sighed Slone, as he gazed at the
+sweeping, shimmering oval floor, "I might have a chance. But down
+there--we couldn't get near him."
+
+There was no water in that dry bowl. Slone reflected on the uselessness
+of keeping Wildfire down there, because Nagger could not go without
+water as long as Wildfire. For the first time Slone hesitated. It seemed
+merciless to Nagger to drive him down into this hot, windy hole. The
+wind blew from the west, and it swooped up the slope, hot, with the odor
+of dry, dead grass.
+
+But that hot wind stirred Slone with an idea, and suddenly he was tense,
+excited, glowing, yet grim and hard.
+
+"Wildfire, I'll make you run with your namesake in that high grass,"
+called Slone. The speech was full of bitter failure, of regret, of the
+hardness of a rider who could not give up the horse to freedom.
+
+Slone meant to ride down there and fire the long grass. In that wind
+there would indeed be wildfire to race with the red stallion. It would
+perhaps mean his death; at least it would chase him out of that hole,
+where to follow him would be useless.
+
+"I'd make you hump now to get away if I could get behind you," muttered
+Slone. He saw that if he could fire the grass on the other side the wind
+of flame would drive Wildfire straight toward him. The slopes and walls
+narrowed up to the pass, but high grass grew to within a few rods of
+where Slone stood. But it seemed impossible to get behind Wildfire.
+
+"At night--then--I could get round him," said Slone, thinking hard and
+narrowing his gaze to scan the circle of wall and slope. "Why not? . . .
+No wind at night. That grass would burn slow till mornin'--till the wind
+came up--an' it's been west for days."
+
+Suddenly Slone began to pound the patient Nagger and to cry out to him
+in wild exultance.
+
+"Old horse, we've got him! We've got him! We'll put a rope on him before
+this time to-morrow!"
+
+Slone yielded to his strange, wild joy, but it did not last long, soon
+succeeding to sober, keen thought. He rode down into the bowl a mile,
+making absolutely certain that Wildfire could not climb out on that
+side. The far end, beyond the monuments, was a sheer wall of rock. Then
+he crossed to the left side. Here the sandy slope was almost too steep
+for even him to go up. And there was grass that would burn. He returned
+to the pass assured that Wildfire had at last fallen into a trap the
+like Slone had never dreamed of. The great horse was doomed to run into
+living flame or the whirling noose of a lasso.
+
+Then Slone reflected. Nagger had that very morning had his fill of good
+water--the first really satisfying drink for days. If he was rested that
+day, on the morrow he would be fit for the grueling work possibly in
+store for him. Slone unsaddled the horse and turned him loose, and with
+a snort he made down the gentle slope for the grass. Then Slone carried
+his saddle to a shady spot afforded by a slab of rock and a dwarf cedar,
+and here he composed himself to rest and watch and think and wait.
+
+Wildfire was plainly in sight no more than two miles away. Gradually he
+was grazing along toward the monuments and the far end of the great
+basin. Slone believed, because the place was so large, that Wildfire
+thought there was a way out on the other side or over the slopes or
+through the walls. Never before had the farsighted stallion made a
+mistake. Slone suddenly felt the keen, stabbing fear of an outlet
+somewhere. But it left him quickly. He had studied those slopes and
+walls. Wildfire could not get out, except by the pass he had entered,
+unless he could fly.
+
+Slone lay in the shade, his head propped on his saddle, and while gazing
+down into the shimmering hollow he began to plan. He calculated that he
+must be able to carry fire swiftly across the far end of the basin, so
+that he would not be absent long from the mouth of the pass. Fire was
+always a difficult matter, since he must depend only on flint and steel.
+He decided to wait till dark, build a fire with dead cedar sticks, and
+carry a bundle of them with burning ends. He felt assured that the wind
+caused by riding would keep them burning. After he had lighted the grass
+all he had to do was to hurry back to his station and there await
+developments.
+
+The day passed slowly, and it was hot. The heat-waves rose in dark,
+wavering lines and veils from the valley. The wind blew almost a gale.
+Thin, curling sheets of sand blew up over the crests of the slopes, and
+the sound it made was a soft, silken rustling, very low. The sky was a
+steely blue above and copper close over the distant walls.
+
+That afternoon, toward the close, Slone ate the last of the meat. At
+sunset the wind died away and the air cooled. There was a strip of red
+along the wall of rock and on the tips of the monuments, and it lingered
+there for long, a strange, bright crown. Nagger was not far away, but
+Wildfire had disappeared, probably behind one of the monuments.
+
+When twilight fell Slone went down after Nagger and, returning with him,
+put on bridle and saddle. Then he began to search for suitable sticks of
+wood. Farther back in the pass he found stunted dead cedars, and from
+these secured enough for his purpose. He kindled a fire and burned the
+ends of the sticks into red embers. Making a bundle of these, he put
+them under his arm, the dull, glowing ends backward, and then mounted
+his horse.
+
+It was just about dark when he faced down into the valley. When he
+reached level ground he kept to the edge of the left slope and put
+Nagger to a good trot. The grass and brush were scant here, and the
+color of the sand was light, so he had no difficulty in traveling. From
+time to time his horse went through grass, and its dry, crackling
+rustle, showing how it would burn, was music to Slone. Gradually the
+monuments began to loom up, bold and black against the blue sky, with
+stars seemingly hanging close over them. Slone had calculated that the
+basin was smaller than it really was, in both length and breadth. This
+worried him. Wildfire might see or hear or scent him, and make a break
+back to the pass and thus escape. Slone was glad when the huge, dark
+monuments were indistinguishable from the black, frowning wall. He had
+to go slower here, because of the darkness. But at last he reached the
+slow rise of jumbled rock that evidently marked the extent of weathering
+on that side. Here he turned to the right and rode out into the valley.
+The floor was level and thickly overgrown with long, dead grass and dead
+greasewood, as dry as tinder. It was easy to account for the dryness;
+neither snow nor rain had visited that valley for many months. Slone
+whipped one of the sticks in the wind and soon had the smouldering end
+red and showering sparks. Then he dropped the stick in the grass, with
+curious intent and a strange feeling of regret.
+
+Instantly the grass blazed with a little sputtering roar. Nagger
+snorted. "Wildfire!" exclaimed Slone. That word was a favorite one with
+riders, and now Slone used it both to call out his menace to the
+stallion and to express his feeling for that blaze, already running
+wild.
+
+Without looking back, Slone rode across the valley, dropping a glowing
+stick every quarter of a mile. When he reached the other side there were
+a dozen fires behind him, burning slowly, with white smoke rising
+lazily. Then he loped Nagger along the side back to the sandy ascent,
+and on up to the mouth of the pass. There he searched for tracks.
+Wildfire had not gone out, and Slone experienced relief and exultation.
+He took up a position in the middle of the narrowest part of the pass,
+and there, with Nagger ready for anything, he once more composed himself
+to watch and wait.
+
+Far across the darkness of the valley, low down, twelve lines of fire,
+widely separated, crept toward one another. They appeared thin and slow,
+with only an occasional leaping flame. And some of the black spaces must
+have been monuments, blotting out the creeping snail lines of red. Slone
+watched, strangely fascinated.
+
+"What do you think of that?" he said, aloud, and he meant his query for
+Wildfire.
+
+As he watched the lines perceptibly lengthened and brightened and pale
+shadows of smoke began to appear. Over at the left of the valley the two
+brightest fires, the first he had started, crept closer and closer
+together. They seemed long in covering distance. But not a breath of
+wind stirred, and besides they really might move swiftly, without
+looking so to Slone. When the two lines met a sudden and larger blaze
+rose.
+
+"Ah!" said the rider, and then he watched the other lines creeping
+together. How slowly fire moved, he thought. The red stallion would have
+every chance to run between those lines, if he dared. But a wild horse
+fears nothing like fire. This one would not run the gantlet of flames.
+Nevertheless Slone felt more and more relieved as the lines closed. The
+hours of the night dragged past until at length one long, continuous
+line of fire spread level across the valley, its bright, red line broken
+only where the monuments of stone were silhouetted against it.
+
+The darkness of the valley changed. The light of the moon changed. The
+radiance of the stars changed. Either the line of fire was finding
+denser fuel to consume or it was growing appreciably closer, for the
+flames began to grow, to leap, and to flare.
+
+Slone strained his ears for the thud of hoofs on sand.
+
+The time seemed endless in its futility of results, but fleeting after
+it had passed; and he could tell how the hours fled by the
+ever-recurring need to replenish the little fire he kept burning in the
+pass.
+
+A broad belt of valley grew bright in the light, and behind it loomed
+the monuments, weird and dark, with columns of yellow and white smoke
+wreathing them.
+
+Suddenly Slone's sensitive ear vibrated to a thrilling sound. He leaned
+down to place his ear to the sand. Rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs made
+him leap to his feet, reaching for his lasso with right hand and a gun
+with his left.
+
+Nagger lifted his head, sniffed the air, and snorted. Slone peered into
+the black belt of gloom that lay below him. It would be hard to see a
+horse there, unless he got high enough to be silhouetted against that
+line of fire now flaring to the sky. But he heard the beat of hoofs,
+swift, sharp, louder--louder. The night shadows were deceptive. That
+wonderful light confused him, made the place unreal. Was he dreaming? Or
+had the long chase and his privations unhinged his mind? He reached for
+Nagger. No! The big black was real, alive, quivering, pounding the sand.
+He scented an enemy.
+
+Once more Slone peered down into the void or what seemed a void. But it,
+too, had changed, lightened. The whole valley was brightening. Great
+palls of curling smoke rose white and yellow, to turn back as the
+monuments met their crests, and then to roll upward, blotting out the
+stars. It was such a light as he had never seen, except in dreams. Pale
+moonlight and dimmed starlight and wan dawn all vague and strange and
+shadowy under the wild and vivid light of burning grass.
+
+In the pale path before Slone, that fanlike slope of sand which opened
+down into the valley, appeared a swiftly moving black object, like a
+fleeing phantom. It was a phantom horse. Slone felt that his eyes,
+deceived by his mind, saw racing images. Many a wild chase he had lived
+in dreams on some far desert. But what was that beating in his
+ears--sharp, swift, even, rhythmic? Never had his ears played him false.
+Never had he heard things in his dreams. That running object was a horse
+and he was coming like the wind. Slone felt something grip his heart.
+All the time and endurance and pain and thirst and suspense and longing
+and hopelessness--the agony of the whole endless chase--closed tight on
+his heart in that instant.
+
+The running horse halted just in the belt of light cast by the burning
+grass. There he stood sharply defined, clear as a cameo, not a hundred
+paces from Slone. It was Wildfire.
+
+Slone uttered an involuntary cry. Thrill on thrill shot through him.
+Delight and hope and fear and despair claimed him in swift, successive
+flashes. And then again the ruling passion of a rider held him--the
+sheer glory of a grand and unattainable horse. For Slone gave up
+Wildfire in that splendid moment. How had he ever dared to believe he
+could capture that wild stallion? Slone looked and looked, filling his
+mind, regretting nothing, sure that the moment was reward for all he had
+endured.
+
+The weird lights magnified Wildfire and showed him clearly. He seemed
+gigantic. He shone black against the fire. His head was high, his mane
+flying. Behind him the fire flared and the valley-wide column of smoke
+rolled majestically upward, and the great monuments seemed to retreat
+darkly and mysteriously as the flames advanced beyond them. It was a
+beautiful, unearthly spectacle, with its silence the strangest feature.
+
+But suddenly Wildfire broke that silence with a whistle which to Slone's
+overstrained faculties seemed a blast as piercing as the splitting sound
+of lightning. And with the whistle Wildfire plunged up toward the pass.
+
+Slone yelled at the top of his lungs and fired his gun before he could
+terrorize the stallion and drive him back down the slope. Soon Wildfire
+became again a running black object, and then he disappeared.
+
+The great line of fire had gotten beyond the monuments and now stretched
+unbroken across the valley from wall to slope. Wildfire could never
+pierce that line of flames. And now Slone saw, in the paling sky to the
+east, that dawn was at hand.
+
+
+IV
+
+Slone looked grimly glad when simultaneously with the first red flash of
+sunrise a breeze fanned his cheek. All that was needed now was a west
+wind. And here came the assurance of it.
+
+The valley appeared hazy and smoky, with slow, rolling clouds low down
+where the line of fire moved. The coming of daylight paled the blaze of
+the grass, though here and there Slone caught flickering glimpses of
+dull red flame. The wild stallion kept to the center of the valley,
+restlessly facing this way and that, but never toward the smoke. Slone
+made sure that Wildfire gradually gave ground as the line of smoke
+slowly worked toward him.
+
+Every moment the breeze freshened, grew steadier and stronger, until
+Slone saw that it began to clear the valley of the low-hanging smoke.
+There came a time when once more the blazing line extended across from
+slope to slope.
+
+Wildfire was cornered, trapped. Many times Slone nervously uncoiled and
+recoiled his lasso. Presently the great chance of his life would
+come--the hardest and most important throw he would ever have with a
+rope. He did not miss often, but then he missed sometimes, and here he
+must be swift and sure. It annoyed him that his hands perspired and
+trembled and that something weighty seemed to obstruct his breathing. He
+muttered that he was pretty much worn out, not in the best of condition
+for a hard fight with a wild horse. Still he would capture Wildfire; his
+mind was unalterably set there. He anticipated that the stallion would
+make a final and desperate rush past him; and he had his plan of action
+all outlined. What worried him was the possibility of Wildfire's doing
+some unforeseen feat at the very last. Slone was prepared for hours of
+strained watching, and then a desperate effort, and then a shock that
+might kill Wildfire and cripple Nagger, or a long race and fight.
+
+But he soon discovered that he was wrong about the long watch and wait.
+The wind had grown strong and was driving the fire swiftly. The flames,
+fanned by the breeze, leaped to a formidable barrier. In less than an
+hour, though the time seemed only a few moments to the excited Slone,
+Wildfire had been driven down toward the narrowing neck of the valley,
+and he had begun to run, to and fro, back and forth. Any moment, then,
+Slone expected him to grow terrorized and to come tearing up toward the
+pass.
+
+Wildfire showed evidence of terror, but he did not attempt to make the
+pass. Instead he went at the right-hand slope of the valley and began to
+climb. The slope was steep and soft, yet the stallion climbed up and up.
+The dust flew in clouds; the gravel rolled down, and the sand followed
+in long streams. Wildfire showed his keenness by zigzagging up the
+slope.
+
+"Go ahead, you red devil!" yelled Slone. He was much elated. In that
+soft bank Wildfire would tire out while not hurting himself.
+
+Slone watched the stallion in admiration and pity and exultation.
+Wildfire did not make much headway, for he slipped back almost as much
+as he gained. He attempted one place after another where he failed.
+There was a bank of clay, some few feet high, and he could not round it
+at either end or surmount it in the middle. Finally he literally pawed
+and cut a path, much as if he were digging in the sand for water. When
+he got over that he was not much better off. The slope above was endless
+and grew steeper, more difficult toward the top. Slone knew absolutely
+that no horse could climb over it. He grew apprehensive, however, for
+Wildfire might stick up there on the slope until the line of fire
+passed. The horse apparently shunned any near proximity to the fire, and
+performed prodigious efforts to escape.
+
+"He'll be ridin' an avalanche pretty soon," muttered Slone.
+
+Long sheets of sand and gravel slid down to spill thinly over the low
+bank. Wildfire, now sinking to his knees, worked steadily upward till he
+had reached a point halfway up the slope, at the head of a long, yellow
+bank of treacherous-looking sand. Here he was halted by a low bulge,
+which he might have surmounted had his feet been free. But he stood deep
+in the sand. For the first time he looked down at the sweeping fire, and
+then at Slone.
+
+Suddenly the bank of sand began to slide with him. He snorted in fright.
+The avalanche started slowly and was evidently no mere surface slide. It
+was deep. It stopped--then started again--and again stopped. Wildfire
+appeared to be sinking deeper and deeper. His struggles only embedded
+him more firmly. Then the bank of sand, with an ominous, low roar, began
+to move once more. This time it slipped swiftly. The dust rose in a
+cloud, almost obscuring the horse. Long streams of gravel rattled down,
+and waterfalls of sand waved over the steppes of the slope.
+
+Just as suddenly the avalanche stopped again. Slone saw, from the great
+oval hole it had left above, that it was indeed deep. That was the
+reason it did not slide readily. When the dust cleared away Slone saw
+the stallion, sunk to his flanks in the sand, utterly helpless.
+
+With a wild whoop Slone leaped off Nagger, and, a lasso in each hand, he
+ran down the long bank. The fire was perhaps a quarter of a mile
+distant, and, since the grass was thinning out, it was not coming so
+fast as it had been. The position of the stallion was halfway between
+the fire and Slone, and a hundred yards up the slope.
+
+Like a madman Slone climbed up through the dragging, loose sand. He was
+beside himself with a fury of excitement. He fancied his eyes were
+failing him, that it was not possible the great horse really was up
+there, helpless in the sand. Yet every huge stride Slone took brought
+him closer to a fact he could not deny. In his eagerness he slipped, and
+fell, and crawled, and leaped, until he reached the slide which held
+Wildfire prisoner.
+
+The stallion might have been fast in quicksand, up to his body, for all
+the movement he could make. He could move only his head. He held that
+up, his eyes wild, showing the whites, his foaming mouth wide open, his
+teeth gleaming. A sound like a scream rent the air. Terrible fear and
+hate were expressed in that piercing neigh. And shaggy, wet, dusty red,
+with all of brute savageness in the look and action of his head, he
+appeared hideous.
+
+As Slone leaped within roping distance the avalanche slipped a foot or
+two, halted, slipped once more, and slowly started again with that low
+roar. He did not care whether it slipped or stopped. Like a wolf he
+leaped closer, whirling his rope. The loop hissed round his head and
+whistled as he flung it. And when fiercely he jerked back on the rope,
+the noose closed tight round Wildfire's neck.
+
+"I--got--a rope--on him!" cried Slone, in hoarse pants.
+
+He stared, unbelieving. It was unreal, that sight--unreal like the slow,
+grinding movement of the avalanche under him. Wildfire's head seemed a
+demon head of hate. It reached out, mouth agape, to bite, to rend. That
+horrible scream could not be the scream of a horse.
+
+Slone was a wild-horse hunter, a rider, and when that second of
+incredulity flashed by, then came the moment of triumph. No moment could
+ever equal that one, when he realized he stood there with a rope around
+that grand stallion's neck. All the days and the miles and the toil and
+the endurance and the hopelessness and the hunger were paid for in that
+moment. His heart seemed too large for his breast.
+
+"I tracked--you!" he cried, savagely. "I stayed--with you! An' I got a
+rope--on you! An'--I'll ride you--you red devil!"
+
+The passion of the man was intense. That endless, racking pursuit had
+brought out all the hardness the desert had engendered in him. Almost
+hate, instead of love, spoke in Slone's words. He hauled on the lasso,
+pulling the stallion's head down and down. The action was the lust of
+capture as well as the rider's instinctive motive to make the horse fear
+him. Life was unquenchably wild and strong in that stallion; it showed
+in the terror which made him hideous. And man and beast somehow
+resembled each other in that moment which was inimical to noble life.
+
+The avalanche slipped with little jerks, as if treacherously loosing its
+hold for a long plunge. The line of fire below ate at the bleached grass
+and the long column of smoke curled away on the wind.
+
+Slone held the taut lasso with his left hand, and with the right he
+swung the other rope, catching the noose round Wildfire's nose. Then
+letting go of the first rope he hauled on the other, pulling the head of
+the stallion far down. Hand over hand Slone closed in on the horse. He
+leaped on Wildfire's head, pressed it down, and, holding it down on the
+sand with his knees, with swift fingers he tied the nose in a
+hackamore--an improvised halter. Then, just as swiftly, he bound his
+scarf tight round Wildfire's head, blindfolding him.
+
+"All so easy!" exclaimed Slone, under his breath. "Who would believe it!
+Is it a dream?"
+
+He rose and let the stallion have a free head.
+
+"Wildfire, I got a rope on you--an' a hackamore--an' a blinder," said
+Slone. "An' if I had a bridle I'd put that on you. Who'd ever believe
+you'd catch yourself, draggin' in the sand?"
+
+Slone, finding himself falling on the sand, grew alive to the augmented
+movement of the avalanche. It had begun to slide, to heave and bulge and
+crack. Dust rose in clouds from all around. The sand appeared to open
+and let him sink to his knees. The rattle of gravel was drowned in a
+soft roar. Then he shot down swiftly, holding the lassos, keeping
+himself erect, and riding as if in a boat. He felt the successive
+steppes of the slope, and then the long incline below, and then the
+checking and rising and spreading of the avalanche as it slowed down on
+the level. All movement then was checked violently. He appeared to be
+half buried in sand. While he struggled to extricate himself the thick
+dust blew away and, settled so that he could see. Wildfire lay before
+him, at the edge of the slide, and now he was not so deeply embedded as
+he had been up on the slope. He was struggling and probably soon would
+have been able to get out. The line of fire was close now, but Slone did
+not fear that.
+
+At his shrill whistle Nagger bounded toward him, obedient, but snorting,
+with ears laid back. He halted. A second whistle started him again.
+Slone finally dug himself out of the sand, pulled the lassos out, and
+ran the length of them toward Nagger. The black showed both fear and
+fight. His eyes rolled and he half shied away.
+
+"Come on!" called Slone, harshly.
+
+He got a hand on the horse, pulled him round, and, mounting in a flash,
+wound both lassos round the pommel of the saddle.
+
+"Haul him out, Nagger, old boy!" cried Slone, and he dug spurs into the
+black.
+
+One plunge of Nagger's slid the stallion out of the sand. Snorting,
+wild, blinded, Wildfire got up, shaking in every limb. He could not see
+his enemies. The blowing smoke, right in his nose, made scent
+impossible. But in the taut lassos he sensed the direction of his
+captors. He plunged, rearing at the end of the plunge, and struck out
+viciously with his hoofs. Slone, quick with spur and bridle, swerved
+Nagger aside and Wildfire, off his balance, went down with a crash.
+Slone dragged him, stretched him out, pulled him over twice before he
+got forefeet planted. Once up, he reared again, screeching his rage,
+striking wildly with his hoofs. Slone wheeled aside and toppled him over
+again.
+
+"Wildfire, it's no fair fight," he called, grimly. "But you led me a
+chase. An' you learn right now I'm boss!"
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[2] From _Wildfire_. Copyright, 1916, by Harper and Brothers, New York
+and London. Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+III.--The Hydrophobic Skunk[3]
+
+_By Irvin S. Cobb_
+
+
+THE Hydrophobic Skunk resides at the extreme bottom of the Grand canyon
+and, next to a Southern Republican who never asked for a Federal office,
+is the rarest of living creatures. He is so rare that nobody ever saw
+him--that is, nobody except a native. I met plenty of tourists who had
+seen people who had seen him, but never a tourist who had seen him with
+his own eyes. In addition to being rare, he is highly gifted.
+
+I think almost anybody will agree with me that the common, ordinary
+skunk has been most richly dowered by Nature. To adorn a skunk with any
+extra qualifications seems as great a waste of the raw material as
+painting the lily or gilding refined gold. He is already amply equipped
+for outdoor pursuits. Nobody intentionally shoves him round; everybody
+gives him as much room as he seems to need. He commands respect--nay,
+more than that, respect and veneration--wherever he goes. Joy riders
+never run him down and foot passengers avoid crowding him into a corner.
+You would think Nature had done amply well by the skunk; but no--the
+Hydrophobic Skunk comes along and upsets all these calculations. Besides
+carrying the traveling credentials of an ordinary skunk, he is rabid in
+the most rabidissimus form. He is not mad just part of the time, like
+one's relatives by marriage--and not mad most of the time, like the
+old-fashioned railroad ticket agent--but mad all the time--incurably,
+enthusiastically and unanimously mad! He is mad and he is glad of it.
+
+We made the acquaintance of the Hydrophobic Skunk when we rode down
+Hermit Trail. The casual visitor to the Grand canyon first of all takes
+the rim drive; then he essays Bright Angel Trail, which is sufficiently
+scary for his purposes until he gets used to it; and after that he grows
+more adventurous and tackles Hermit Trail, which is a marvel of
+corkscrew convolutions, gimleting its way down this red abdominal wound
+of a canyon to the very gizzard of the world. Here, Johnny, our guide,
+felt moved to speech, and we hearkened to his words and hungered for
+more, for Johnny knows the ranges of the Northwest as a city dweller
+knows his own little side street. In the fall of the year Johnny comes
+down to the canyon and serves as a guide a while; and then, when he gets
+so he just can't stand associating with tourists any longer, he packs
+his war bags and journeys back to the Northern Range and enjoys the
+company of cows a spell. Cows are not exactly exciting, but they don't
+ask fool questions.
+
+A highly competent young person is Johnny and a cow-puncher of parts.
+Most of the canyon guides are cow-punchers--accomplished ones, too, and
+of high standing in the profession. With a touch of reverence Johnny
+pointed out to us Sam Scovel, the greatest bronco buster of his time,
+now engaged in piloting tourists.
+
+"Can he ride?" echoed Johnny in answer to our question. "Scovel could
+ride an earthquake if she stood still long enough for him to mount! He
+rode Steamboat--not Young Steamboat, but Old Steamboat! He rode Rocking
+Chair, and he's the only man that ever did that and was not called on in
+a couple of days to attend his own funeral."
+
+We went on and on at a lazy mule trot, hearing the unwritten annals of
+the range from one who had seen them enacted at first hand. Pretty soon
+we passed a herd of burros with mealy, dusty noses and spotty hides,
+feeding on prickly pears and rock lichens; and just before sunset we
+slid down the last declivity out upon the plateau and came to a camp as
+was a camp!
+
+This was roughing it de luxe with a most de-luxey vengeance! Here were
+three tents, or rather three canvas houses, with wooden half walls; and
+they were spick-and-span inside and out, and had glass windows in them
+and doors and matched wooden floors. . . . The mess tent was provided
+with a table with a clean cloth to go over it, and there were china
+dishes and china cups and shiny knives, forks and spoons. . . . Bill was
+in charge of the camp--a dark, rangy, good-looking leading man of a
+cowboy, wearing his blue shirt and his red neckerchief with an air.
+
+That Johnny certainly could cook! Served on china dishes upon a
+cloth-covered table, we had mounds of fried steaks and shoals of fried
+bacon; and a bushel, more or less, of sheepherder potatoes; and green
+peas and sliced peaches out of cans; and sour-dough biscuits as light as
+kisses and much more filling; and fresh butter and fresh milk; and
+coffee as black as your hat and strong as sin. How easy it is for
+civilized man to become primitive and comfortable in his way of eating,
+especially if he has just ridden ten miles on a buckboard and nine more
+on a mule and is away down at the bottom of the Grand canyon--and there
+is nobody to look on disapprovingly when he takes a bite that would be a
+credit to a steam shovel!
+
+Despite all reports to the contrary, I wish to state that it is no
+trouble at all to eat green peas off a knife-blade--you merely mix them
+in with potatoes for a cement; and fried steak--take it from an old
+steak eater--tastes best when eaten with those tools of Nature's own
+providing, both hands and your teeth. An hour passed--busy, yet
+pleasant--and we were both gorged to the gills and had reared back with
+our cigars lit to enjoy a third jorum of black coffee apiece, when
+Johnny, speaking in an offhand way to Bill, who was still hiding away
+biscuits inside of himself like a parlor prestidigitator, said:
+
+"Seen any of them old Hydrophobies the last day or two?"
+
+"Not so many," said Bill casually. "There was a couple out last night
+pirootin' round in the moonlight. I reckon, though, there'll be quite a
+flock of 'em out to-night. A new moon always seems to fetch 'em up from
+the river."
+
+Both of us quit blowing on our coffee and we put the cups down. I think
+I was the one who spoke.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I asked, "but what did you say would be out
+to-night?"
+
+"We were just speakin' to one another about them Hydrophoby Skunks,"
+said Bill apologetically. "This here canyon is where they mostly hang out
+and frolic 'round."
+
+I laid down my cigar, too. I admit I was interested.
+
+"Oh!" I said softly--like that. "Is it? Do they?"
+
+"Yes," said Johnny. "I reckin there's liable to be one come shovin' his
+old nose into that door any minute. Or probably two--they mostly travels
+in pairs--sets, as you might say."
+
+"You'd know one the minute you saw him, though," said Bill. "They're
+smaller than a regular skunk and spotted where the other kind is
+striped. And they got little red eyes. You won't have no trouble at all
+recognizin' one."
+
+It was at this juncture that we both got up and moved back by the stove.
+It was warmer there and the chill of evening seemed to be settling down
+noticeably.
+
+"Funny thing about Hydrophoby Skunks," went on Johnny after a moment of
+pensive thought--"mad, you know!"
+
+"What makes them mad?" The two of us asked the question together.
+
+"Born that way!" explained Bill--"mad from the start, and won't never do
+nothin' to get shut of it."
+
+"Ahem--they never attack humans, I suppose?"
+
+"Don't they?" said Johnny, as if surprised at such ignorance. "Why,
+humans is their favorite pastime! Humans is just pie to a Hydrophoby
+Skunk. It ain't really any fun to be bit by a Hydrophoby Skunk neither."
+He raised his coffee cup to his lips and imbibed deeply.
+
+"Which you certainly said something then, Johnny," stated Bill. "You
+see," he went on, turning to us, "they aim to catch you asleep and they
+creep up right soft and take holt of you--take holt of a year
+usually--and clamp their teeth and just hang on for further orders. Some
+says they hang on till it thunders, same as snappin' turtles. But that's
+a lie, I judge, because there's weeks on a stretch down here when it
+don't thunder. All the cases I ever heard of they let go at sunup."
+
+"It is right painful at the time," said Johnny, taking up the thread of
+the narrative; "and then in nine days you go mad yourself. Remember that
+fellow the Hydrophoby Skunk bit down here by the rapids, Bill? Let's see
+now--what was that hombre's name?"
+
+"Williams," supplied Bill--"Heck Williams. I saw him at Flagstaff when
+they took him there to the hospital. That guy certainly did carry on
+regardless. First he went mad and his eyes turned red, and he got so he
+didn't have no real use for water--well, them prospectors don't never
+care much about water anyway--and then he got to snappin' and bitin' and
+foamin' so's they had to strap him down to his bed. He got loose
+though."
+
+"Broke loose, I suppose?" I said.
+
+"No, he bit loose," said Bill with the air of one who would not deceive
+you even in a matter of small details.
+
+"Do you mean to say he bit those leather straps in two?"
+
+"No, sir; he couldn't reach them," explained Bill, "so he bit the bed in
+two. Not in one bite, of course," he went on. "It took him several. I
+saw him after he was laid out. He really wasn't no credit to himself as
+a corpse."
+
+I'm not sure, but I think my companion and I were holding hands by now.
+Outside we could hear that little lost echo laughing to itself. It was
+no time to be laughing either. Under certain circumstances I don't know
+of a lonelier place anywhere on earth than that Grand canyon.
+
+Presently my friend spoke, and it seemed to me his voice was a mite
+husky. Well, he had a bad cold.
+
+"You said they mostly attack persons who are sleeping out, didn't you?"
+
+"That's right, too," said Johnny, and Bill nodded in affirmation.
+
+"Then, of course, since we sleep indoors everything will be all right,"
+I put in.
+
+"Well, yes and no," answered Johnny. "In the early part of the evening a
+Hydrophoby is liable to do a lot of prowlin' round outdoors; but toward
+mornin' they like to get into camps--they dig up under the side walls or
+come up through the floor--and they seem to prefer to get in bed with
+you. They're cold-blooded, I reckin, same as rattlesnakes. Cool nights
+always do drive 'em in, seems like."
+
+"It's going to be sort of coolish to-night," said Bill casually.
+
+It certainly was. I don't remember a chillier night in years. My teeth
+were chattering a little--from cold--before we turned in. I retired with
+all my clothes on, including my boots and leggings, and I wished I had
+brought along my ear muffs. I also buttoned my watch into my lefthand
+shirt pocket, the idea being if for any reason I should conclude to move
+during the night I would be fully equipped for traveling. The door would
+not stay closely shut--the door-jamb had sagged a little and the wind
+kept blowing the door ajar. But after a while we dozed off.
+
+It was one twenty-seven A. M. when I woke with a violent start. I know
+this was the exact time because that was when my watch stopped. I peered
+about me in the darkness. The door was wide open--I could tell that.
+Down on the floor there was a dragging, scuffling sound, and from almost
+beneath me a pair of small red eyes peered up phosphorescently.
+
+"He's here!" I said to my companion as I emerged from my blankets; and
+he, waking instantly, seemed instinctively to know whom I meant. I used
+to wonder at the ease with which a cockroach can climb a perfectly
+smooth wall and run across the ceiling. I know now that to do this is
+the easiest thing in the world--if you have the proper incentive behind
+you. I had gone up one wall of the tent and had crossed over and was in
+the act of coming down the other side when Bill burst in, his eyes
+blurred with sleep, a lighted lamp in one hand and a gun in the other.
+
+I never was so disappointed in my life because it wasn't a Hydrophobic
+Skunk at all. It was a pack rat, sometimes called a trade rat, paying us
+a visit. The pack or trade rat is also a denizen of the Grand canyon. He
+is about four times as big as an ordinary rat and has an appetite to
+correspond. He sometimes invades your camp and makes free with your
+things, but he never steals anything outright--he merely trades with
+you; hence his name. He totes off a side of meat or a bushel of meal and
+brings a cactus stalk in; or he will confiscate your saddlebags and
+leave you in exchange a nice dry chip. He is honest, but from what I can
+gather he never gets badly stuck on a deal.
+
+Next morning at breakfast Johnny and Bill were doing a lot of laughing
+between them over something or other.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] From _Roughing It de Luxe_. Copyright, 1914, by George H. Doran
+Company. Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IV.--The Ole Virginia[4]
+
+_By Stewart Edward White_
+
+
+THE ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoise
+blue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries are
+infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm. We had ridden since
+sunup over broad mesas, down and out of deep canyons, along the base of
+the mountains in the wildest parts of the territory. The cattle were
+winding leisurely toward the high country; the jack rabbits had
+disappeared; the quail lacked; we did not see a single antelope in the
+open.
+
+"It's a case of hold up," the Cattleman ventured his opinion. "I have a
+ranch over in the Double R. Charley and Windy Bill hold it down. We'll
+tackle it. What do you think?"
+
+The four cowboys agreed. We dropped into a low, broad watercourse,
+ascended its bed to big cottonwoods and flowing water, followed it into
+box canyons between rim rock carved fantastically and painted like a
+Moorish facade, until at last in a widening below a rounded hill, we
+came upon an adobe house, a fruit tree, and a round corral. This was the
+Double R.
+
+Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits. We turned our
+horses out, spread our beds on the floor, filled our pipes, and squatted
+on our heels. Various dogs of various breeds investigated us. It was
+very pleasant, and we did not mind the ring around the sun.
+
+"Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman finally.
+
+"Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.
+
+A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and long white hair rode
+out from the cottonwoods. He had on a battered broad hat abnormally high
+of crown, carried across his saddle a heavy "eight square" rifle, and
+was followed by a half-dozen lolloping hounds.
+
+The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight of our group,
+launched himself with lightning rapidity at the biggest of the ranch
+dogs, promptly nailed that canine by the back of the neck, shook him
+violently a score of times, flung him aside, and pounced on the next.
+During the ensuing few moments that hound was the busiest thing in the
+West. He satisfactorily whipped four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree,
+upset the Dutch oven and the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded the
+horses, and raised a cloud of dust adequate to represent the smoke of
+battle. We others were too paralyzed to move. Uncle Jim sat placidly on
+his white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups, smoking.
+
+In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because there was no
+more trouble to make. The hound returned leisurely, licking from his
+chops the hair of his victims. Uncle Jim shook his head.
+
+"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."
+
+We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a fresh
+batch of soda biscuits.
+
+The old man was one of the typical "long hairs." He had come to the
+Galiuro Mountains in '69, and since '69 he had remained in the Galiuro
+Mountains, spite of man or the devil. At present he possessed some
+hundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water, in a dry season, from
+an ordinary dish pan. In times past he had prospected.
+
+That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to slumber, he held
+forth on big-game hunting and dogs, quartz claims and Apaches.
+
+"Did you ever have any very close calls?" I asked.
+
+He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with some awful tobacco,
+and told the following experience:
+
+"In the time of Geronimo I was living just about where I do now; and
+that was just about in line with the raiding. You see, Geronimo, and Ju,
+and old Loco used to pile out of the reservation at Camp Apache, raid
+south to the line, slip over into Mexico when the soldiers got too
+promiscuous, and raid there until they got ready to come back. Then
+there was always a big medicine talk. Says Geronimo:
+
+"'I am tired of the warpath. I will come back from Mexico with all my
+warriors, if you will escort me with soldiers and protect my people.'
+
+"'All right,' says the General, being only too glad to get him back at
+all.
+
+"So, then, in ten minutes there wouldn't be a buck in camp, but next
+morning they shows up again, each with about fifty head of hosses.
+
+"'Where'd you get those hosses?' asks the General, suspicious.
+
+"'Had 'em pastured in the hills,' answers Geronimo.
+
+"'I can't take all those hosses with me; I believe they're stolen!' says
+the General.
+
+"'My people cannot go without their hosses,' says Geronimo.
+
+"So, across the line they goes, and back to the reservation. In about a
+week there's fifty-two frantic Greasers wanting to know where's their
+hosses. The army is nothing but an importer of stolen stock, and knows
+it, and can't help it.
+
+"Well, as I says, I'm between Camp Apache and the Mexican line, so that
+every raiding party goes right on past me. The point is that I'm a
+thousand feet or so above the valley, and the renegades is in such a
+hurry about that time that they never stop to climb up and collect me.
+Often I've watched them trailing down the valley in a cloud of dust.
+Then, in a day or two, a squad of soldiers would come up and camp at my
+spring for a while. They used to send soldiers to guard every water hole
+in the country so the renegades couldn't get water. After a while, from
+not being bothered none, I got to thinking I wasn't worth while with
+them.
+
+"Me and Johnny Hooper were pecking away at the Ole Virginia mine then.
+We'd got down about sixty feet, all timbered, and was thinking of
+crosscutting. One day Johnny went to town, and that same day I got in a
+hurry and left my gun at camp.
+
+"I worked all the morning down at the bottom of the shaft, and when I
+see by the sun it was getting along towards noon, I put in three good
+shots, tamped 'em down, lit the fuses, and started to climb out.
+
+"It ain't noways pleasant to light a fuse in a shaft, and then have to
+climb out a fifty-foot ladder, with it burning behind you. I never did
+get used to it. You keep thinking, 'Now, suppose there's a flaw in that
+fuse, or something, and she goes off in six seconds instead of two
+minutes? Where'll you be then?' It would give you a good boost towards
+your home on high, anyway.
+
+"So I climbed fast, and stuck my head out the top without looking--and
+then I froze solid enough. There, about fifty feet away, climbing up
+the hill on mighty tired hosses, was a dozen of the ugliest Chiricahuas
+you ever don't want to meet, and in addition a Mexican renegade named
+Maria, who was worse than any of 'em. I see at once their hosses was
+tired out, and they had a notion of camping at my water hole, not
+knowing nothing about the Ole Virginia mine.
+
+"For two bits I'd have let go all holts and dropped backwards, trusting
+to my thick head for easy lighting. Then I heard a little fizz and
+sputter from below. At that my hair riz right up so I could feel the
+breeze blow under my hat. For about six seconds I stood there like an
+imbecile, grinning amiably. Then one of the Chiricahuas made a sort of
+grunt, and I sabed that they'd seen the original exhibit your Uncle Jim
+was making of himself.
+
+"Then that fuse gave another sputter and one of the Apaches said, 'Un
+dah.' That means 'white man.' It was harder to turn my head than if I'd
+had a stiff neck; but I managed to do it, and I see that my ore dump
+wasn't more than ten foot away. I mighty near overjumped it; and the
+next I knew I was on one side of it and those Apaches on the other.
+Probably I flew; leastways I don't seem to remember jumping.
+
+"That didn't seem to do me much good. The renegades were grinning and
+laughing to think how easy a thing they had; and I couldn't rightly
+think up any arguments against the notion--at least from their
+standpoint. They were chattering away to each other in Mexican for the
+benefit of Maria. Oh, they had me all distributed, down to my suspender
+buttons! And me squatting behind that ore dump about as formidable as a
+brush rabbit!
+
+"Then, all at once, one of my shots went off down in the shaft.
+
+"'Boom!' says she, plenty big; and a slather of rocks and stones come
+out of the mouth, and began to dump down promiscuous on the scenery. I
+got one little one in the shoulder blade, and found time to wish my ore
+dump had a roof. But those renegades caught it square in the thick of
+trouble. One got knocked out entirely for a minute, by a nice piece of
+country rock in the head.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I, which means 'again.'
+
+"'Boom!' goes the Ole Virginia prompt as an answer.
+
+"I put in my time dodging, but when I gets a chance to look, the Apaches
+has all got to cover and is looking scared.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I again.
+
+"'Boom!' says the Ole Virginia.
+
+"This was the biggest shot of the lot, and she surely cut loose. I ought
+to have been halfway up the hill watching things from a safe distance,
+but I wasn't. Lucky for me the shaft was a little on the drift, so she
+didn't quite shoot my way. But she distributed about a ton over those
+renegades. They sort of half got to their feet uncertain.
+
+"'Otra vez!' yells I once more, as bold as if I could keep her shooting
+all day.
+
+"It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go through I could see
+me as an Apache parlor ornament. But it did. Those Chiricahuas give one
+yell and skipped. It was surely a funny sight, after they got aboard
+their war ponies, to see them trying to dig out on horses too tired to
+trot.
+
+"I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In fact, I give one jump
+off that ledge, and I lit a-running. A quarter-hoss couldn't have beat
+me to that shack. There I grabbed my good old gun, old Meat-in-the-pot,
+and made a climb for the tall country."
+
+Uncle Jim stopped with an air of finality, and began lazily to refill
+his pipe. From the open mud fireplace he picked a coal. Outside, the
+rain, faithful to the prophecy of the wide-ringed sun, beat fitfully
+against the roof.
+
+"That was the closest call I ever had," said he at last.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[4] From _Arizona Nights_. Reprinted by special permission of publisher
+and author. Copyright, 1907, by Doubleday, Page and Company.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+V.--The Weight of Obligation[5]
+
+_By Rex Beach_
+
+
+THIS is the story of a burden, the tale of a load that irked a strong
+man's shoulders. To those who do not know the North it may seem strange,
+but to those who understand the humors of men in solitude, and the
+extravagant vagaries that steal in upon their minds, as fog drifts with
+the night, it will not appear unusual. There are spirits in the
+wilderness, eerie forces which play pranks; some droll or whimsical,
+others grim.
+
+Johnny Cantwell and Mortimer Grant were partners, trail mates, brothers
+in soul if not in blood. The ebb and flood of frontier life had brought
+them together, its hardships had united them until they were as one.
+They were something of a mystery to each other, neither having
+surrendered all his confidence, and because of this they retained their
+mutual attraction. They had met by accident, but they remained together
+by desire.
+
+The spirit of adventure bubbled merrily within them, and it led them
+into curious byways. It was this which sent them northward from the
+States in the dead of winter, on the heels of the Stony River strike; it
+was this which induced them to land at Katmai instead of Illiamna,
+whither their land journey should have commenced.
+
+"There are two routes over the coast range," the captain of the _Dora_
+told them, "and only two. Illiamna Pass is low and easy, but the
+distance is longer than by way of Katmai. I can land you at either
+place."
+
+"Katmai is pretty tough, isn't it?" Grant inquired.
+
+"We've understood it's the worst pass in Alaska." Cantwell's eyes were
+eager.
+
+"It's awful! Nobody travels it except natives, and they don't like it.
+Now, Illiamna--"
+
+"We'll try Katmai. Eh, Mort?"
+
+"Sure! They don't come hard enough for us, Cap. We'll see if it's as bad
+as it's painted."
+
+So, one gray January morning they were landed on a frozen beach, their
+outfit was flung ashore through the surf, the lifeboat pulled away, and
+the _Dora_ disappeared after a farewell toot of her whistle. Their last
+glimpse of her showed the captain waving good-by and the purser flapping
+a red tablecloth at them from the after-deck.
+
+"Cheerful place, this," Grant remarked, as he noted the desolate
+surroundings of dune and hillside.
+
+The beach itself was black and raw where the surf washed it, but
+elsewhere all was white, save for the thickets of alder and willow which
+protruded nakedly. The bay was little more than a hollow scooped out of
+the Alaskan range; along the foothills behind there was a belt of spruce
+and cottonwood and birch. It was a lonely and apparently unpeopled
+wilderness in which they had been set down.
+
+"Seems good to be back in the North again, doesn't it?" said Cantwell,
+cheerily. "I'm tired of the booze, and the street cars, and the dames,
+and all that civilized stuff. I'd rather be broke in Alaska--with
+you--than a banker's son, back home."
+
+Soon a globular Russian half-breed, the Katmai trader, appeared among
+the dunes, and with him were some native villagers. That night the
+partners slept in a snug log cabin, the roof of which was chained down
+with old ships' cables. Petellin, the fat little trader, explained that
+roofs in Katmai had a way of sailing off to seaward when the wind blew.
+He listened to their plan of crossing the divide and nodded.
+
+It could be done, of course, he agreed, but they were foolish to try it,
+when the Illiamna route was open. Still, now that they were here, he
+would find dogs for them, and a guide. The village hunters were out
+after meat, however, and until they returned the white men would need to
+wait in patience.
+
+There followed several days of idleness, during which Cantwell and Grant
+amused themselves around the village, teasing the squaws, playing games
+with the boys, and flirting harmlessly with the girls, one of whom, in
+particular, was not unattractive. She was perhaps three-quarters Aleut,
+the other quarter being plain coquette, and, having been educated at the
+town of Kodiak, she knew the ways and the wiles of the white man.
+
+Cantwell approached her, and she met his extravagant advances more than
+halfway. They were getting along nicely together when Grant, in a spirit
+of fun, entered the game and won her fickle smiles for himself. He joked
+his partner unmercifully, and Johnny accepted defeat gracefully, never
+giving the matter a second thought.
+
+When the hunters returned, dogs were bought, a guide was hired, and, a
+week after landing, the friends were camped at timber line awaiting a
+favorable moment for their dash across the range. Above them, white
+hillsides rose in irregular leaps to the gash in the saw-toothed barrier
+which formed the pass; below them a short valley led down to Katmai and
+the sea. The day was bright, the air clear, nevertheless after the guide
+had stared up at the peaks for a time he shook his head, then reentered
+the tent and lay down. The mountains were "smoking"; from their tops
+streamed a gossamer veil which the travelers knew to be drifting snow
+clouds carried by the wind. It meant delay, but they were patient.
+
+They were up and going on the following morning, however, with the
+Indian in the lead. There was no trail; the hills were steep; in places
+they were forced to unload the sled and hoist their outfit by means of
+ropes, and as they mounted higher the snow deepened. It lay like loose
+sand, only lighter; it shoved ahead of the sled in a feathery mass; the
+dogs wallowed in it and were unable to pull, hence the greater part of
+the work devolved upon the men. Once above the foothills and into the
+range proper, the going became more level, but the snow remained
+knee-deep.
+
+The Indian broke trail stolidly; the partners strained at the sled,
+which hung back like a leaden thing. By afternoon the dogs had become
+disheartened and refused to heed the whip. There was neither fuel nor
+running water, and therefore the party did not pause for luncheon. The
+men were sweating profusely from their exertions and had long since
+become parched with thirst, but the dry snow was like chalk and scoured
+their throats.
+
+Cantwell was the first to show the effects of his unusual exertions, for
+not only had he assumed a lion's share of the work, but the last few
+months of easy living had softened his muscles, and in consequence his
+vitality was quickly spent. His undergarments were drenched; he was
+fearfully dry inside; a terrible thirst seemed to penetrate his whole
+body; he was forced to rest frequently.
+
+Grant eyed him with some concern, finally inquiring, "Feel bad,
+Johnny?"
+
+Cantwell nodded. Their fatigue made both men economical of language.
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Thirsty!" The former could barely speak.
+
+"There won't be any water till we get across. You'll have to stand it."
+
+They resumed their duties; the Indian "swish-swished" ahead, as if
+wading through a sea of swan's-down; the dogs followed listlessly; the
+partners leaned against the stubborn load.
+
+A faint breath finally came out of the north, causing Grant and the
+guide to study the sky anxiously. Cantwell was too weary to heed the
+increasing cold. The snow on the slopes above began to move; here and
+there, on exposed ridges, it rose in clouds and puffs; the cleancut
+outlines of the hills became obscured as by a fog; the languid wind bit
+cruelly.
+
+After a time Johnny fell back upon the sled and exclaimed: "I'm--all in,
+Mort. Don't seem to have the--guts." He was pale, his eyes were
+tortured. He scooped a mitten full of snow and raised it to his lips,
+then spat it out, still dry.
+
+"Here! Brace up!" In a panic of apprehension at this collapse Grant
+shook him; he had never known Johnny to fail like this. "Take a drink;
+it'll do you good." He drew a bottle from one of the dunnage bags and
+Cantwell seized it avidly. It was wet; it would quench his thirst, he
+thought. Before Mort could check him he had drunk a third of the
+contents.
+
+The effect was almost instantaneous, for Cantwell's stomach was empty
+and his tissues seemed to absorb the liquor like a dry sponge; his
+fatigue fell away, he became suddenly strong and vigorous again. But
+before he had gone a hundred yards the reaction followed. First his mind
+grew thick, then his limbs became unmanageable and his muscles flabby.
+He was drunk. Yet it was a strange and dangerous intoxication, against
+which he struggled desperately. He fought it for perhaps a quarter of a
+mile before it mastered him; then he gave up.
+
+Both men knew that stimulants are never taken on the trail, but they had
+never stopped to reason why, and even now they did not attribute
+Johnny's breakdown to the brandy. After a while he stumbled and fell,
+then, the cool snow being grateful to his face, he sprawled there
+motionless until Mort dragged him to the sled. He stared at his partner
+in perplexity and laughed foolishly. The wind was increasing, darkness
+was near, they had not yet reached the Bering slope.
+
+Something in the drunken man's face frightened Grant and, extracting a
+ship's biscuit from the grub box, he said, hurriedly: "Here, Johnny. Get
+something under your belt, quick."
+
+Cantwell obediently munched the hard cracker, but there was no moisture
+on his tongue; his throat was paralyzed; the crumbs crowded themselves
+from the corners of his lips. He tried with limber fingers to stuff
+them down, or to assist the muscular action of swallowing, but finally
+expelled them in a cloud. Mort drew the parka hood over his partner's
+head, for the wind cut like a scythe and the dogs were turning tail to
+it, digging holes in the snow for protection. The air about them was
+like yeast; the light was fading.
+
+The Indian snowshoed his way back, advising a quick camp until the storm
+abated, but to this suggestion Grant refused to listen, knowing only too
+well the peril of such a course. Nor did he dare take Johnny on the
+sled, since the fellow was half asleep already, but instead whipped up
+the dogs and urged his companion to follow as best he could.
+
+When Cantwell fell, for a second time, he returned, dragged him forward,
+and tied his wrists firmly, yet loosely, to the load.
+
+The storm was pouring over them now, like water out of a spout; it
+seared and blinded them; its touch was like that of a flame.
+Nevertheless they struggled on into the smother, making what headway
+they could. The Indian led, pulling at the end of a rope; Grant strained
+at the sled and hoarsely encouraged the dogs; Cantwell stumbled and
+lurched in the rear like an unwilling prisoner. When he fell his
+companion lifted him, then beat him, cursed him, tried in every way to
+rouse him from his lethargy.
+
+After an interminable time they found they were descending and this gave
+them heart to plunge ahead more rapidly. The dogs began to trot as the
+sled overran them; they rushed blindly into gullies, fetching up at the
+bottom in a tangle, and Johnny followed in a nerveless, stupefied
+condition. He was dragged like a sack of flour for his legs were limp
+and he lacked muscular control, but every dash, every fall, every quick
+descent drove the sluggish blood through his veins and cleared his brain
+momentarily. Such moments were fleeting, however; much of the time his
+mind was a blank, and it was only by a mechanical effort that he fought
+off unconsciousness.
+
+He had vague memories of many beatings at Mort's hands, of the slippery
+clean-swept ice of a stream over which he limply skidded, of being
+carried into a tent where a candle flickered and a stove roared. Grant
+was holding something hot to his lips, and then--
+
+It was morning. He was weak and sick; he felt as if he had awakened from
+a hideous dream. "I played out, didn't I?" he queried, wonderingly.
+
+"You sure did," Grant laughed. "It was a tight squeak, old boy. I never
+thought I'd get you through."
+
+"Played out! I--can't understand it." Cantwell prided himself on his
+strength and stamina, therefore the truth was unbelievable. He and Mort
+had long been partners, they had given and taken much at each other's
+hands, but this was something altogether different. Grant had saved his
+life, at risk of his own; the older man's endurance had been the greater
+and he had used it to good advantage. It embarrassed Johnny tremendously
+to realize that he had proved unequal to his share of the work, for he
+had never before experienced such an obligation. He apologized
+repeatedly during the few days he lay sick, and meanwhile Mort waited
+upon him like a mother.
+
+Cantwell was relieved when at last they had abandoned camp, changed
+guides at the next village, and were on their way along the coast, for
+somehow he felt very sensitive about his collapse. He was, in fact,
+extremely ashamed of himself.
+
+Once he had fully recovered he had no further trouble, but soon rounded
+into fit condition and showed no effects of his ordeal. Day after day he
+and Mort traveled through the solitudes, their isolation broken only by
+occasional glimpses of native villages, where they rested briefly and
+renewed their supply of dog feed.
+
+But although the younger man was now as well and strong as ever, he was
+uncomfortably conscious that his trail mate regarded him as the weaker
+of the two and shielded him in many ways. Grant performed most of the
+unpleasant tasks, and occasionally cautioned Johnny about overdoing.
+This protective attitude at first amused, then offended Cantwell, it
+galled him until he was upon the point of voicing his resentment, but
+reflected that he had no right to object, for, judging by past
+performances, he had proved his inferiority. This uncomfortable
+realization forever arose to prevent open rebellion, but he asserted
+himself secretly by robbing Grant of his self-appointed tasks. He rose
+first in the mornings, he did the cooking, he lengthened his turns
+ahead of the dogs, he mended harness after the day's hike had ended. Of
+course the older man objected, and for a time they had a good-natured
+rivalry as to who should work and who should rest--only it was not quite
+so good-natured on Cantwell's part as he made it appear.
+
+Mort broke out in friendly irritation one day: "Don't try to do
+everything, Johnny. Remember I'm no cripple."
+
+"Humph! You proved that. I guess it's up to me to do your work."
+
+"Oh, forget that day on the pass, can't you?"
+
+Johnny grunted a second time, and from his tone it was evident that he
+would never forget, unpleasant though the memory remained. Sensing his
+sullen resentment, the other tried to rally him, but made a bad job of
+it. The humor of men in the open is not delicate; their wit and their
+words become coarsened in direct proportion as they revert to the
+primitive; it is one effect of the solitudes.
+
+Grant spoke extravagantly, mockingly, of his own superiority in a way
+which ordinarily would have brought a smile to Cantwell's lips, but the
+latter did not smile. He taunted Johnny humorously on his lack of
+physical prowess, his lack of good looks and manly qualities--something
+which had never failed to result in a friendly exchange of badinage; he
+even teased him about his defeat with the Katmai girl.
+
+Cantwell did respond finally, but afterward he found himself wondering
+if Mort could have been in earnest. He dismissed the thought with some
+impatience. But men on the trail have too much time for their thoughts;
+there is nothing in the monotonous routine of the day's work to distract
+them, so the partner who had played out dwelt more and more upon his
+debt and upon his friend's easy assumption of preeminence. The weight of
+obligation began to chafe him, lightly at first, but with
+ever-increasing discomfort. He began to think that Grant honestly
+considered himself the better man, merely because chance had played into
+his hands.
+
+It was silly, even childish, to dwell on the subject, he reflected, and
+yet he could not banish it from his mind. It was always before him, in
+one form or another. He felt the strength in his lean muscles, and
+sneered at the thought that Mort should be deceived. If it came to a
+physical test he felt sure he could break his slighter partner with his
+bare hands, and as for endurance--well, he was hungry for a chance to
+demonstrate it.
+
+They talked little; men seldom converse in the wastes, for there is
+something about the silence of the wilderness which discourages speech.
+And no land is so grimly silent, so hushed and soundless, as the frozen
+North. For days they marched through desolation, without glimpse of
+human habitation, without sight of track or trail, without sound of a
+human voice to break the monotony. There was no game in the country,
+with the exception of an occasional bird or rabbit, nothing but the
+white hills, the fringe of alder tops along the watercourses, and the
+thickets of gnarled, unhealthy spruce in the smothered valleys.
+
+Their destination was a mysterious stream at the headwaters of the
+unmapped Kuskokwim, where rumor said there was gold, and whither they
+feared other men were hastening from the mining country far to the
+north.
+
+Now it is a penalty of the White Country that men shall think of women;
+Cantwell began to brood upon the Katmai girl, for she was the last; her
+eyes were haunting and distance had worked its usual enchantment. He
+reflected that Mort had shouldered him aside and won her favor, then
+boasted of it. Johnny awoke one night with a dream of her, and lay
+quivering.
+
+"She was only a squaw," he said, half aloud. "If I'd really tried--"
+
+Grant lay beside him, snoring, the heat of their bodies intermingled.
+The waking man tried to compose himself, but his partner's stertorous
+breathing irritated him beyond measure; for a long time he remained
+motionless, staring into the gray blurr of the tent top. He had played
+out. He owed his life to the man who had cheated him of the Katmai girl,
+and that man knew it. He had become a weak, helpless thing, dependent
+upon another's strength, and that other now accepted his superiority as
+a matter of course. The obligation was insufferable, and--it was
+unjust. The North had played him a devilish trick, it had betrayed him,
+it had bound him to his benefactor with chains of gratitude which were
+irksome. Had they been real chains they could have galled him no more
+than at this moment.
+
+As time passed the men spoke less frequently to each other. Grant joshed
+his mate roughly, once or twice, masking beneath an assumption of
+jocularity his own vague irritation at the change that had come over
+them. It was as if he had probed at an open wound with clumsy fingers.
+
+Cantwell had by this time assumed most of those petty camp tasks which
+provoke tired trailers, those humdrum duties which are so trying to
+exhausted nerves, and of course they wore upon him as they wear upon
+every man. But, once he had taken them over, he began to resent Grant's
+easy relinquishment; it rankled him to realize how willingly the other
+allowed him to do the cooking, the dish-washing, the fire-building, the
+bed-making. Little monotonies of this kind form the hardest part of
+winter travel, they are the rocks upon which friendships founder and
+partnerships are wrecked. Out on the trail, nature equalizes the work to
+a great extent, and no man can shirk unduly, but in camp, inside the
+cramped confines of a tent pitched on boughs laid over the snow, it is
+very different. There one must busy himself while the other rests and
+keeps his legs out of the way if possible. One man sits on the bedding
+at the rear of the shelter, and shivers, while the other squats over a
+tantalizing fire of green wood, blistering his face and parboiling his
+limbs inside his sweaty clothing. Dishes must be passed, food divided,
+and it is poor food, poorly prepared at best. Sometimes men criticize
+and voice longings for better grub and better cooking. Remarks of this
+kind have been known to result in tragedies, bitter words and flaming
+curses--then, perhaps, wild actions, memories of which the later years
+can never erase.
+
+It is but one prank of the wilderness, one grim manifestation of its
+silent forces.
+
+Had Grant been unable to do his part Cantwell would have willingly
+accepted the added burden, but Mort was able, he was nimble and "handy,"
+he was the better cook of the two; in fact, he was the better man in
+every way--or so he believed. Cantwell sneered at the last thought, and
+the memory of his debt was like bitter medicine.
+
+His resentment--in reality nothing more than a phase of insanity begot
+of isolation and silence--could not help but communicate itself to his
+companion, and there resulted a mutual antagonism, which grew into a
+dislike, then festered into something more, something strange,
+reasonless, yet terribly vivid and amazingly potent for evil. Neither
+man ever mentioned it--their tongues were clenched between their teeth
+and they held themselves in check with harsh hands--but it was
+constantly in their minds, nevertheless. No man who has not suffered the
+manifold irritations of such an intimate association can appreciate the
+gnawing canker of animosity like this. It was dangerous because there
+was no relief from it: the two were bound together as by gyves; they
+shared each other's every action and every plan; they trod in each
+other's tracks, slept in the same bed, ate from the same plate. They
+were like prisoners ironed to the same staple.
+
+Each fought the obsession in his own way, but it is hard to fight the
+impalpable, hence their sick fancies grew in spite of themselves. Their
+minds needed food to prey upon, but found none. Each began to criticize
+the other silently, to sneer at his weaknesses, to meditate derisively
+upon his peculiarities. After a time they no longer resisted the advance
+of these poisonous thoughts, but welcomed it.
+
+On more than one occasion the embers of their wrath were upon the point
+of bursting into flame, but each realized that the first ill-considered
+word would serve to slip the leash from those demons that were straining
+to go free, and so managed to restrain himself.
+
+The crisis came one crisp morning when a dog team whirled around a bend
+in the river and a white man hailed them. He was the mail carrier, on
+his way out from Nome, and he brought news of the "inside."
+
+"Where are you boys bound for?" he inquired when greetings were over
+and gossip of the trail had passed.
+
+"We're going to the Stony River strike," Grant told him.
+
+"Stony River? Up the Kuskokwim?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+The mail man laughed. "Can you beat that? Ain't you heard about Stony
+River?"
+
+"No!"
+
+"Why, it's a fake--no such place."
+
+There was a silence; the partners avoided each other's eyes.
+
+"MacDonald, the fellow that started it, is on his way to Dawson. There's
+a gang after him, too, and if he's caught it'll go hard with him. He
+wrote the letters--to himself--and spread the news just to raise a
+grubstake. He cleaned up big before they got onto him. He peddled his
+tips for real money."
+
+"Yes!" Grant spoke quietly. "Johnny bought one. That's what brought us
+from Seattle. We went out on the last boat and figured we'd come in from
+this side before the break-up. So--fake!"
+
+"Gee! You fellers bit good." The mail carrier shook his head. "Well!
+You'd better keep going now; you'll get to Nome before the season opens.
+Better take dogfish from Bethel--it's four bits a pound on the Yukon.
+Sorry I didn't hit your camp last night; we'd 'a' had a visit. Tell the
+gang that you saw me." He shook hands ceremoniously, yelled at his
+panting dogs, and went swiftly on his way, waving a mitten on high as he
+vanished around the next bend.
+
+The partners watched him go, then Grant turned to Johnny, and repeated:
+"Fake! MacDonald stung you."
+
+Cantwell's face went as white as the snow behind him, his eyes blazed.
+"Why did you tell him I bit?" he demanded harshly.
+
+"Hunh! _Didn't_ you bite? Two thousand miles afoot; three months of
+Hades; for nothing. That's biting some."
+
+"_Well!_" The speaker's face was convulsed, and Grant's flamed with an
+answering anger. They glared at each other for a moment. "Don't blame
+me. You fell for it, too."
+
+"I----" Mort checked his rushing words.
+
+"Yes, _you_! Now, what are you going to do about it? Welsh?"
+
+"I'm going through to Nome." The sight of his partner's rage had set
+Mort to shaking with a furious desire to fly at his throat, but
+fortunately, he retained a spark of sanity.
+
+"Then shut up, and quit chewing the rag. You--talk too much."
+
+Mort's eyes were bloodshot; they fell upon the carbine under the sled
+lashings, and lingered there, then wavered. He opened his lips,
+reconsidered, spoke softly to the team, then lifted the heavy dog whip
+and smote the Malemutes with all his strength.
+
+The men resumed their journey without further words, but each was
+cursing inwardly.
+
+"So! I talk too much," Grant thought. The accusation struck in his mind
+and he determined to speak no more.
+
+"He blames me," Cantwell reflected, bitterly. "I'm in wrong again and he
+couldn't keep his mouth shut. A fine partner, he is!"
+
+All day they plodded on, neither trusting himself to speak. They ate
+their evening meal like mutes; they avoided each other's eyes. Even the
+guide noticed the change and looked on curiously.
+
+There were two robes and these the partners shared nightly, but their
+hatred had grown so during the past few hours that the thought of lying
+side by side, limb to limb, was distasteful.
+
+Yet neither dared suggest a division of the bedding, for that would have
+brought further words and resulted in the crash which they longed for,
+but feared. They stripped off their furs, and lay down beside each other
+with the same repugnance they would have felt had there been a serpent
+in the couch.
+
+This unending malevolent silence became terrible. The strain of it
+increased, for each man now had something definite to cherish in the
+words and the looks that had passed. They divided the camp work with
+scrupulous nicety, each man waited upon himself and asked no favors. The
+knowledge of his debt forever chafed Cantwell; Grant resented his
+companion's lack of gratitude.
+
+Of course they spoke occasionally--it was beyond human endurance to
+remain entirely dumb--but they conversed in monosyllables, about trivial
+things, and their voices were throaty, as if the effort choked them.
+Meanwhile they continued to glow inwardly at a white heat.
+
+Cantwell no longer felt the desire merely to match his strength against
+Grant's; the estrangement had become too wide for that; a physical
+victory would have been flat and tasteless; he craved some deeper
+satisfaction. He began to think of the ax--just how or when or why he
+never knew. It was a thin-bladed, polished thing of frosty steel, and
+the more he thought of it the stronger grew his impulse to rid himself
+once for all of that presence which exasperated him. It would be very
+easy, he reasoned; a sudden blow, with the weight of his shoulders
+behind it--he fancied he could feel the bit sink into Grant's flesh,
+cleaving bone and cartilages in its course--a slanting downward stroke,
+aimed at the neck where it joined the body, and he would be forever
+satisfied. It would be ridiculously simple. He practiced in the gloom of
+evening as he felled spruce trees for firewood; he guarded the ax
+religiously; it became a living thing which urged him on to violence. He
+saw it standing by the tent fly when he closed his eyes to sleep; he
+dreamed of it; he sought it out with his eyes when he first awoke. He
+slid it loosely under the sled lashings every morning, thinking that its
+use could not long be delayed.
+
+As for Grant, the carbine dwelt forever in his mind, and his fingers
+itched for it. He secretly slipped a cartridge into the chamber, and
+when an occasional ptarmigan offered itself for a target he saw the
+white spot on the breast of Johnny's reindeer parka, dancing ahead of
+the Lyman bead.
+
+The solitude had done its work; the North had played its grim comedy to
+the final curtain, making sport of men's affections and turning love to
+rankling hate. But into the mind of each man crept a certain craftiness.
+Each longed to strike, but feared to face the consequences. It was
+lonesome, here among the white hills and the deathly silences, yet they
+reflected that it would be still more lonesome if they were left to keep
+step with nothing more substantial than a memory. They determined,
+therefore, to wait until civilization was nearer, meanwhile rehearsing
+the moment they knew was inevitable. Over and over in their thoughts
+each of them enacted the scene, ending it always with the picture of a
+prostrate man in a patch of trampled snow which grew crimson as the
+other gloated.
+
+They paused at Bethel Mission long enough to load with dried salmon,
+then made the ninety-mile portage over lake and tundra to the Yukon.
+There they got their first touch of the "inside" world. They camped in a
+barabora where white men had slept a few nights before, and heard their
+own language spoken by native tongues. The time was growing short now,
+and they purposely dismissed their guide, knowing that the trail was
+plain from there on. When they hitched up, on the next morning, Cantwell
+placed the ax, bit down, between the tarpaulin and the sled rail,
+leaving the helve projecting where his hand could reach it. Grant thrust
+the barrel of the rifle beneath a lashing, with the butt close by the
+handle-bars, and it was loaded.
+
+A mile from the village they were overtaken by an Indian and his squaw,
+traveling light behind hungry dogs. The natives attached themselves to
+the white men and hung stubbornly to their heels, taking advantage of
+their tracks. When night came they camped alongside, in the hope of
+food. They announced that they were bound for St. Michaels, and in spite
+of every effort to shake them off they remained close behind the
+partners until that point was reached.
+
+At St. Michaels there were white men, practically the first Johnny and
+Mort had encountered since landing at Katmai, and for a day at least
+they were sane. But there were still three hundred miles to be traveled,
+three hundred miles of solitude and haunting thoughts. Just as they were
+about to start, Cantwell came upon Grant and the A. C. agent, and heard
+his name pronounced, also the word "Katmai." He noted that Mort fell
+silent at his approach, and instantly his anger blazed afresh. He
+decided that the latter had been telling the story of their experience
+on the pass and boasting of his service. So much the better, he
+thought, in a blind rage; that which he planned doing would appear all
+the more like an accident, for who would dream that a man could kill the
+person to whom he owed his life?
+
+That night he waited for a chance.
+
+They were camped in a dismal hut on a wind-swept shore; they were alone.
+But Grant was waiting also, it seemed. They lay down beside each other,
+ostensibly to sleep; their limbs touched; the warmth from their bodies
+intermingled, but they did not close their eyes.
+
+They were up and away early, with Nome drawing rapidly nearer. They had
+skirted an ocean, foot by foot; Bering Sea lay behind them, now, and its
+northern shore swung westward to their goal. For two months they had
+lived in silent animosity, feeding on bitter food while their elbows
+rubbed.
+
+Noon found them floundering through one of those unheralded storms which
+make coast travel so hazardous. The morning had turned off gray, the sky
+was of a leaden hue which blended perfectly with the snow underfoot,
+there was no horizon, it was impossible to see more than a few yards in
+any direction. The trail soon became obliterated and their eyes began to
+play tricks. For all they could distinguish, they might have been
+suspended in space; they seemed to be treading the measures of an
+endless dance in the center of a whirling cloud. Of course it was cold,
+for the wind off the open sea was damp, but they were not men to turn
+back.
+
+They soon discovered that their difficulty lay not in facing the storm,
+but in holding to the trail. That narrow, two-foot causeway, packed by a
+winter's travel and frozen into a ribbon of ice by a winter's frosts,
+afforded their only avenue of progress, for the moment they left it the
+sled plowed into the loose snow, well-nigh disappearing and bringing the
+dogs to a standstill. It was the duty of the driver, in such case, to
+wallow forward, right the load if necessary, and lift it back into
+place. These mishaps were forever occurring, for it was impossible to
+distinguish the trail beneath its soft covering. However, if the
+driver's task was hard it was no more trying than that of the man ahead,
+who was compelled to feel out and explore the ridge of hardened snow and
+ice with his feet, after the fashion of a man walking a plank in the
+dark. Frequently he lunged into the drifts with one foot, or both; his
+glazed mukluk soles slid about, causing him to bestride the invisible
+hogback, or again his legs crossed awkwardly, throwing him off his
+balance. At times he wandered away from the path entirely and had to
+search it out again. These exertions were very wearing and they were
+dangerous, also, for joints are easily dislocated, muscles twisted, and
+tendons strained.
+
+Hour after hour the march continued, unrelieved by any change, unbroken
+by any speck or spot of color. The nerves of their eyes, wearied by
+constant nearsighted peering at the snow, began to jump so that vision
+became untrustworthy. Both travelers appreciated the necessity of
+clinging to the trail, for, once they lost it, they knew they might
+wander about indefinitely until they chanced to regain it or found their
+way to the shore, while always to seaward was the menace of open water,
+of air holes, or cracks which might gape beneath their feet like jaws.
+Immersion in this temperature, no matter how brief, meant death.
+
+The monotony of progress through this unreal, leaden world became almost
+unbearable. The repeated strainings and twistings they suffered in
+walking the slippery ridge reduced the men to weariness; their legs grew
+clumsy and their feet uncertain. Had they found a camping place they
+would have stopped, but they dared not forsake the thin thread that
+linked them with safety to go and look for one, not knowing where the
+shore lay. In storms of this kind men have lain in their sleeping bags
+for days within a stone's throw of a road-house or village. Bodies have
+been found within a hundred yards of shelter after blizzards have
+abated.
+
+Cantwell and Grant had no choice, therefore, except to bore into the
+welter of drifting flakes.
+
+It was late in the afternoon when the latter met with an accident.
+Johnny, who had taken a spell at the rear, heard him cry out, saw him
+stagger, struggle to hold his footing, then sink into the snow. The
+dogs paused instantly, lay down, and began to strip the ice pellets
+from between their toes.
+
+Cantwell spoke harshly, leaning upon the handle-bars: "Well! What's the
+idea?"
+
+It was the longest sentence of the day.
+
+"I've--hurt myself." Mort's voice was thin and strange; he raised
+himself to a sitting posture, and reached beneath his parka, then lay
+back weakly. He writhed, his face was twisted with pain. He continued to
+lie there, doubled into a knot of suffering. A groan was wrenched from
+between his teeth.
+
+"Hurt? How?" Johnny inquired, dully.
+
+It seemed very ridiculous to see that strong man kicking around in the
+snow.
+
+"I've ripped something loose--here." Mort's palms were pressed in upon
+his groin, his fingers were clutching something. "Ruptured--I guess." He
+tried again to rise, but sank back. His cap had fallen off and his
+forehead glistened with sweat.
+
+Cantwell went forward and lifted him. It was the first time in many days
+that their hands had touched, and the sensation affected him strangely.
+He struggled to repress a devilish mirth at the thought that Grant had
+played out--it amounted to that and nothing less; the trail had
+delivered him into his enemy's hands, his hour had struck. Johnny
+determined to square the debt now, once for all, and wipe his own mind
+clean of that poison which corroded it. His muscles were strong, his
+brain clear, he had never felt his strength so irresistible as at this
+moment, while Mort, for all his boasted superiority, was nothing but a
+nerveless thing hanging limp against his breast. Providence had arranged
+it all. The younger man was impelled to give raucous voice to his glee,
+and yet--his helpless burden exerted an odd effect upon him.
+
+He deposited his foe upon the sled and stared at the face he had not met
+for many days. He saw how white it was, how wet and cold, how weak and
+dazed, then as he looked he cursed inwardly, for the triumph of his
+moment was spoiled.
+
+The ax was there, its polished bit showed like a piece of ice, its helve
+protruded handily, but there was no need of it now; his fingers were all
+the weapons Johnny needed; they were more than sufficient, in fact, for
+Mort was like a child.
+
+Cantwell was a strong man, and, although the North had coarsened him,
+yet underneath the surface was a chivalrous regard for all things weak,
+and this the trail madness had not affected. He had longed for this
+instant, but now that it had come he felt no enjoyment, since he could
+not harm a sick man and waged no war on cripples. Perhaps, when Mort had
+rested, they could settle their quarrel; this was as good a place as
+any. The storm hid them, they would leave no traces, there could be no
+interruption.
+
+But Mort did not rest. He could not walk; movement brought excruciating
+pain.
+
+Finally Cantwell heard himself saying: "Better wrap up and lie still
+for a while. I'll get the dogs underway." His words amazed him dully.
+They were not at all what he had intended to say.
+
+The injured man demurred, but the other insisted gruffly, then brought
+him his mittens and cap, slapping the snow out of them before rousing
+the team to motion. The load was very heavy now, the dogs had no
+footprints to guide them, and it required all of Cantwell's efforts to
+prevent capsizing. Night approached swiftly, the whirling snow particles
+continued to flow past upon the wind, shrouding the earth in an
+impenetrable pall.
+
+The journey soon became a terrible ordeal, a slow, halting progress that
+led nowhere and was accomplished at the cost of tremendous exertion.
+Time after time Johnny broke trail, then returned and urged the huskies
+forward to the end of his tracks. When he lost the path he sought it
+out, laboriously hoisted the sledge back into place, and coaxed his
+four-footed helpers to renewed effort. He was drenched with
+perspiration, his inner garments were steaming, his outer ones were
+frozen into a coat of armor; when he paused he chilled rapidly. His
+vision was untrustworthy, also, and he felt snow blindness coming on.
+Grant begged him more than once to unroll the bedding and prepare to
+sleep out the storm; he even urged Johnny to leave him and make a dash
+for his own safety, but at this the younger man cursed and told him to
+hold his tongue.
+
+Night found the lone driver slipping, plunging, lurching ahead of the
+dogs, or shoving at the handle-bars and shouting at the dogs. Finally,
+during a pause for rest he heard a sound which roused him. Out of the
+gloom to the right came the faint complaining howl of a malemute; it was
+answered by his own dogs, and the next moment they had caught a scent
+which swerved them shoreward and led them scrambling through the drifts.
+Two hundred yards, and a steep bank loomed above, up and over which they
+rushed, with Cantwell yelling encouragement; then a light showed, and
+they were in the lee of a low-roofed hut.
+
+A sick native, huddled over a Yukon stove, made them welcome to his mean
+abode, explaining that his wife and son had gone to Unalaklik for
+supplies.
+
+Johnny carried his partner to the one unoccupied bunk and stripped his
+clothes from him. With his own hands he rubbed the warmth back into
+Mortimer's limbs, then swiftly prepared hot food, and, holding him in
+the hollow of his aching arm, fed him, a little at a time. He was like
+to drop from exhaustion, but he made no complaint. With one folded robe
+he made the hard boards comfortable, then spread the other as a
+covering. For himself he sat beside the fire and fought his weariness.
+When he dozed off and the cold awakened him, he renewed the fire; he
+heated beef tea, and, rousing Mort, fed it to him with a teaspoon. All
+night long, at intervals, he tended the sick man, and Grant's eyes
+followed him with an expression that brought a fierce pain to Cantwell's
+throat.
+
+"You're mighty good--after the rotten way I acted," the former whispered
+once.
+
+And Johnny's big hand trembled so that he spilled the broth.
+
+His voice was low and tender as he inquired, "Are you resting easier
+now?"
+
+The other nodded.
+
+"Maybe you're not hurt badly, after--all. God! That would be awful----"
+Cantwell choked, turned away, and, raising his arms against the log
+wall, buried his face in them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The morning broke clear; Grant was sleeping. As Johnny stiffly mounted
+the creek bank with a bucket of water he heard a jingle of sleighbells
+and saw a sled with two white men swing in toward the cabin.
+
+"Hello!" he called, then heard his own name pronounced.
+
+"Johnny Cantwell, by all that's holy!"
+
+The next moment he was shaking hands vigorously with two old friends
+from Nome.
+
+"Martin and me are bound for Saint Mikes," one of them explained. "Where
+the deuce did you come from, Johnny?"
+
+"The 'outside.' Started for Stony River, but--"
+
+"Stony River!" The newcomers began to laugh loudly and Cantwell joined
+them. It was the first time he had laughed for weeks. He realized the
+fact with a start, then recollected also his sleeping partner, and said:
+
+"Sh-h! Mort's inside, asleep!"
+
+During the night everything had changed for Johnny Cantwell; his mental
+attitude, his hatred, his whole reasonless insanity. Everything was
+different now, even his debt was canceled, the weight of obligation was
+removed, and his diseased fancies were completely cured.
+
+"Yes! Stony River," he repeated, grinning broadly. "I bit!"
+
+Martin burst forth, gleefully: "They caught MacDonald at Holy Cross and
+ran him out on a limb. He'll never start another stampede. Old man Baker
+gun-branded him."
+
+"What's the matter with Mort?" inquired the second traveler.
+
+"He's resting up. Yesterday, during the storm he--" Johnny was upon the
+point of saying "played out," but changed it to "had an accident. We
+thought it was serious, but a few days' rest'll bring him around all
+right. He saved me at Katmai, coming in. I petered out and threw up my
+tail, but he got me through. Come inside and tell him the news."
+
+"Sure thing."
+
+"Well, well!" Martin said. "So you and Mort are still partners, eh?"
+
+"_Still_ partners?" Johnny took up the pail of water. "Well, rather!
+We'll always be partners." His voice was young and full and hearty as he
+continued: "Why, Mort's the best fellow in the world. I'd lay down my
+life for him."
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[5] From _The Crimson Garden_. Copyright, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1916, by
+Harper and Brothers. Reprinted by special permission of publisher and
+author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VI.--That Spot[6]
+
+_By Jack London_
+
+
+I DON'T think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear
+by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my brother. If
+ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my
+actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and
+blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out
+the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly
+comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his
+nature. I shall never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that
+man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the
+Stewart; and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the
+years we were together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is
+the meanest man I ever knew.
+
+We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started
+too late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our
+outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then
+we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how
+we came to get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and
+ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say _looked_, because he was
+one of the finest-appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds,
+and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out
+his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like
+all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he
+had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of
+the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing
+color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water bucket. That was
+why we called him Spot.
+
+He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles
+stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest-looking
+brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent-looking. To run
+your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own
+weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run
+that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct
+that was positively gruesome for divining when work was to be done and
+for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying
+lost he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the
+way that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of
+wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed.
+
+There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I
+know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over
+us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and
+decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better
+than work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for
+such a computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes
+till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like
+yeast, what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express
+myself about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it,
+that's all. At times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into
+his eyes; and what I saw there frightened me and started all sorts of
+ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I
+sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there,
+but I wasn't big enough myself to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm
+making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give
+an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it
+wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes
+themselves weren't moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I
+only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,--that's what it
+was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it was different from a mere
+expression; it was more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave
+me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not sentimental kinship.
+It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a
+deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just a calm
+assumption of equality. And I don't think it was deliberate. My belief
+is that it was unconscious on his part. It was there because it was
+there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine. It
+didn't shine; it _moved_. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd looked
+into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve was
+affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he was
+no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the
+brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going on.
+I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big
+Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't
+plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things
+moving, yes, _moving_, in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them
+move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed
+them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was
+like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your
+gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so
+near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I
+could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all
+around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. I got scared. I
+was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation
+that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, and he
+looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know what
+I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God in
+my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into the
+woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back
+alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too.
+
+At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for
+him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even
+tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in
+harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the
+traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve
+touched him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched
+him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. Then
+Steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the
+tent.
+
+I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some words--the
+first we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow and walked away
+mad. I picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and wobbled and
+cowered before ever I swung the lash, and with the first bite of it he
+howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I started the
+rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along, while I threw the whip
+into him. He rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four legs
+waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a
+sausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me, and I apologized for
+what I'd said.
+
+There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it,
+he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he
+was the cleverest thief. These was no circumventing him. Many a
+breakfast we went without our bacon because Spot had been there first.
+And it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the
+Stewart. He figured out the way to break into our meat cache, and what
+he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole
+from everybody. He was a restless dog, always very busy snooping around
+or going somewhere. And there was never a camp within five miles that he
+didn't raid. The worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay
+his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was
+mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we
+were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate.
+He could fight, too, that Spot. He could do everything but work. He
+never pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. The way he
+made those dogs stand around was an education. He bullied them, and
+there was always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. But he
+was more than a bully. He wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four
+legs; and I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team,
+without any provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole
+outfit. Did I say he could eat? I caught him eating the whip once.
+That's straight. He started in at the lash, and when I caught him he was
+down to the handle, and still going.
+
+But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for
+seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced dog
+drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred miles
+to Dawson he'd be a good sled dog. I say we _knew_, for we were just
+getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash
+enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up
+in the morning to the dangedest dog fight we'd ever heard. It was that
+Spot come back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty
+depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward
+when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with
+government dispatches. That Spot was only three days in coming back,
+and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house.
+
+We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the
+pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also,
+we made money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty
+times. He always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't
+want the money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off
+our hands for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him
+away, for that would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker
+that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say,
+and they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five
+dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular
+party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the
+way he abused us was something awful. He said it was cheap at the price
+to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that
+we never talked back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the
+old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me.
+
+When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a
+Lake Bennet boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, and
+of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was along--there
+was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he knocked one or
+another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting with them. It
+was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded.
+
+"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's maroon
+him."
+
+We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore.
+Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole
+days trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the
+quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused
+his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first
+time in months Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as
+happy as clams. The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted.
+That Spot was gone.
+
+Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the river
+bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. I saw
+Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice and
+that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow of
+the boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked
+immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from
+justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he
+saw us sneaking. He surmised that there were law officers in the boat
+who were after us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, and
+in the M.&.M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time explaining,
+for we refused to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and finally he held
+us under guard of another policeman while he went to the boat. After we
+got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we arrived, there
+was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. Now how did he know
+we lived there? There were forty thousand people in Dawson that summer,
+and how did he _savvy_ our cabin out of all the cabins? How did he know
+we were in Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. But don't forget what I
+have said about his intelligence and that immortal something I have seen
+glimmering in his eyes.
+
+There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in
+Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half
+a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but
+he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank.
+We couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried),
+and nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen
+him go down in a dog fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of
+him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs,
+unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be
+lying dead.
+
+I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so
+heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw
+cook, who was after him with an ax. As he went up the hill, after the
+squaw gave out, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his
+Winchester into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never
+touched that Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for
+discharging firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his
+fine, and Steve and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a
+dollar a pound, bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was
+high that year.
+
+I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you
+something, also. I saw that Spot fall through a water hole. The ice was
+three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a
+straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water hole used by the
+hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water hole, licked off the
+water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the
+bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner.
+
+In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water,
+bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We
+figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and
+trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the
+Chilcoot--especially grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and
+pulled our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River,
+and Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was
+a funny cuss, and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing
+when a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into those dogs and
+gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up
+to you. I haven't any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike
+River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up
+the Yukon? You see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks.
+Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog. He got on our
+nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him.
+
+The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and
+we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up
+White River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace
+nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They
+dropped clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the
+country. Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks
+afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton,
+and could just drag along; but he got there. And what I want to know is
+who told him we were up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other
+places. How did he know? You tell me, and I'll tell you.
+
+No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck
+who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an ax, missed him, and
+killed his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside--I, for
+one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an ax aside with a big
+buck at the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That
+buck didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me.
+
+I told you about Spot breaking into our meat cache. It was nearly the
+death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed, and meat was all
+we had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the
+Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on, and we had to wait for
+the river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the
+dogs, and we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did?
+He sneaked. Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We
+sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the
+other dogs. We ate the whole team.
+
+And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up
+and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding.
+Just in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and
+roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was
+trying to cross up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and
+ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd
+stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's
+finish. He didn't have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance
+at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the
+Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at
+the cabins at the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in to the
+bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked
+up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to
+us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were coming
+to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank
+waiting for us?
+
+The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are
+things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds
+can that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or
+something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of theosophy thrown in. The
+Klondike is a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a
+millionaire, if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood
+him for two years altogether, and then I guess my stamina broke. It was
+the summer of 1899 when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to Steve. I
+just sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a note, and
+enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do with it. I
+was worn down to skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that nervous that
+I'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within hailing
+distance. But it was astonishing the way I recuperated when I got quit
+of him. I got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San Francisco, and
+by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old self again, so
+that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me.
+
+Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind
+of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the
+"rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A
+year went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even
+getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read
+his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder
+long. I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gate-post
+and holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that
+very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a
+collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing
+her pet Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be
+with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good
+since he arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that
+Spot got into Mr. Harvey's hen house (Harvey is my next door neighbor)
+and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for
+them. My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then
+moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed
+in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] From _Lost Face_. Copyright, 1910, by the Macmillan Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of the publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII.--When Lincoln Licked a Bully[7]
+
+_By Irving Bacheller_
+
+          _In "A Man For the Ages" Irving Bacheller tells
+          the story of Abraham Lincoln's life and career in
+          the form of a novel. He represents that the book
+          is written by the grandson of one Samson Traylor,
+          who is presented as a friend of Lincoln's. The
+          story that follows is an abbreviation of the
+          account of the journey of Samson Traylor and his
+          wife and two children and their dog, Sambo, in
+          1831, from Vergennes, Vermont, to the Illinois
+          country; and the part "Abe" Lincoln, a clerk in
+          Denton Offut's store at New Salem, had in building
+          a log cabin for them upon their arrival there; and
+          concludes by telling how Lincoln licked a
+          bully._--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+IN the early summer of 1831 Samson Traylor and his wife, Sarah, and two
+children left their old home near the village of Vergennes, Vermont, and
+began their travels toward the setting sun with four chairs, a bread
+board and rolling-pin, a feather bed and blankets, a small
+looking-glass, a skillet, an ax, a pack basket with a pad of sole
+leather on the same, a water pail, a box of dishes, a tub of salt pork,
+a rifle, a teapot, a sack of meal, sundry small provisions and a violin,
+in a double wagon drawn by oxen. . . . A young black shepherd dog with
+tawny points and the name of Sambo followed the wagon or explored the
+fields and woods it passed.
+
+The boy Josiah--familiarly called Joe--sits beside his mother. He is a
+slender, sweet-faced boy. He is looking up wistfully at his mother. The
+little girl Betsey sits between him and her father.
+
+That evening they stopped at the house of an old friend some miles up
+the dusty road to the north.
+
+"Here we are--goin' west," Samson shouted to the man at the doorstep.
+
+He alighted and helped his family out of the wagon.
+
+"You go right in--I'll take care o' the oxen," said the man.
+
+Samson started for the house with the girl under one arm and the boy
+under the other. A pleasant-faced woman greeted them with a hearty
+welcome at the door.
+
+"You poor man! Come right in," she said.
+
+"Poor! I'm the richest man in the world," said he. "Look at the gold on
+that girl's head--curly, fine gold, too--the best there is. She's
+Betsey--my little toy woman--half past seven years old--blue eyes--helps
+her mother get tired every day. Here's my toy man Josiah--yes, brown
+hair and brown eyes like Sarah--heart o' gold--helps his mother,
+too--six times one year old."
+
+"What pretty faces!" said the woman as she stooped and kissed them.
+
+"Yes, ma'am. Got 'em from the fairies," Samson went on. "They have all
+kinds o' heads for little folks, an' I guess they color 'em up with the
+blood o' roses an' the gold o' buttercups an' the blue o' violets.
+Here's this wife o' mine. She's richer'n I am. She owns all of us. We're
+her slaves."
+
+"Looks as young as she did the day she was married--nine years ago,"
+said the woman.
+
+"Exactly!" Samson exclaimed. "Straight as an arrow and proud! I don't
+blame her. She's got enough to make her proud I say. I fall in love
+again every time I look into her big brown eyes."
+
+The talk and laughter brought the dog into the house.
+
+"There's Sambo, our camp follower," said Samson. "He likes us, one and
+all, but he often feels sorry for us because we cannot feel the joy that
+lies in buried bones and the smell of a liberty pole or a gate post."
+
+They had a joyous evening and a restful night with these old friends and
+resumed their journey soon after daylight. They ferried across the lake
+at Burlington and fared away over the mountains and through the deep
+forest on the Chateaugay trail. . . .
+
+They had read a little book called _The Country of the Sangamon_. The
+latter was a word of the Pottawatomies meaning "land of plenty." It was
+the name of a river in Illinois draining "boundless, flowery meadows of
+unexampled beauty and fertility, belted with timber, blessed with shady
+groves, covered with game and mostly level, without a stick or a stone
+to vex the plowman." Thither they were bound to take up a section of
+government land.
+
+They stopped for a visit with Elisha Howard and his wife, old friends of
+theirs, who lived in the village of Malone, which was in Franklin
+County, New York. There they traded their oxen for a team of horses.
+They were large gray horses named Pete and Colonel. The latter was fat
+and good-natured. His chief interest in life was food. Pete was always
+looking for food and perils. Colonel was the near horse. Now and then
+Samson threw a sheepskin over his back and put the boy on it and tramped
+along within arm's reach of Joe's left leg. This was a great delight to
+the little lad.
+
+They proceeded at a better pace to the Black River country, toward
+which, in the village of Canton, they tarried again for a visit with
+Captain Moody and Silas Wright, both of whom had taught school in the
+town of Vergennes.
+
+They proceeded through DeKalb, Richville and Gouverneur and Antwerp and
+on to the Sand Plains. They had gone far out of their way for a look at
+these old friends of theirs.
+
+Every day the children would ask many questions, as they rode along,
+mainly about the beasts and birds in the dark shadows of the forest
+through which they passed. These were answered patiently by their father
+and mother and every answer led to other queries.
+
+"You're a funny pair," said their father one day. "You have to turn over
+every word we say to see what's under it. I used to be just like ye,
+used to go out in the lot and tip over every stick and stone I could
+lift to see the bugs and crickets run. You're always hopin' to see a
+bear or a panther or a fairy run out from under my remarks."
+
+"Wonder why we don't see no bears?" Joe asked.
+
+"'Cause they always see us first or hear us comin'," said his father.
+"If you're goin' to see ol' Uncle Bear ye got to pay the price of
+admission."
+
+"What's that?" Joe asked.
+
+"Got to go still and careful so you'll see him first. If this old wagon
+didn't talk so loud and would kind o' go on its tiptoes maybe we'd see
+him. He don't like to be seen. Seems so he was kind o' shamed of
+himself, an' I wouldn't wonder if he was. He's done a lot o' things to
+be 'shamed of."
+
+"What's he done?" Joe asked.
+
+"Ketched sheep and pigs and fawns and run off with 'em."
+
+"What does he do with 'em?"
+
+"Eats 'em up. Now you quit. Here's a lot o' rocks and mud and I got to
+tend to business. You tackle yer mother and chase her up and down the
+hills a while and let me get my breath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the twenty-ninth day after their journey began they came in sight of
+the beautiful green valley of the Mohawk. As they looked from the hills
+they saw the roof of the forest dipping down to the river shores and
+stretching far to the east and west and broken, here and there, by small
+clearings. Soon they could see the smoke and spires of the thriving
+village of Utica.
+
+Here they bought provisions and a tin trumpet for Joe, and a doll with a
+real porcelain face for Betsey, and turned into the great main
+thoroughfare of the north leading eastward to Boston and westward to a
+shore of the midland seas. This road was once the great trail of the
+Iroquois, by them called the Long House, because it had reached from the
+Hudson to Lake Erie, and in their day had been well roofed with foliage.
+Here the travelers got their first view of a steam engine. The latter
+stood puffing and smoking near the village of Utica, to the horror and
+amazement of the team and the great excitement of those in the wagon.
+The boy clung to his father for fear of it.
+
+Samson longed to get out of the wagon and take a close look at the noisy
+monster, but his horses were rearing in their haste to get away, and
+even a short stop was impossible. Sambo, with his tail between his
+legs, ran ahead, in a panic, and took refuge in some bushes by the
+roadside.
+
+"What was that, father?" the boy asked when the horses had ceased to
+worry over this new peril.
+
+"A steam engyne," he answered. "Sarah, did ye get a good look at it?"
+
+"Yes; if that don't beat all the newfangled notions I ever heard of,"
+she exclaimed.
+
+"It's just begun doin' business," said Samson.
+
+"What does it do?" Joe asked.
+
+"On a railroad track it can grab hold of a house full o' folks and run
+off with it. Goes like the wind, too."
+
+"Does it eat 'em up?" Joe asked.
+
+"No. It eats wood and oil and keeps yellin' for more. I guess it could
+eat a cord o' wood and wash it down with half a bucket o' castor oil in
+about five minutes. It snatches folks away to some place and drops 'em.
+I guess it must make their hair stand up and their teeth chatter."
+
+"Does it hurt anybody?" Joe asked hopefully.
+
+"Well, sir, if anybody wanted to be hurt and got in its way, I rather
+guess he'd succeed purty well. It's powerful. Why, if a man was to ketch
+hold of the tail of a locomotive, and hang on, it would jerk the toe
+nails right off him."
+
+Joe began to have great respect for locomotives.
+
+Soon they came in view of the famous Erie Canal, hard by the road.
+Through it the grain of the far West had just begun moving eastward in a
+tide that was flowing from April to December. Big barges, drawn by mules
+and horses on its shore, were cutting the still waters of the canal.
+They stopped and looked at the barges and the long tow ropes and the
+tugging animals.
+
+"There is a real artificial river, hundreds o' miles long, handmade of
+the best material, water tight, no snags or rocks or other
+imperfections, durability guaranteed," said Samson. "It has made the
+name of DeWitt Clinton known everywhere."
+
+"I wonder what next!" Sarah exclaimed.
+
+They met many teams and passed other movers going west, and some
+prosperous farms on a road wider and smoother than any they had
+traveled. They camped that night, close by the river, with a Connecticut
+family on its way to Ohio with a great load of household furniture on
+one wagon and seven children in another. There were merry hours for the
+young, and pleasant visiting between the older folk that evening at the
+fireside. There was much talk among the latter about the great Erie
+Canal.
+
+So they fared along through Canandaigua and across the Genesee to the
+village of Rochester and on through Lewiston and up the Niagara River to
+the Falls, and camped where they could see the great water flood and
+hear its muffled thunder. . . .
+
+"Children," said Samson, "I want you to take a good look at that. It's
+the most wonderful thing in the world and maybe you'll never see it
+again."
+
+"The Indians used to think that the Great Spirit was in this river,"
+said Sarah.
+
+"Kind o' seems to me they were right," Samson remarked thoughtfully.
+"Kind o' seems as if the great spirit of America was in that water. It
+moves on in the way it wills and nothing can stop it. Everything in its
+current goes along with it. . . ."
+
+They had the lake view and its cool breeze on their way to Silver Creek,
+Dunkirk and Erie, and a rough way it was in those days.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They fared along through Indiana and over the wide savannas of Illinois,
+and on the ninety-seventh day of their journey they drove through
+rolling, grassy, flowering prairies and up a long, hard hill to the
+small log cabin settlement of New Salem, Illinois, on the shore of the
+Sangamon. They halted about noon in the middle of this little prairie
+village, opposite a small clapboarded house. A sign hung over its door
+which bore the rudely lettered words: "Rutledge's Tavern."
+
+A long, slim, stoop-shouldered young man sat in the shade of an oak tree
+that stood near a corner of the tavern, with a number of children
+playing around him. He had sat leaning against the tree trunk reading a
+book. He had risen as they came near and stood looking at them, with the
+book under his arm. . . .
+
+He wore a hickory shirt without a collar or coat or jacket. One
+suspender held up his coarse, linsey trousers, the legs of which fitted
+closely and came only to a blue yarn zone above his heavy cowhide shoes.
+Samson writes that he "fetched a sneeze and wiped his big nose with a
+red handkerchief" as he stood surveying them in silence, while Dr. John
+Allen, who had sat on the doorstep reading a paper--a kindly-faced man
+of middle age with a short white beard under his chin--greeted them
+cheerfully.
+
+The withering sunlight of a day late in August fell upon the dusty
+street, now almost deserted. Faces at the doors and windows of the
+little houses were looking out at them. Two ragged boys and a
+ginger-colored dog came running toward the wagon. The latter and Sambo
+surveyed each other with raised hair and began scratching the earth,
+straight-legged, whining meanwhile, and in a moment began to play
+together. A man in blue jeans who sat on the veranda of a store
+opposite, leaning against its wall, stopped whittling and shut his
+jacknife.
+
+"Where do ye hail from?" the Doctor asked.
+
+"Vermont," said Samson.
+
+"All the way in that wagon?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I guess you're made o' the right stuff," said the Doctor. "Where ye
+bound?"
+
+"Don't know exactly. Going to take up a claim somewhere."
+
+"There's no better country than right here. This is the Canaan of
+America. We need people like you. Unhitch your team and have some dinner
+and we'll talk things over after you're rested. I'm the doctor here and
+I ride all over this part o' the country. I reckon I know it pretty
+well."
+
+A woman in a neat calico dress came out of the door--a strong built and
+rather well favored woman with blond hair and dark eyes.
+
+"Mrs. Rutledge, these are travelers from the East," said the Doctor.
+"Give 'em some dinner, and if they can't pay for it, I can. They've come
+all the way from Vermont."
+
+"Good land! Come right in an' rest yerselves. Abe, you show the
+gentleman where to put his horses an' lend him a hand."
+
+Abe extended his long arm toward Samson and said "Howdy" as they shook
+hands.
+
+"When his big hand got hold of mine, I kind of felt his timber," Samson
+writes. "I says to myself, 'There's a man it would be hard to tip over
+in a rassle.'"
+
+"What's yer name? How long ye been travelin'? My conscience! Ain't ye
+wore out?" the hospitable Mrs. Rutledge was asking as she went into the
+house with Sarah and the children. "You go and mix up with the little
+ones and let yer mother rest while I git dinner," she said to Joe and
+Betsey, and added as she took Sarah's shawl and bonnet: "You lop down
+an' rest yerself while I'm flyin' around the fire."
+
+"Come all the way from Vermont?" Abe asked as he and Samson were
+unhitching.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"By jing!" the slim giant exclaimed. "I reckon you feel like throwin'
+off yer harness an' takin' a roll in the grass."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The tavern was the only house in New Salem with stairs in it. Stairs so
+steep, as Samson writes, that "they were first cousins to the ladder."
+There were four small rooms above them. Two of these were parted by a
+partition of cloth hanging from the rafters. In each was a bed and
+bedstead and smaller beds on the floor. In case there were a number of
+adult guests the bedstead was screened with sheets hung upon strings.
+
+In one of these rooms the travelers had a night of refreshing sleep.
+
+After riding two days with the Doctor, Samson bought the claim of one
+Isaac Gollaher to a half section of land a little more than a mile from
+the western end of the village. He chose a site for his house on the
+edge of an open prairie.
+
+"Now we'll go over and see Abe," said Dr. Allen, after the deal was
+made. "He's the best man with an ax and a saw in this part of the
+country. He clerks for Mr. Offut. Abe Lincoln is one of the best fellows
+that ever lived--a rough diamond just out of the great mine of the
+West, that only needs to be cut and polished."
+
+Denton Offut's store was a small log structure about twenty by twenty
+which stood near the brow of the hill east of Rutledge's Tavern. When
+they entered it Abe lay at full length on the counter, his head resting
+on a bolt of blue denim as he studied a book in his hand. He wore the
+same shirt and one suspender and linsey trousers which he had worn in
+the dooryard of the tavern, but his feet were covered only by his blue
+yarn socks.
+
+Abe laid aside his book and rose to a sitting posture.
+
+"Mr. Traylor," said Doctor Allen, "has just acquired an interest in all
+our institutions. He has bought the Gollaher tract and is going to build
+a house and some fences. Abe, couldn't you help get the timber out in a
+hurry so we can have a raising within a week? You know the art of the ax
+better than any of us."
+
+Abe looked at Samson.
+
+"I reckon he and I would make a good team with the ax," he said. "He
+looks as if he could push a house down with one hand and build it up
+with the other. You can bet I'll be glad to help in any way I can."
+
+Next morning at daylight two parties went out in the woods to cut timber
+for the home of the newcomers. In one party were Harry Needles carrying
+two axes and a well-filled luncheon pail; Samson with a saw in his hand
+and the boy Joe on his back; Abe with saw and ax and a small jug of root
+beer and a book tied in a big red handkerchief and slung around his
+neck. When they reached the woods Abe cut a pole for the small boy and
+carried him on his shoulder to the creek and said:
+
+"Now you sit down here and keep order in this little frog city. If you
+hear a frog say anything improper you fetch him a whack. Don't allow any
+nonsense. We'll make you Mayor of Frog City."
+
+The men fell to with axes and saws while Harry limbed the logs and
+looked after the Mayor. Their huge muscles flung the sharp axes into the
+timber and gnawed through it with a saw. Many big trees fell before
+noontime when they stopped for luncheon. While they were eating Abe
+said:
+
+"I reckon we better saw out a few boards this afternoon. Need 'em for
+the doors. We'll tote a couple of logs up on the side o' that knoll, put
+'em on skids an' whip 'em up into boards with the saw."
+
+Samson took hold of the middle of one of the logs and raised it from the
+ground.
+
+"I guess we can carry 'em," he said.
+
+"Can ye shoulder it?" Abe asked.
+
+"Easy," said Samson as he raised an end of the log, stepped beneath it
+and, resting its weight on his back, soon got his shoulder near its
+center and swung it clear of the ground and walked with it to the
+knollside where he let it fall with a resounding thump that shook the
+ground. Abe stopped eating and watched every move in this remarkable
+performance. The ease with which the big Vermonter had so defied the law
+of gravitation with that unwieldly stick amazed him.
+
+"That thing'll weigh from seven to eight hundred pounds," said he. "I
+reckon you're the stoutest man in this part o' the state an' I'm quite a
+man myself. I've lifted a barrel o' whisky and put my mouth to the bung
+hole. I never drink it."
+
+"Say," he added as he sat down and began eating a doughnut. "If you ever
+hit anybody take a sledge hammer or a crowbar. It wouldn't be decent to
+use your fist."
+
+"Don't talk when you've got food in your mouth," said Joe who seemed to
+have acquired a sense of responsibility for the manners of Abe.
+
+"I reckon you're right," Abe laughed. "A man's ideas ought not to be
+mingled with cheese and doughnuts."
+
+"Once in a while I like to try myself in a lift," said Samson. "It feels
+good. I don't do it to show off. I know there's a good many men stouter
+than I be. I guess you're one of 'em."
+
+"No, I'm too stretched out--my neck is too far from the ground," Abe
+answered. "I'm like a crowbar. If I can get my big toe or my fingers
+under anything I can pry some."
+
+After luncheon he took off his shoes and socks.
+
+"When I'm working hard I always try to give my feet a rest and my brain
+a little work at noontime," he remarked. "My brain is so far behind the
+procession I have to keep putting the gad on it. Give me twenty minutes
+of Kirkham and I'll be with you again."
+
+He lay down on his back under a tree with his book in hand and his feet
+resting on the tree trunk well above him. Soon he was up and at work
+again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When they were getting ready to go home that afternoon Joe got into a
+great hurry to see his mother. It seemed to him that ages had elapsed
+since he had seen her--a conviction which led to noisy tears.
+
+Abe knelt before him and comforted the boy. Then he wrapped him in his
+jacket and swung him in the air and started for home with Joe astride
+his neck.
+
+Samson says in his diary: "His tender play with the little lad gave me
+another look at the man Lincoln."
+
+"Some one proposed once that we should call that stream the Minnehaha,"
+said Abe as he walked along. "After this Joe and I are going to call it
+the Minneboohoo."
+
+The women of the little village had met at a quilting party at ten
+o'clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell. There Sarah had had a seat at the
+frame and heard all the gossip of the countryside. . . .
+
+So the day passed with them and was interrupted by the noisy entrance of
+Joe, soon after candlelight, who climbed on the back of his mother's
+chair and kissed her and in breathless eagerness began to relate the
+history of his own day.
+
+That ended the quilting party and Sarah and Mrs. Rutledge and her
+daughter Ann joined Samson and Abe and Harry Needles who were waiting
+outside and walked to the tavern with them.
+
+John McNeil, whom the Traylors had met on the road near Niagara Falls
+and who had shared their camp with them, arrived on the stage that
+evening. . . . Abe came in, soon after eight o'clock, and was introduced
+to the stranger. All noted the contrast between the two young men as
+they greeted each other. Abe sat down for a few minutes and looked sadly
+into the fire but said nothing. He rose presently, excused himself and
+went away.
+
+Soon Samson followed him. Over at Offut's store he did not find Abe, but
+Bill Berry was drawing liquor from the spigot of a barrel set on blocks
+in a shed connected with the rear end of the store and serving it to a
+number of hilarious young Irishmen. The young men asked Samson to join
+them.
+
+"No, thank you. I never touch it," he said.
+
+"We'll come over here an' learn ye how to enjoy yerself some day," one
+of them said.
+
+"I'm pretty well posted on that subject now," Samson answered.
+
+It is likely that they would have begun his schooling at once but when
+they came out into the store and saw the big Vermonter standing in the
+candlelight their laughter ceased for a moment. Bill was among them
+with a well-filled bottle in his hand.
+
+He and the others got into a wagon which had been waiting at the door
+and drove away with a wild Indian whoop from the lips of one of the
+young men.
+
+Samson sat down in the candlelight and Abe in a moment arrived.
+
+"I'm getting awful sick o' this business," said Abe.
+
+"I kind o' guess you don't like the whisky part of it," Samson remarked,
+as he felt a piece of cloth.
+
+"I hate it," Abe went on. "It don't seem respectable any longer."
+
+"Back in Vermont we don't like the whisky business."
+
+"You're right, it breeds deviltry and disorder. In my youth I was
+surrounded by whisky. Everybody drank it. A bottle or a jug of liquor
+was thought to be as legitimate a piece of merchandise as a pound of tea
+or a yard of calico. That's the way I've always thought of it. But
+lately I've begun to get the Yankee notion about whisky. When it gets
+into bad company it can raise the devil."
+
+Soon after nine o'clock Abe drew a mattress filled with corn husks from
+under the counter, cleared away the bolts of cloth and laid it where
+they had been and covered it with a blanket.
+
+"This is my bed," said he. "I'll be up at five in the morning. Then I'll
+be making tea here by the fireplace to wash down some jerked meat and a
+hunk o' bread. At six or a little after I'll be ready to go with you
+again. Jack Kelso is going to look after the store to-morrow."
+
+He began to laugh.
+
+"Ye know when I went out of the tavern that little vixen stood peekin'
+into the window--Bim, Jack's girl," said Abe. "I asked her why she
+didn't go in and she said she was scared. 'Who you 'fraid of?' I asked.
+'Oh, I reckon that boy,' says she. And honestly her hand trembled when
+she took hold of my arm and walked to her father's house with me."
+
+Abe snickered as he spread another blanket. "What a cut-up she is! Say,
+we'll have some fun watching them two I reckon," he said.
+
+The logs were ready two days after the cutting began. Martin Waddell and
+Samuel Hill sent teams to haul them. John Cameron and Peter Lukins had
+brought the window sash and some clapboards from Beardstown in a small
+flat boat. Then came the day of the raising--a clear, warm day early in
+September. All the men from the village and the near farms gathered to
+help make a home for the newcomers. Samson and Jack Kelso went out for a
+hunt after the cutting and brought in a fat buck and many grouse for the
+bee dinner, to which every woman of the neighborhood made a contribution
+of cake or pie or cookies or doughnuts.
+
+"What will be my part?" Samson had inquired of Kelso.
+
+"Nothing but a jug of whisky and a kind word and a house warming," Kelso
+had answered.
+
+They notched and bored the logs and made pins to bind them and cut those
+that were to go around the fireplace and window spaces. Strong, willing
+and well-trained hands hewed and fitted the logs together. Alexander
+Ferguson lined the fireplace with a curious mortar made of clay in which
+he mixed grass for a binder. This mortar he rolled into layers called
+"cats," each eight inches long and three inches thick. Then he laid them
+against the logs and held them in place with a woven network of sticks.
+The first fire--a slow one--baked the clay into a rigid stonelike sheath
+inside the logs and presently the sticks were burned away. The women had
+cooked the meats by an open fire and spread the dinner on a table of
+rough boards resting on poles set in crotches. At noon one of them
+sounded a conch shell. Then with shouts of joy the men hurried to the
+fireside and for a moment there was a great spluttering over the wash
+basins. Before they ate every man except Abe and Samson "took a pull at
+the jug--long or short"--to quote a phrase of the time.
+
+It was a cheerful company that sat down upon the grass around the table
+with loaded plates. Their food had its extra seasoning of merry jests
+and loud laughter. Sarah was a little shocked at the forthright
+directness of their eating, no knives or forks or napkins being needed
+in that process. Having eaten, washed and packed away their dishes the
+women went home at two. Before they had gone Samson's ears caught a
+thunder of horses' feet in the distance. Looking in its direction he saw
+a cloud of dust in the road and a band of horsemen riding toward them at
+full speed. Abe came to him and said:
+
+"I see the boys from Clary's Grove are coming. If they get mean let me
+deal with 'em. It's my responsibility. I wouldn't wonder if they had
+some of Offut's whisky with them."
+
+The boys arrived in a cloud of dust and a chorus of Indian whoops and
+dismounted and hobbled their horses. They came toward the workers, led
+by burly Jack Armstrong, a stalwart, hard-faced blacksmith of about
+twenty-two with broad, heavy shoulders, whose name has gone into
+history. They had been drinking some but no one of them was in the least
+degree off his balance. They scuffled around the jug for a moment in
+perfect good nature and then Abe and Mrs. Waddell provided them with the
+best remnants of the dinner. They were rather noisy. Soon they went up
+on the roof to help with the rafters and the clapboarding. They worked
+well a few minutes and suddenly they came scrambling down for another
+pull at the jug. They were out for a spree and Abe knew it and knew
+further that they had reached the limit of discretion.
+
+"Boys, there are ladies here and we've got to be careful," he said. "Did
+I ever tell you what Uncle Jerry Holman said of his bull calf? He said
+the calf was such a _suckcess_ that he didn't leave any milk for the
+family and that while the calf was growin' fat the children was growin'
+poor. In my opinion you're about fat enough for the present. Let's stick
+to the job till four o'clock. Then we'll knock off for refreshments."
+
+The young revelers gathered in a group and began to whisper together.
+Samson writes that it became evident then they were going to make
+trouble and says:
+
+          "We had left the children at Rutledge's in the
+          care of Ann. I went to Sarah and told her she had
+          better go on and see if they were all right.
+
+          "'Don't you get in any fight,' she said, which
+          shows that the women knew what was in the air.
+
+          "Sarah led the way and the others followed her."
+
+Those big, brawny fellows from the grove when they got merry were
+looking always for a chance to get mad at some man and turn him into a
+plaything. A victim had been a necessary part of their sprees. Many a
+poor fellow had been fastened in a barrel and rolled down hill or nearly
+drowned in a ducking for their amusement. A chance had come to get mad
+and they were going to make the most of it. They began to growl with
+resentment. Some were wigging their leader Jack Armstrong to fight Abe.
+One of them ran to his horse and brought a bottle from his saddlebag. It
+began passing from mouth to mouth. Jack Armstrong got the bottle before
+it was half emptied, drained it and flung it high in the air. Another
+called him a hog and grappled him around the waist and there was a
+desperate struggle which ended quickly. Armstrong got a hold on the neck
+of his assailant and choked him until he let go. This was not enough for
+the sturdy bully of Clary's Grove. He seized his follower and flung him
+so roughly on the ground that the latter lay for a moment stunned.
+Armstrong had got his blood warm and was now ready for action. With a
+wild whoop he threw off his coat, unbuttoned his right shirtsleeve and
+rolled it to the shoulder and declared in a loud voice, as he swung his
+arm in the air, that he could "outjump, outhop, outrun, throw down, drag
+out an' lick any man in New Salem."
+
+In a letter to his father Samson writes:
+
+          "Abe was working at my elbow. I saw him drop his
+          hammer and get up and make for the ladder. I knew
+          something was going to happen and I followed him.
+          In a minute every one was off the roof and out of
+          the building. I guess they knew what was coming.
+          The big lad stood there swinging his arm and
+          yelling like an Injun. It was a big arm and
+          muscled and corded up some but I guess if I'd
+          shoved the calico off mine and held it up he'd a
+          pulled down his sleeve. I suppose the feller's arm
+          had a kind of a mule's kick in it, but, good
+          gracious! If he'd a seen as many arms as you an' I
+          have that have growed up on a hickory helve he'd a
+          known that his was nothing to brag of. I didn't
+          know just how good a man Abe was and I was kind o'
+          scairt for a minute. I never found it so hard work
+          to do nothin' as I did then. Honest my hands kind
+          o' ached. I wanted to go an' cuff that feller's
+          ears an' grab hold o' him an' toss him over the
+          ridge pole. Abe went right up to him an' said:
+
+          "'Jack, you ain't half so bad or half so cordy as
+          ye think ye are. You say you can throw down any
+          man here. I reckon I'll have to show ye that
+          you're mistaken. I'll rassle with ye. We're
+          friends an' we won't talk about lickin' each
+          other. Le's have a friendly rassle.'
+
+          "In a second the two men were locked together.
+          Armstrong had lunged at Abe with a yell. There was
+          no friendship in the way he took hold. He was
+          going to do all the damage he could in any way he
+          could. He tried to butt with his head and ram his
+          knee into Abe's stomach as soon as they came
+          together. Half-drunk Jack is a man who would bite
+          your ear off. It was no rassle; it was a fight.
+          Abe moved like lightning. He acted awful limber
+          an' well-greased. In a second he had got hold of
+          the feller's neck with his big right hand and
+          hooked his left into the cloth on his hip. In that
+          way he held him off and shook him as you've seen
+          our dog shake a woodchuck. Abe's blood was hot. If
+          the whole crowd had piled on him I guess he would
+          have come out all right, for when he's roused
+          there's something in Abe more than bones and
+          muscles. I suppose it's what I feel when he speaks
+          a piece. It's a kind of lightning. I guess it's
+          what our minister used to call the power of the
+          spirit. Abe said to me afterwards that he felt as
+          if he was fighting for the peace and honor of New
+          Salem.
+
+          "A friend of the bully jumped in and tried to
+          trip Abe. Harry Needles stood beside me. Before I
+          could move he dashed forward and hit that feller
+          in the middle of his forehead and knocked him
+          flat. Harry had hit Bap McNoll the cock fighter. I
+          got up next to the kettle then and took the scum
+          off it. Fetched one of them devils a slap with the
+          side of my hand that took the skin off his face
+          and rolled him over and over. When I looked again
+          Armstrong was going limp. His mouth was open and
+          his tongue out. With one hand fastened to his
+          right leg and the other on the nape of his neck
+          Abe lifted him at arm's length and gave him a toss
+          in the air. Armstrong fell about ten feet from
+          where Abe stood and lay there for a minute. The
+          fight was all out of him and he was kind of dazed
+          and sick. Abe stood up like a giant and his face
+          looked awful solemn.
+
+          "'Boys, if there's any more o' you that want
+          trouble you can have some off the same piece,' he
+          said.
+
+          "They hung their heads and not one of them made a
+          move or said a word. Abe went to Armstrong and
+          helped him up.
+
+          "'Jack, I'm sorry that I had to hurt you,' he
+          said. 'You get on to your horse and go home.'
+
+          "'Abe, you're a better man than me,' said the
+          bully, as he offered his hand to Abe. 'I'll do
+          anything you say.'"
+
+So the Clary's Grove gang was conquered. They were to make more trouble
+but not again were they to imperil the foundations of law and order in
+the little community of New Salem.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[7] From _A Man For the Ages_. Copyright, 1919, by the Bobbs-Merrill
+Company. Used by special permission of the publishers.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VIII.--The End of the Trail[8]
+
+_By Clarence E. Mulford_
+
+          _Buck Peters, foreman of Bar-20 Ranch had many
+          cowboys; Pete Wilson, Red Connors, Billy Williams,
+          Johnny Nelson, and a goodly number more, but chief
+          among them was Hopalong Cassidy. Many interesting
+          stories are told about him in "Bar-20 Days" but
+          none of his thrilling experiences ever ended as
+          did the one recited in this most unusual story,
+          "The End of the Trail."_--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+WHEN one finds on his ranch the carcasses of two cows on the same day,
+and both are skinned, there can be only one conclusion. The killing and
+skinning of two cows out of herds that are numbered by thousands need
+not, in themselves, bring lines of worry to any foreman's brow; but
+there is the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the losses going
+higher unless a sharp lesson be given upon the folly of fooling with a
+very keen and active buzz-saw,--and it was the determination of the
+outfit of the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as quickly as
+circumstances would permit.
+
+It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band of
+shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend,
+some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was easy. The
+Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend--that was a
+matter which concerned only the ranches near that town--so long as no
+vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had so sifted, and
+Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging out there, was due
+to receive a shock before long.
+
+About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson
+tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot,
+having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts for
+the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to walk, he hated
+still more to get shot, and most of all he hated to have to admit that
+his rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had seen the thief at work
+and, too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before announcing
+his displeasure, had missed the first shot. When he dragged himself out
+from under his deceased horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a
+small cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north of him.
+After delivering a short and bitter monologue he struck out for the
+ranch and arrived in a very hot and wrathful condition. It was
+contagious, that condition, and before long the entire outfit was in
+the saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his wound was so
+slight as not to bar him from the chase. The shock was on the way, and
+as events proved, was to be one long to linger in the minds of the
+inhabitants of Perry's Bend and the surrounding range.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke
+drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its
+upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the
+other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within
+a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged
+board which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar was a
+rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely--the lower
+part was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large round
+table, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tables
+were located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there were
+half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention was
+directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly lettered
+sign on the wall, reading: "Gents will look for a box first," which the
+"gents" sometimes did. The majority of the "gents" preferred to aim at
+various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the
+outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed.
+
+On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave your
+guns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, still
+called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of
+the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons had
+been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent
+with their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they could
+not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the
+long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their
+accuracy.
+
+Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas
+and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his
+first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner
+of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree. With
+the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he
+reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing
+"right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach. His
+proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke
+earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to
+five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised
+several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings
+and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where "Kansas" was;
+and the name stuck.
+
+The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and
+cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was
+only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the
+Law, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too glad to
+have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells
+scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand in
+a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully,
+they would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in their
+ability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner.
+This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, and
+so he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performed
+as soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends
+were fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become a
+little more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble.
+
+On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of
+the _habitues_ had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the
+card-players already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There
+was some laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More
+whispering went on under that roof than in all the other places in town
+put together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were
+"trimmed" in "frame-up" at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find
+assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been
+taken from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the
+trap door which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion.
+It was true, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of
+refuge under the floor: it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully
+disposed of.
+
+It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing
+was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two
+punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care.
+
+"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then
+walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny
+stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting
+lightly on his belt not far from the holster.
+
+Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Lookin' fer
+something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar.
+Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him
+as he watched for the first hostile move.
+
+"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in
+one swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered,
+backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towards
+Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in the
+Oasis.
+
+As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eyes asked a
+question.
+
+"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied.
+
+"Did you look all over? Behind th' bar?" Edwards asked, slowly. "He
+can't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it,
+an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him."
+
+"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door.
+"You didn't look behind th' bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that's
+where he is!"
+
+"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding
+head decided it.
+
+In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinner
+of other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. "What's up
+now, Harlan?"
+
+The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his one
+redeeming trait. "Did you say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box across
+the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leaned
+over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself on
+his face. "Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here."
+
+But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and he
+prefaced his remarks with a curse. "_I_ know what's up! They want Jerry
+Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, th' bullies!"
+
+"What did he do? Why do they want him?" asked the man who had wanted
+trust.
+
+"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch
+houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that,"
+replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in
+demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger.
+His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated to
+divvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally.
+
+"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced the first speaker. "Ten
+years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had
+his own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water fer it. Where are th'
+little herds now? Where are th' cows that we used to own?" he cried,
+hotly. "What happens to a maverick-hunter, nowadays? If a man helps
+hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on much
+longer, an' that's shore."
+
+Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead right!
+_I_ was a little cattle owner onct, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of
+us!" Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small
+herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before,
+and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been
+lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were
+banked in the East under Harlan's name.
+
+The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and
+nodded. "It's all right Jerry. But get a move on!"
+
+"Here, _you_!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door,
+"_Lively!_"
+
+Jerry was halfway to the proprietor when the front door swung open and
+Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and
+immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny.
+Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and
+self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat
+the fugitive on the draw.
+
+"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly,
+watching both Jerry and Harlan.
+
+The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan
+they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and
+his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting
+to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from
+Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny
+fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice
+in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he
+gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself
+into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral.
+
+When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way
+to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan
+and the others. Finding that he could not get through, Hopalong sprang
+on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive
+at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and
+anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at
+heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side.
+
+Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd to
+stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men
+senseless on the floor. "Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted,
+savagely. "Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean!
+Now climb over an' get in line--quick!"
+
+Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did--did I--get him?"
+
+"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied. "You'll come
+'round if you keep quiet." He arose, his face hard with the desire to
+kill. "I'm coming back for _you_, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An'
+all th' rest of you pups, too!"
+
+"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny.
+
+"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong, picking him up in
+his arms and moving carefully towards the door. "We'll get him, Johnny;
+an' all th' rest, too, when"--the voice died out in the direction of
+Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped out and to
+one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon.
+
+"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered.
+
+"There's going to be some few funerals around here before many hours
+pass."
+
+When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow
+punchers taking care of Johnny. "Where's Hopalong?" he asked.
+
+"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson. "Hey, youngster, you let
+them bandages alone! Hear me?"
+
+"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. "I
+come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in th'
+dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard him
+cuss an' I emptied my gun after him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly
+saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep side of the
+cliff to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom,
+foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend
+where the angry water flung itself against the ragged bulwark of rock
+and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman appeared,
+bending low in the saddle for better protection against the storm. He
+rode along the edge of the stream on the farther bank, opposite the
+steep bluff on the northern side, forcing his wounded and jaded horse to
+keep fetlock deep in the water which swirled and sucked about its legs.
+He was trying his hardest to hide his trail. Lower down the hard, rocky
+ground extended to the water's edge, and if he could delay his pursuers
+for an hour or so, he felt that, even with his tired horse, he would
+have more than an even chance.
+
+But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of
+the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds,
+peered intently and then waved his sombrero to an unseen companion. A
+puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked away, the report of
+the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's horse reared and plunged into
+the deep water and with its rider was swept rapidly towards the bend,
+the way they had come.
+
+"That makes th' fourth time I've missed that coyote!" angrily exclaimed
+Hopalong as Red Connors joined him.
+
+The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling
+its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive,
+gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water
+as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the
+bank and fell exhausted behind a bowlder.
+
+"Well, th' coyote is afoot, anyhow," said Red, with great satisfaction.
+
+"Yes; but how are we going to get to him?" asked Hopalong. "We can't get
+th' cayuses down here, an' we can't swim _that_ water without them. And
+if we could, he'd pot us easy."
+
+"There's a way out of it somewhere," Red replied, disappearing over the
+edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate.
+
+"Hey! Come back here, you chump!" cried Hopalong, running forward.
+"He'll get you, shore!"
+
+"That's a chance I've got to take if I get him," was the reply.
+
+A puff of smoke sailed from behind the bowlder on the other bank and
+Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend.
+Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind
+toyed with the heavy, water-soaked _reata_ as though it were a string.
+As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water
+and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached
+their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back
+involuntarily.
+
+"He's some shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of
+smoke above the bowlder. "I reckon I must have hit him harder than I
+thought in Harlan's. Gee! he's wild as blazes!" he ejaculated as a
+bullet hummed high above his head and struck sharply against the rock
+wall.
+
+"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying to rope that rock
+over there. If I could anchor to that, th' current would push us over
+quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing."
+
+"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier
+as he rests from his fight with th' water," Hopalong remarked, and added
+quickly, "Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her
+from there, all right."
+
+"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every
+shot--Gee! I could 'most feel th' wind of that one. An' blamed if it
+ain't stopped raining. Come on."
+
+They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their
+horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed
+before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could
+believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone
+again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening
+stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail.
+
+It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared upon
+the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard
+ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that
+vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing
+the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in
+their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust,
+"I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down th' river just to have
+th' laugh on us." Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though
+continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him
+forward on a run.
+
+"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't
+that a house?"
+
+"Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What
+did you think it might be?"
+
+"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission."
+
+"Ah, g'wan yorself! What's a mission doing up here?" Red snapped.
+
+"What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?" hotly rejoined
+Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. "There! See th' cross?"
+
+"Shore enough!"
+
+"An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just th' same.
+Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this
+time."
+
+"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't."
+
+"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get
+him, not nohow," declared Hopalong.
+
+"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously.
+
+"Reckon you never run up agin' a mission real hard," Hopalong responded,
+his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and
+they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was
+concerned.
+
+"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively.
+
+"Well, you ain't no _kid_."
+
+"You let _me_ do th' talking; _I'll_ get him."
+
+"All right; an' I'll do th' laughing," snickered Hopalong, at the door.
+"Sic 'em, Red!"
+
+The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his
+heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his
+left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the
+room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the
+dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of
+burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe in
+Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling of
+guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply
+shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all
+three at once. . . .
+
+Red listened intently and then grinned. "Hear that? They're playing
+dominoes in there--come on!"
+
+"Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they
+speaks."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Hanged if I can tell--I've heard it somewhere, that's all."
+
+"Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote can
+get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off while
+we've been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some
+questions."
+
+Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he
+turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no
+sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, and
+he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started
+forward again.
+
+"Look here, stranger," he remarked, with quiet emphasis, "we're after
+that cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?"
+
+The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another trick. "_Habla
+espanola?_" he asked, experimentally.
+
+"You have ridden far?" replied the monk in perfect English.
+
+"All th' way from th' Bend," Red replied, relieved. "We're after Jerry
+Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, judgin' from th' tracks."
+
+"And if you capture him?"
+
+"He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting."
+
+"I see; you will kill him."
+
+"Shore's it's wet outside."
+
+"I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment."
+
+"Ya-as?" asked Red with a rising inflection.
+
+"You will not want him now," replied the monk.
+
+Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled.
+
+"There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out," ordered
+Red, grimly.
+
+The monk turned to Hopalong. "Do you, too, want him?"
+
+Hopalong nodded.
+
+"My friends, he is safe from your punishment."
+
+Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments,
+smiling triumphantly. "There are tracks coming in, but there ain't none
+going away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore have to
+rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?"
+
+"You are right--he is here, and he is not here."
+
+"We're waiting," Red replied, grinning.
+
+"When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on
+seeing him?"
+
+"We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too."
+
+As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was heard,
+and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his
+mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped him and
+briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men outside. The
+monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward, opened
+the chapel door, saying, "Follow me."
+
+The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual
+dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow
+window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn
+rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain
+beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain and
+the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the
+wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the
+stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirgelike chorus.
+
+At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the
+white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon
+them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin,
+which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous
+Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. "Give eternal rest to
+them, O Lord,"--the words seeming to become a part of the room. The
+ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the roof
+between the assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the
+responses in a low Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of
+the censer chains added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of
+the incense, wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep
+twilight of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the
+candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic odor.
+
+As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around
+the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body
+and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew.
+
+From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and
+grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and
+carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as
+ghosts.
+
+"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low
+voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the
+guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in
+peace."
+
+Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small,
+well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long a
+time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to
+hear more or less turmoil and confusion.
+
+_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung
+slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward;
+six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past him,
+and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense.
+Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their
+sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed.
+
+"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the
+mastery as the others cantered up.
+
+"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward
+the procession.
+
+Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow that
+glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!"
+
+Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red."
+
+"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided.
+
+Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession.
+
+"I had to look twict to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy,
+like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported.
+
+"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear
+Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and
+looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, _you!_ Yes, _you!_ Come
+out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here
+all night."
+
+Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they
+rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and
+looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought.
+
+Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. "Gettin'
+glory, Hoppy?"
+
+Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy,
+losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead,
+whistling softly.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[8] From _Bar-20 Days_. Copyright, 1911, by A. C. McClurg and Company.
+Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IX.--Dey Ain't No Ghosts[9]
+
+_By Ellis Parker Butler_
+
+
+ONCE 'pon a time dey was a li'l black boy whut he name was Mose. An'
+whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git
+powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a
+buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an'
+dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar in de clearin' by de shanty an' down
+de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
+
+An' whin de night come erlong, dey ain't no sounds at all whut kin be
+heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out,
+"Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous an' scary, an' de owls, whut mourn
+out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de
+wind, whut mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous, trembulous an'
+scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l black boy
+whut he name was Mose.
+
+'Ca'se dat li'l black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in de
+dark _at_ all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go outen de
+house at night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody can
+see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'! An' who know but
+whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him? An'
+dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l black boy powerful bad, 'ca'se yever'body
+knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.
+
+So whin dat li'l black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep he
+eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob
+butter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin
+he go outer de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny
+plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful hard to keep eyes whut am
+de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.
+
+So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat li'l black Mose he jes mek up he
+mind he ain't gwine outen de shack at all. He cogitate he gwine stay
+right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek
+notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey
+mourn out, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
+De eyes ob dat li'l black Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut
+set on de mantel by side de clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'!
+
+So dat all right. Li'l black Mose he scrooge back in de corner by de
+fireplace, an' he 'low he gwine stay dere till he gwine _to_ bed. But
+bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally Ann,
+whut is her husban', he draps in an' Zack Badget an' de school-teacher
+whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a powerful lot ob
+folks drap in. An' li'l black Mose he seen dat gwine be one s'prise
+party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat.
+
+So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy," an' some ob dem say:
+"Why, dere's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l Mose?" An' he so please he jes grin
+an' grin, 'ca'se he ain't reckon whut gwine happen. So bimeby Sally Ann,
+whut live up de road, she say, "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en lest we got
+a jack-o'-lantern." An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
+Diggs's house, she 'low, "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en _at_ all 'thout
+we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l black Mose he stop a-grinnin', an'
+he scrooge so far back in de corner he 'most scrooge frough de wall. But
+dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say, "Mose, go on down to de
+pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."
+
+"I ain't want to go," say li'l black Mose.
+
+"Go on erlong wid yo'," say he ma, right commandin'.
+
+"I ain't want to go," say Mose ag'in.
+
+"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask.
+
+"'Ca'se I's afraid ob de ghosts," say li'l black Mose, an' dat de
+particular truth an' no mistake.
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts," say de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
+Diggs's house, right peart.
+
+"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say Zack Badget, whut dat 'feared ob
+ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l black Mose's house ef de
+school-teacher ain't ercompany him.
+
+"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say li'l black Mose's ma.
+
+"Wha' yo' pick up dat nonsense?" say he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'lows: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey
+'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all spiled. So dat li'l
+black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de
+pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step outen de shanty an' he stan' on
+de doorstep twell he get he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob he
+ma's washtub, mostly, an' he say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he put one
+foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step.
+
+An' de rain-dove say, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
+
+An' de owl mourn out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
+
+An' de wind sob out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder an' he shut he
+eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick up he foots an' run.
+Yas, sah, he run right peart fast. An' he say: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey
+ain't no ghosts." An' he run erlong de paff whut lead by de
+buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat
+buryin'-ground at all.
+
+No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an'
+mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' bimeby somefin'
+jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de arm, which mek him run jest a bit more
+faster. An' bimeby somefin' jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de cheek, which mek
+him run erbout as fast as he can. An' bimeby somefin' _grab_ li'l Mose
+by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight an' struggle an' cry out: "Dey
+ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't nuffin' but de wild
+brier whut grab him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de leaf ob a tree whut
+brush he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut
+brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an' he ain't lost no
+time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves dey signerfy whut
+ain't no good. So he scoot past dat buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an'
+dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' dat grabeyard in de hollow,
+twell he come to de pumpkin-patch, an' he rotch down an' tek erhold ob
+de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An' he right smart scared. He jes
+de mostest scared li'l black boy whut yever was. He ain't gwine open he
+eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' de owls go,
+"Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+
+He jes speculate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he hair don't stand on
+ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he
+goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low, "Dey ain't no
+ghosts," an' wish he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way.
+So he rotch down, an' he rotch down, twell he git a good hold on dat
+pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes
+yank dat stem wid all he might.
+
+"_Let loosen my head!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
+
+Dat li'l black boy whut he name is Mose he jump 'most outen he skin. He
+open he eyes an' he 'gin to shake like de aspen tree, 'ca'se whut dat
+a-standin' right dar behind him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, dat
+de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head.
+Ain't go no head _at_ all. Li'l black Mose he jest drap on he knees an'
+he beg an' pray:
+
+"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg. "Ah ain't mean no harm
+at all."
+
+"Whut for you try to take my head?" as' de ghost in dat fearsome voice
+whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg li'l Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo' head,
+an' I ain't know you was dar _at_ all. 'Scuse me!"
+
+"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say de ghost. "Ah got somefin'
+powerful _im_portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah
+ain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf,
+an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk _at_ all."
+
+An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got no
+mouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin
+li'l black Mose he look, he see dat ghost ain't go no head _at_ all.
+Nary head.
+
+So de ghost say:
+
+"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick dat
+ixact pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No,
+sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see you
+no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful _im_portant to say unto
+yo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot it on de place whar my head
+ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk
+fo' so long Ah'm right hongry to say somefin'!"
+
+So li'l black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bent down,
+an' li'l black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right
+off dat pumpkin head 'gin to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an'
+right off dat pumpkin head 'gin to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like
+a jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start to speak. Yas, sah,
+dass so.
+
+"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" _in_quire li'l black Mose.
+
+"Ah want to tell yo'," say de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be
+skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like de smoke in July. He
+ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes
+dissipate outen de air, an' he gone _in_tirely.
+
+So li'l Mose he grab up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot. An' whin
+he come to de grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as yever,
+on'y faster, whin he reckon, he'll pick up a club _in_ case he gwine
+have trouble. An' he rotch down an' rotch down, an' tek hold of a lively
+appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab dat hunk of
+wood. . . .
+
+"_Let loosen my leg!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
+
+Dat li'l black boy 'most jump outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in de paff
+is six 'mendjus big ghosts, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. So
+li'l black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat bigges'
+ghost, an' he say:
+
+"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg."
+
+An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah,
+dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say:
+
+"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l black boy. Whut we gwine do fo' to
+_re_ward him fo' politeness?"
+
+"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghosts."
+
+So de bigges' ghost he say:
+
+"Ah gwine tell yo' somethin' important whut yever'body don't know: Dey
+_ain't_ no ghosts."
+
+An' whin he say dat, de ghosts jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l black
+Mose he proceed up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank at de roots,
+an' when de wind go "Oo-_oo_-oo-o-o," an' de owl go, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
+an' de rain-doves go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" he jes tremble an' shake. An'
+bimeby he come to de cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' he shore is
+mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined up along
+de road, an' he 'low he ain't gwine spind no more time palaverin' wid
+ghostes. So he step offen de road fo' to go round erbout, an' he step on
+a pine-stump whut lay right dar.
+
+"_Git offen my chest!_" say a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat
+stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest,
+'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l
+black Mose he hop offen dat stump right peart. Yes, _sah;_ right peart.
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l black Mose beg an' pleed, an' de
+ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step on
+de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But bimeby they 'low they let him go
+'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say, "Mose, you
+Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a
+misabul li'l tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should remimber one
+thing mos' particular'."
+
+"Ya-yas, sah," say dat li'l black boy; "Ah'll remimber. What is dat Ah
+got to remimber?"
+
+De captain ghost he swell up, an' he swell up, twell he as big as a
+house, an' he say in a voice whut shake de ground:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+So li'l black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise up an' mek a
+bow, an' he proceed toward home right libely. He do, indeed.
+
+An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin whin he come to de aidge ob de
+buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se
+de kentry round about am so populate he ain't able to go frough. Yas,
+sah, seem like all de ghostes in de world havin' de conferince right
+dar. Seem like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a convintion on
+dat spot. An' dat li'l black Mose so skeered he jes fall down on e' old
+log whut dar an' screech an' moan! An' all on a suddent de log up and
+spoke to li'l Mose:
+
+"_Get offen me! Get offen me!_" yell dat log.
+
+So li'l black Mose he git offen dat log, an' no mistake.
+
+An' soon as he git offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l black Mose he
+see dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise,
+all de congregation crowd round li'l black Mose, an' dey am about leben
+millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en
+convintion whut li'l black Mose interrup. Right dar am all de sperits in
+de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de
+world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world,
+an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l black Mose, dey
+all gnash dey teef an' grin 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's
+lunchtime. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step on top
+ob li'l Mose's head, an' he say:
+
+"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note
+who is prisint. De firs' business whut come before de convintion am:
+whut we gwine do to a li'l black boy whut stip on de king an' maul all
+ober de king an' treat de king dat disdespictful."
+
+An' li'l black Mose jes moan an' sob:
+
+"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm _at_ all."
+
+But nobody ain't pay no attintion to him at all, 'ca'se yevery one
+lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up
+an' spoke.
+
+"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min _an'_ ladies," he say, "dis am a
+right bad case ob _lazy majesty_, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin
+yevery li'l black boy whut choose gwine wander round at night an' stip
+on de king of ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no time
+for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no time
+do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin but de
+truth."
+
+An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey canfabulate out loud
+erbout it, an' de noise soun like de rain-doves goin', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
+an' de owls goin', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de wind goin',
+"You-_you_-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no
+mistake.
+
+So de king ob de ghosts, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place he hand
+on de head ob li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he
+say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
+
+An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on
+de head ob li'l black Mose, and he hand feel like a toadstool in de cool
+ob de day, an' he say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
+
+An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place he hand on de head ob
+li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like ye yunner side ob a lizard, an'
+he say:
+
+"Dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white
+_as_ snow.
+
+An' a perticklar bent-up hobgoblin he put hand on de head ob li'l black
+Mose, an' he mek dat same _re_mark, and dat whole convintion ob ghostes
+an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yever-thing, which am more 'n a millium,
+pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow outen de
+cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." Yas,
+sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it soun like de wind whin it moan
+frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' yevery hair
+whut on li'l black Mose's head turn white. Dat whut happen whin a li'l
+black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat's so he ain't
+gwine fergit to remimber dey ain't no ghosts. 'Ca'se ef a li'l black boy
+gwine imaginate dey _is_ ghostes, he gwine be skeered in de dark. An'
+dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.
+
+So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler
+whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l black Mose he ain' see 'ca'se for to
+remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch down, an' he raise up de
+pumpkin, an' he perambulate right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift up
+de latch, an' he open de do', an' he yenter in. An' he say:
+
+"Yere's de pumpkin."
+
+An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' Mistah
+Sally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut
+board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whut
+come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack,
+'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves
+gwine "Ooo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" and
+de wind it gwine, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' yever'body powerful skeered.
+'Ca'se li'l black Mose he come a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes
+whin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yever'body gwine imaginate dat de
+ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l black Mose
+he turn he white head, an' he look roun' an' peer roun', an' he say:
+
+"Whut you all skeered fo'?"
+
+'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want to be skeered, too. Dat's natural.
+But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say:
+
+"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"
+
+So li'l black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low:
+
+"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l black Mose he gwine be so
+upotish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an'
+gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at
+Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say:
+
+"Huh; whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner way?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kinder
+suck he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low:
+
+"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain't no ghosts whin
+yever'body know dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc'
+Silas Diggs's house, she tek note de hair ob li'l black Mose's head am
+plumb white, an' she tek note li'l black Mose's face am de color of
+wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm round dat li'l black boy, an' she jes
+snuggle him up, an' she say:
+
+"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How you
+know dey ain't no ghosts?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he kinder lean up 'g'inst de school-teacher whut
+board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low:
+
+"'Ca'se--'ca'se--'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ral
+ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yever was
+in de whole worl', an' yevery ghost say de same thing: 'Dey ain't no
+ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost
+an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, who
+does?"
+
+"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say de school-teacher. An' she say:
+"I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I know.
+Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey _ain'_ no ghosts."
+
+So yever'body 'low dat o cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' de
+ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No,"
+'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he
+done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So he
+say to li'l black Mose:
+
+"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live down de
+lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"
+
+"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "I done met up wid him."
+
+"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say Zack
+Badget.
+
+"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "he done tell me perzactly dat."
+
+"Well, if _he_ tol' you dey ain' no ghosts," say Zack Badget, "I got to
+'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout it. I
+know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met up
+wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout
+it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey ain't no ghosts, dey ain't no
+ghosts."
+
+So yever'body say:
+
+"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+An' dat mek li'l black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se he ain' lek
+ghostes. He reckon he gwine be a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sence
+he know dey ain't no ghosts, an' he reckon he ain' gwine be skeered of
+nuffin' never no more. He ain't gwine min' de dark, an' he ain't gwine
+min' de rain-doves whut go, "Ooo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de
+owls whut go, "Who-_who_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind whut go,
+"You-_you_-o-o-o!" nor nuffin, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence
+he know fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say:
+
+"Well, time fo' a li'l black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de
+ladder to de loft to bed."
+
+An' li'l black Mose he 'low he gwine wait a bit. He 'low he gwine jes
+wait a li'l bit. He 'low he gwine be no trouble _at_ all ef he jes been
+let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So
+he ma she say:
+
+"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut you skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?"
+
+An' li'l black Mose he scrooge, an' he twist, an' he pucker up he mouf,
+an' he rub he eyes, an' prisintly he say right low:
+
+"I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
+
+"Den what am yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.
+
+"Nuffin'," say de li'l black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feel
+kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't."
+
+Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[9] Copyright, 1913, by the Century Company. Reprinted by special
+permission of the author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+X.--The Night Operator[10]
+
+_By Frank L. Packard_
+
+
+TODDLES, in the beginning, wasn't exactly a railroad man--for several
+reasons. First he wasn't a man at all; second, he wasn't, strictly
+speaking, on the company's pay roll; third, which is apparently
+irrelevant, everybody said he was a bad one; and fourth--because Hawkeye
+nicknamed him Toddles.
+
+Toddles had another name--Christopher Hyslop Hoogan--but Big Cloud never
+lay awake at nights losing any sleep over that. On the first run that
+Christopher Hyslop Hoogan ever made, Hawkeye looked him over for a
+minute, said, "Toddles," shortlike--and, shortlike, that settled the
+matter so far as the Hill Division was concerned. His name was Toddles.
+
+Piecemeal, Toddles wouldn't convey anything to you to speak of. You'd
+have to see Toddles coming down the aisle of a car to get him at
+all--and then the chances are you'd turn around after he'd gone by and
+stare at him, and it would be even money that you'd call him back and
+fish for a dime to buy something by way of excuse. Toddles got a good
+deal of business that way. Toddles had a uniform and a regular run all
+right, but he wasn't what he passionately longed to be--a legitimate,
+dyed-in-the-wool railroader. His pay check, plus commissions, came from
+the News Company down East that had the railroad concession. Toddles was
+a newsboy. In his blue uniform and silver buttons, Toddles used to stack
+up about the height of the back of the car seats as he hawked his wares
+along the aisles; and the only thing that was big about him was his
+head, which looked as though it had got a whopping big lead on his
+body--and didn't intend to let the body cut the lead down any. This
+meant a big cap, and, as Toddles used to tilt the vizor forward, the tip
+of his nose, bar his mouth which was generous, was about all one got of
+his face. Cap, buttons, magazines and peanuts, that was Toddles--all
+except his voice. Toddles had a voice that would make you jump if you
+were nervous the minute he opened the car door, and if you weren't
+nervous you would be before he had reached the other end of the
+aisle--it began low down somewhere on high G and went through you shrill
+as an east wind, and ended like the shriek of a brake-shoe with
+everything the Westinghouse equipment had to offer cutting loose on a
+quick stop.
+
+Hawkeye? That was what Toddles called his beady-eyed conductor in
+retaliation. Hawkeye used to nag Toddles every chance he got, and, being
+Toddles' conductor, Hawkeye got a good many chances. In a word, Hawkeye,
+carrying the punch on the local passenger, that happened to be the run
+Toddles was given when the News Company sent him out from the East, used
+to think he got a good deal of fun out of Toddles--only his idea of fun
+and Toddles' idea of fun were as divergent as the poles, that was all.
+
+Toddles, however, wasn't anybody's fool, not by several degrees--not
+even Hawkeye's. Toddles hated Hawkeye like poison; and his hate, apart
+from daily annoyances, was deep-seated. It was Hawkeye who had dubbed
+him "Toddles." And Toddles repudiated the name with his heart, his
+soul--and his fists.
+
+Toddles wasn't anybody's fool, whatever the division thought, and he was
+right down to the basic root of things from the start. Coupled with the
+stunted growth that nature in a miserly mood had doled out to him, none
+knew better than himself that the name of "Toddles," keeping that nature
+stuff patently before everybody's eyes, damned him in his aspirations
+for a bona fide railroad career. Other boys got a job and got their feet
+on the ladder as call-boys, or in the roundhouse; Toddles got--a grin.
+Toddles pestered everybody for a job. He pestered Carleton, the super.
+He pestered Tommy Regan, the master mechanic. Every time that he saw
+anybody in authority Toddles spoke up for a job, he was in deadly
+earnest--and got a grin. Toddles with a basket of unripe fruit and stale
+chocolates and his "best-seller" voice was one thing; but Toddles as
+anything else was just--Toddles.
+
+Toddles repudiated the name, and did it forcefully. Not that he couldn't
+take his share of a bit of guying, but because he felt that he was face
+to face with a vital factor in the career he longed for--so he fought.
+And if nature had been niggardly in one respect, she had been generous
+in others; Toddles, for all his size, possessed the heart of a lion and
+the strength of a young ox, and he used both, with black and bloody
+effect, on the eyes and noses of the call-boys and younger element who
+called him Toddles. He fought it all along the line--at the drop of the
+hat--at a whisper of "Toddles." There wasn't a day went by that Toddles
+wasn't in a row; and the women, the mothers of the defeated warriors
+whose eyes were puffed and whose noses trickled crimson, denounced him
+in virulent language over their washtubs and the back fences of Big
+Cloud. You see, they didn't understand him, so they called him a "bad
+one," and, being from the East and not one of themselves, "a New York
+gutter snipe."
+
+But, for all that, the name stuck. Up and down through the Rockies it
+was--Toddles. Toddles, with the idea of getting a lay-over on a siding,
+even went to the extent of signing himself in full--Christopher Hyslop
+Hoogan--every time his signature was in order; but the official
+documents in which he was concerned, being of a private nature between
+himself and the News Company, did not, in the very nature of things,
+have much effect on the Hill Division. Certainly the big fellows never
+knew he had any name but Toddles--and cared less. But they knew him as
+Toddles, all right! All of them did, every last one of them! Toddles was
+everlastingly and eternally bothering them for a job. Any kind of a job,
+no matter what, just so it was real railroading, and so a fellow could
+line up with everybody else when the pay car came along, and look
+forward to being something some day.
+
+Toddles, with time, of course, grew older, up to about seventeen or so,
+but he didn't grow any bigger--not enough to make it noticeable! Even
+Toddles' voice wouldn't break--it was his young heart that did all the
+breaking there was done. Not that he ever showed it. No one ever saw a
+tear in the boy's eyes. It was clenched fists for Toddles, clenched
+fists and passionate attack. And therein, while Toddles had grasped the
+basic truth that his nickname militated against his ambitions, he erred
+in another direction that was equally fundamental, if not more so.
+
+And here, it was Bob Donkin, the night dispatcher, as white a man as his
+record after years of train-handling was white, a railroad man from the
+ground up if there ever was one, and one of the best, who set
+Toddles--but we'll come to that presently. We've got our "clearance"
+now, and we're off with "rights" through.
+
+No. 83, Hawkeye's train--and Toddles'--scheduled Big Cloud on the
+eastbound run at 9.05; and, on the night the story opens, they were
+about an hour away from the little mountain town that was the divisional
+point, as Toddles, his basket of edibles in the crook of his arm, halted
+in the forward end of the second-class smoker to examine again the
+fistful of change that he dug out of his pants pocket with his free
+hand.
+
+Toddles was in an unusually bad humor, and he scowled. With exceeding
+deftness he separated one of the coins from the others, using his
+fingers like the teeth of a rake, and dropped the rest back jingling
+into his pocket. The coin that remained he put into his mouth, and bit
+on it--hard. His scowl deepened. Somebody had presented Toddles with a
+lead quarter.
+
+It wasn't so much the quarter, though Toddles' salary wasn't so big as
+some people's who would have felt worse over it, it was his _amour
+propre_ that was touched--deeply. It wasn't often that any one could put
+so bald a thing as lead money across on Toddles. Toddles' mind harked
+back along the aisles of the cars behind him. He had only made two sales
+that round, and he had changed a quarter each time--for the pretty girl
+with the big picture hat, who had giggled at him when she bought a
+package of chewing gum; and the man with the three-carat diamond tie-pin
+in the parlor car, a little more than on the edge of inebriety, who had
+got on at the last stop, and who had bought a cigar from him.
+
+Toddles thought it over for a bit; decided he wouldn't have a fuss with
+a girl anyway, balked at a parlor car fracas with a drunk, dropped the
+coin back into his pocket, and went on into the combination baggage and
+express car. Here, just inside the door, was Toddles', or, rather, the
+News Company's chest. Toddles lifted the lid; and then his eyes shifted
+slowly and traveled up the car. Things were certainly going badly with
+Toddles that night.
+
+There were four men in the car: Bob Donkin, coming back from a holiday
+trip somewhere up the line; MacNicoll, the baggage-master; Nulty, the
+express messenger--and Hawkeye. Toddles' inventory of the contents of
+the chest had been hurried--but intimate. A small bunch of six bananas
+was gone, and Hawkeye was munching them unconcernedly. It wasn't the
+first time the big, hulking, six-foot conductor had pilfered the boy's
+chest, not by many--and never paid for the pilfering. That was Hawkeye's
+idea of a joke.
+
+Hawkeye was talking to Nulty, elaborately simulating ignorance of
+Toddles' presence--and he was talking about Toddles.
+
+"Sure," said Hawkeye, his mouth full of banana, "he'll be a great
+railroad man some day! He's the stuff they're made of! You can see it
+sticking out all over him! He's only selling peanuts now till he grows
+up and----"
+
+Toddles put down his basket and planted himself before the conductor.
+
+"You pay for those bananas," said Toddles in a low voice--which was
+high.
+
+"When'll he grow up?" continued Hawkeye, peeling more fruit. "I don't
+know--you've got me. The first time I saw him two years ago, I'm hanged
+if he wasn't bigger than he is now--guess he grows backwards. Have a
+banana?" He offered one to Nulty, who refused it.
+
+"You pay for those bananas, you big stiff!" squealed Toddles
+belligerently.
+
+Hawkeye turned his head slowly and turned his little beady, black eyes
+on Toddles, then he turned with a wink to the others, and for the first
+time in two years offered payment. He fished into his pocket and handed
+Toddles a twenty-dollar bill--there always was a mean streak in Hawkeye,
+more or less of a bully, none too well liked, and whose name on the pay
+roll, by the way, was Reynolds.
+
+"Take fifteen cents out of that," he said, with no idea that the boy
+could change the bill.
+
+For a moment Toddles glared at the yellow-back, then a thrill of unholy
+glee came to Toddles. He could just about make it, business all around
+had been pretty good that day, particularly on the run west in the
+morning.
+
+Hawkeye went on with the exposition of his idea of humor at Toddles'
+expense; and Toddles went back to his chest and his reserve funds.
+Toddles counted out eighteen dollars in bills, made a neat pile of four
+quarters--the lead one on the bottom--another neat pile of the odd
+change, and returned to Hawkeye. The lead quarter wouldn't go very far
+toward liquidating Hawkeye's long-standing indebtedness--but it would
+help some.
+
+Queer, isn't it--the way things happen? Think of a man's whole life,
+aspirations, hopes, ambitions, everything, pivoting on--a lead quarter!
+But then they say that opportunity knocks once at the door of every man;
+and, if that be true, let it be remarked in passing that Toddles wasn't
+deaf!
+
+Hawkeye, making Toddles a target for a parting gibe, took up his lantern
+and started through the train to pick up the fates from the last stop.
+In due course he halted before the inebriated one with the glittering
+tie-pin in the smoking compartment of the parlor car.
+
+"Ticket, please," said Hawkeye.
+
+"Too busy to buysh ticket," the man informed him, with heavy confidence.
+"Whash fare Loon Dam to Big Cloud?"
+
+"One-fifty," said Hawkeye curtly.
+
+The man produced a roll of bills, and from the roll extracted a
+two-dollar note.
+
+Hawkeye handed him back two quarters, and started to punch a cash-fare
+slip. He looked up to find the man holding out one of the quarters
+insistently, if somewhat unsteadily.
+
+"What's the matter?" demanded Hawkeye brusquely.
+
+"Bad," said the man.
+
+A drummer grinned; and an elderly gentleman, from his magazine, looked
+up inquiringly over his spectacles.
+
+"Bad!" Hawkeye brought his elbow sharply around to focus his lamp on the
+coin; then he leaned over and rang it on the window sill--only it
+wouldn't ring. It was indubitably bad. Hawkeye, however, was dealing
+with a drunk--and Hawkeye always did have a mean streak in him.
+
+"It's perfectly good," he asserted gruffly.
+
+The man rolled an eye at the conductor that mingled a sudden shrewdness
+and anger, and appealed to his fellow travelers. The verdict was against
+Hawkeye, and Hawkeye ungraciously pocketed the lead piece and handed
+over another quarter.
+
+"Shay," observed the inebriated one insolently, "shay, conductor, I
+don't like you. You thought I was--hic!--s'drunk I wouldn't know--eh?
+Thash where you fooled yerself!"
+
+"What do you mean?" Hawkeye bridled virtuously for the benefit of the
+drummer and the old gentleman with the spectacles.
+
+And then the other began to laugh immoderately.
+
+"Same ol' quarter," said he. "Same--hic!--ol' quarter back again. Great
+system--peanut boy--conductor--hic! Pass it off on one--other passes it
+off on some one else. Just passed it off on--hic!--peanut boy for a
+joke. Goin' to give him a dollar when he comes back."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you!" snapped Hawkeye ominously. "And you mean to
+insinuate that I deliberately tried to----"
+
+"Sure!" declared the man heartily.
+
+"You're a liar!" announced Hawkeye, spluttering mad. "And what's more,
+since it came from you, you'll take it back!" He dug into his pocket for
+the ubiquitous lead piece.
+
+"Not--hic!--on your life!" said the man earnestly. "You hang on to it,
+old top. I didn't pass it off on _you_."
+
+"Haw!" exploded the drummer suddenly. "Haw--haw, haw!"
+
+And the elderly gentleman smiled.
+
+Hawkeye's face went red, and then purple.
+
+"Go 'way!" said the man petulantly. "I don't like you. Go 'way! Go an'
+tell peanuts I--hic!--got a dollar for him."
+
+And Hawkeye went--but Toddles never got the dollar. Hawkeye went out of
+the smoking compartment of the parlor car with the lead quarter in his
+pocket--because he couldn't do anything else--which didn't soothe his
+feelings any--and he went out mad enough to bite himself. The drummer's
+guffaw followed him, and he thought he even caught a chuckle from the
+elderly party with the magazine and spectacles.
+
+Hawkeye was mad; and he was quite well aware, painfully well aware that
+he had looked like a fool, which is about one of the meanest feelings
+there is to feel; and, as he made his way forward through the train, he
+grew madder still. That change was the change from his twenty-dollar
+bill. He had not needed to be told that the lead quarter had come from
+Toddles. The only question at all in doubt was whether or not Toddles
+had put the counterfeit coin over on him knowingly and with malice
+aforethought. Hawkeye, however, had an intuition deep down inside of him
+that there wasn't any doubt even about that, and as he opened the door
+of the baggage car his intuition was vindicated. There was a grin on the
+faces of Nulty, MacNicoll and Bob Donkin that disappeared with
+suspicious celerity at sight of him as he came through the door.
+
+There was no hesitation then on Hawkeye's part. Toddles, equipped for
+another excursion through the train with a stack of magazines and books
+that almost hid him, received a sudden and vicious clout on the side of
+the ear.
+
+"You'd try your tricks on me, would you?" Hawkeye snarled. "Lead
+quarters--eh?" Another clout. "I'll teach you, you blasted little runt!"
+
+And with the clouts, the stack of carefully balanced periodicals went
+flying over the floor; and with the clouts, the nagging, and the
+hectoring, and the bullying, that had rankled for close on two years in
+Toddles' turbulent soul, rose in a sudden all-possessing sweep of fury.
+Toddles was a fighter--with the heart of a fighter. And Toddles' cause
+was just. He couldn't reach the conductor's face--so he went for
+Hawkeye's legs. And the screams of rage from his high-pitched voice, as
+he shot himself forward, sounded like a cageful of Australian cockatoos
+on the rampage.
+
+Toddles was small, pitifully small for his age; but he wasn't an infant
+in arms--not for a minute. And in action Toddles was as near to a wild
+cat as anything else that comes handy by way of illustration. Two legs
+and one arm he twined and twisted around Hawkeye's legs; and the other
+arm, with a hard and knotty fist on the end of it, caught the conductor
+a wicked jab in the region of the bottom button of the vest. The brass
+button peeled the skin off Toddles' knuckles, but the jab doubled the
+conductor forward, and coincident with Hawkeye's winded grunt, the
+lantern in his hand sailed ceilingwards, crashed into the center lamps
+in the roof of the car, and down in a shower of tinkling glass, dripping
+oil and burning wicks, came the wreckage to the floor.
+
+There was a yell from Nulty; but Toddles hung on like grim death.
+Hawkeye was bawling fluent profanity and seeing red. Toddles heard one
+and sensed the other--and he clung grimly on. He was all doubled up
+around Hawkeye's knees, and in that position Hawkeye couldn't get at him
+very well; and, besides, Toddles had his own plan of battle. He was
+waiting for an extra heavy lurch of the car.
+
+It came. Toddles' muscles strained legs and arms and back in concert,
+and for an instant across the car they tottered, Hawkeye staggering in a
+desperate attempt to maintain his equilibrium--and then down--speaking
+generally, on a heterogeneous pile of express parcels; concretely, with
+an eloquent squnch, on a crate of eggs, thirty dozen of them, at forty
+cents a dozen.
+
+Toddles, over his rage, experienced a sickening sense of disaster, but
+still he clung; he didn't dare let go. Hawkeye's fists, both in an
+effort to recover himself and in an endeavor to reach Toddles, were
+going like a windmill; and Hawkeye's threats were something terrifying
+to listen to. And now they rolled over, and Toddles was underneath; and
+then they rolled over again; and then a hand locked on Toddles' collar,
+and he was yanked, terrier-fashion, to his feet.
+
+His face white and determined, his fists doubled, Toddles waited for
+Hawkeye to get up--the word "run" wasn't in Toddles' vocabulary. He
+hadn't long to wait.
+
+Hawkeye lunged up, draped in the broken crate--a sight. The road always
+prided itself on the natty uniforms of its train crews, but Hawkeye
+wasn't dressed in uniform then--mostly egg yolks. He made a dash for
+Toddles, but he never reached the boy. Bob Donkin was between them.
+
+"Cut it out!" said Donkin coldly, as he pushed Toddles behind him. "You
+asked for it, Reynolds, and you got it. Now cut it out!"
+
+And Hawkeye "cut it out." It was pretty generally understood that Bob
+Donkin never talked much for show, and Bob Donkin was bigger than
+Toddles, a whole lot bigger, as big as Hawkeye himself. Hawkeye "cut it
+out."
+
+Funny, the egg part of it? Well, perhaps. But the fire wasn't. True,
+they got it out with the help of the hand extinguishers before it did
+any serious damage, for Nulty had gone at it on the jump; but while it
+lasted the burning oil on the car floor looked dangerous. Anyway, it was
+bad enough so that they couldn't hide it when they got into Big
+Cloud--and Hawkeye and Toddles went on the carpet for it the next
+morning in the super's office.
+
+Carleton, "Royal" Carleton, reached for a match, and, to keep his lips
+straight, clamped them firmly on the amber mouthpiece of his brier, and
+stumpy, big-paunched Tommy Regan, the master mechanic, who was sitting
+in a chair by the window, reached hurriedly into his back pocket for his
+chewing and looked out of the window to hide a grin, as the two came in
+and ranged themselves in front of the super's desk--Hawkeye, six feet
+and a hundred and ninety pounds, with Toddles trailing him, mostly cap
+and buttons and no weight at all.
+
+Carleton didn't ask many questions--he'd asked them before--of Bob
+Donkin--and the dispatcher hadn't gone out of his way to invest the
+conductor with any glorified halo. Carleton, always a strict
+disciplinarian, said what he had to say and said it quietly; but he
+meant to let the conductor have the worst of it, and he did--in a way
+that was all Carleton's own. Two years' picking on a youngster didn't
+appeal to Carleton, no matter who the youngster was. Before he was half
+through he had the big conductor squirming. Hawkeye was looking for
+something else--besides a galling and matter-of-fact impartiality that
+accepted himself and Toddles as being on exactly the same plane and
+level.
+
+"There's a case of eggs," said Carleton at the end. "You can divide up
+the damage between you. And I'm going to change your runs, unless you've
+got some good reason to give me why I shouldn't?"
+
+He waited for an answer.
+
+Hawkeye, towering, sullen, his eyes resting bitterly on Regan, having
+caught the master mechanic's grin, said nothing; Toddles, whose head
+barely showed over the top of Carleton's desk, and the whole of him
+sizing up about big enough to go into the conductor's pocket, was
+equally silent--Toddles was thinking of something else.
+
+"Very good," said Carleton suavely, as he surveyed the ridiculous
+incongruity before him. "I'll change your runs, then. I can't have you
+two _men_ brawling and prize-fighting every trip."
+
+There was a sudden sound from the window, as though Regan had got some
+of his blackstrap juice down the wrong way.
+
+Hawkeye's face went black as thunder.
+
+Carleton's face was like a sphinx.
+
+"That'll do, then," he said. "You can go, both of you."
+
+Hawkeye stamped out of the room and down the stairs. But Toddles stayed.
+
+"Please, Mr. Carleton, won't you give me a job on----" Toddles stopped.
+
+So had Regan's chuckle. Toddles, the irrepressible, was at it again--and
+Toddles after a job, any kind of a job, was something that Regan's
+experience had taught him to fly from without standing on the order of
+his flight. Regan hurried from the room.
+
+Toddles watched him go--kind of speculatively, kind of reproachfully.
+Then he turned to Carleton.
+
+"Please give me a job, Mr. Carleton," he pleaded. "Give me a job, won't
+you?"
+
+It was only yesterday on the platform that Toddles had waylaid the super
+with the same demand--and about every day before that as far back as
+Carleton could remember. It was hopelessly chronic. Anything convincing
+or appealing about it had gone long ago--Toddles said it parrot-fashion
+now. Carleton took refuge in severity.
+
+"See here, young man," he said grimly, "you were brought into this
+office for a reprimand and not to apply for a job! You can thank your
+stars and Bob Donkin you haven't lost the one you've got. Now, get out!"
+
+"I'd make good if you gave me one," said Toddles earnestly. "Honest, I
+would, Mr. Carleton."
+
+"Get out!" said the super, not altogether unkindly. "I'm busy."
+
+Toddles swallowed a lump in his throat--but not until after his head was
+turned and he'd started for the door so the super couldn't see it.
+Toddles swallowed the lump--and got out. He hadn't expected anything
+else, of course. The refusals were just as chronic as the demands. But
+that didn't make each new one any easier for Toddles. It made it worse.
+
+Toddles' heart was heavy as he stepped out into the hall, and the iron
+was in his soul. He was seventeen now, and it looked as though he never
+would get a chance--except to be a newsboy all his life. Toddles
+swallowed another lump. He loved railroading; it was his one ambition,
+his one desire. If he could ever get a chance, he'd show them! He'd show
+them that he wasn't a joke, just because he was small!
+
+Toddles turned at the head of the stairs to go down, when somebody
+called his name.
+
+"Here--Toddles! Come here!"
+
+Toddles looked over his shoulder, hesitated, then marched in through the
+open door of the dispatchers' room. Bob Donkin was alone there.
+
+"What's your name--Toddles?" inquired Donkin, as Toddles halted before
+the dispatcher's table.
+
+Toddles froze instantly--hard. His fists doubled; there was a smile on
+Donkin's face. Then his fists slowly uncurled; the smile on Donkin's
+face had broadened, but there wasn't any malice in the smile.
+
+"Christopher Hyslop Hoogan," said Toddles, unbending.
+
+Donkin put his hand quickly to his mouth--and coughed.
+
+"Um-m!" said he pleasantly. "Super hard on you this morning--Hoogan?"
+
+And with the words Toddles' heart went out to the big dispatcher:
+"Hoogan"--and a man-to-man tone.
+
+"No," said Toddles cordially. "Say, I thought you were on the night
+trick."
+
+"Double-shift--short-handed," replied Donkin. "Come from New York, don't
+you?"
+
+"Yes," said Toddles.
+
+"Mother and father down there still?"
+
+It came quick and unexpected, and Toddles stared for a moment. Then he
+walked over to the window.
+
+"I haven't got any," he said.
+
+There wasn't any sound for an instant, save the clicking of the
+instruments; then Donkin spoke again--a little gruffly:
+
+"When are you going to quit making a fool of yourself?"
+
+Toddles swung from the window, hurt. Donkin, after all, was like all the
+rest of them.
+
+"Well?" prompted the dispatcher.
+
+"You go to blazes!" said Toddles bitterly, and started for the door.
+
+Donkin halted him.
+
+"You're only fooling yourself, Hoogan," he said coolly. "If you wanted
+what you call a real railroad job as much as you pretend you do, you'd
+get one."
+
+"Eh?" demanded Toddles defiantly; and went back to the table.
+
+"A fellow," said Donkin, putting a little sting into his words, "never
+got anywhere by going around with a chip on his shoulder fighting
+everybody because they called him Toddles, and making a nuisance of
+himself with the Big Fellows until they got sick of the sight of him."
+
+It was a pretty stiff arraignment. Toddles choked over it, and the angry
+blood flushed to his cheeks.
+
+"That's all right for you!" he spluttered out hotly. "You don't look too
+small for the train crews or the roundhouse, and they don't call you
+Toddles so's nobody'll forget it. What'd _you_ do?"
+
+"I'll tell you what I'd do," said Donkin quietly. "I'd make everybody
+on the division wish their own name was Toddles before I was through
+with them, and I'd _make_ a job for myself."
+
+Toddles blinked helplessly.
+
+"Getting right down to a cash fare," continued Donkin, after a moment,
+as Toddles did not speak, "they're not so far wrong, either, about you
+sizing up pretty small for the train crews or the roundhouse, are they?"
+
+"No-o," admitted Toddles reluctantly; "but----"
+
+"Then why not something where there's no handicap hanging over you?"
+suggested the dispatcher--and his hand reached out and touched the
+sender. "The key, for instance?"
+
+"But I don't know anything about it," said Toddles, still helplessly.
+
+"That's just it," returned Donkin smoothly. "You never tried to learn."
+
+Toddles' eyes widened, and into Toddles' heart leaped a sudden joy. A
+new world seemed to open out before him in which aspirations, ambitions,
+longings all were a reality. A key! That _was_ real railroading, the
+top-notch of railroading, too. First an operator, and then a dispatcher,
+and--and--and then his face fell, and the vision faded.
+
+"How'd I get a chance to learn?" he said miserably. "Who'd teach me?"
+
+The smile was back on Donkin's face as he pushed his chair from the
+table, stood up, and held out his hand--man-to-man fashion.
+
+"I will," he said. "I liked your grit last night, Hoogan. And if you
+want to be a railroad man, I'll make you one--before I'm through. I've
+some old instruments you can have to practice with, and I've nothing to
+do in my spare time. What do you say?"
+
+Toddles didn't say anything. For the first time since Toddles' advent to
+the Hill Division, there were tears in Toddles' eyes for some one else
+to see.
+
+Donkin laughed.
+
+"All right, old man, you're on. See that you don't throw me down. And
+keep your mouth shut; you'll need all your wind. It's work that counts,
+and nothing else. Now chase yourself! I'll dig up the things you'll
+need, and you can drop in here and get them when you come off your run
+to-night."
+
+Spare time! Bob Donkin didn't have any spare time those days! But that
+was Donkin's way. Spence sick, and two men handling the dispatching
+where three had handled it before, didn't leave Bob Donkin much spare
+time--not much. But a boost for the kid was worth a sacrifice. Donkin
+went at it as earnestly as Toddles did--and Toddles was in deadly
+earnest.
+
+When Toddles left the dispatcher's office that morning with Donkin's
+promise to teach him the key, Toddles had a hazy idea that Donkin had
+wings concealed somewhere under his coat and was an angel in disguise;
+and at the end of two weeks he was sure of it. But at the end of a month
+Bob Donkin was a god! Throw Bob Donkin down! Toddles would have sold
+his soul for the dispatcher.
+
+It wasn't easy, though; and Bob Donkin wasn't an easy-going taskmaster,
+not by long odds. Donkin had a tongue, and on occasions could use it.
+Short and quick in his explanations, he expected his pupil to get it
+short and quick; either that, or Donkin's opinion of him. But Toddles
+stuck. He'd have crawled on his knees for Donkin anywhere, and he worked
+like a major--not only for his own advancement, but for what he came to
+prize quite as much, if not more, Donkin's approval.
+
+Toddles, mindful of Donkin's words, didn't fight so much as the days
+went by, though he found it difficult to swear off all at once; and on
+his runs he studied his Morse code, and he had the "calls" of every
+station on the division off by heart right from the start. Toddles
+mastered the "sending" by leaps and bounds; but the "taking" came
+slower, as it does for everybody--but even at that, at the end of six
+weeks, if it wasn't thrown at him too fast and hard, Toddles could get
+it after a fashion.
+
+Take it all around, Toddles felt like whistling most of the time; and,
+pleased with his own progress, looked forward to starting in presently
+as a full-fledged operator.
+
+He mentioned the matter to Bob Donkin--once. Donkin picked his words and
+spoke fervently. Toddles never brought the subject up again.
+
+And so things went on. Late summer turned to early fall, and early fall
+to still sharper weather, until there came the night that the operator
+at Blind River muddled his orders and gave No. 73, the westbound fast
+freight, her clearance against the second section of the eastbound
+Limited that doomed them to meet somewhere head-on in the Glacier canyon;
+the night that Toddles--but there's just a word or two that comes
+before.
+
+When it was all over, it was up to Sam Beale, the Blind River operator,
+straight enough. Beale blundered. That's all there was to it; that
+covers it all--he blundered. It would have finished Beale's railroad
+career forever and a day--only Beale played the man, and the instant he
+realized what he had done, even while the tail lights of the freight
+were disappearing down the track and he couldn't stop her, he was
+stammering the tale of his mistake over the wire, the sweat beads
+dripping from his wrist, his face gray with horror, to Bob Donkin under
+the green-shaded lamp in the dispatchers' room at Big Cloud, miles away.
+
+Donkin got the miserable story over the chattering wire--got it before
+it was half told--cut Beale out and began to pound the Gap call. And as
+though it were before him in reality, that stretch of track, fifteen
+miles of it, from Blind River to the Gap, unfolded itself like a grisly
+panorama before his mind. There wasn't a half mile of tangent at a
+single stretch in the whole of it. It swung like the writhings of a
+snake, through cuts and tunnels, hugging the canyon walls, twisting this
+way and that. Anywhere else there might be a chance, one in a thousand
+even, that they would see each other's headlights in time--here it was
+disaster quick and absolute.
+
+Donkin's lips were set in a thin, straight line. The Gap answered him;
+and the answer was like the knell of doom. He had not expected anything
+else; he had only hoped against hope. The second section of the Limited
+had pulled out of the Gap, eastbound, two minutes before. The two trains
+were in the open against each other's orders.
+
+In the next room, Carleton and Regan, over their pipes, were at their
+nightly game of pedro. Donkin called them--and his voice sounded strange
+to himself. Chairs scraped and crashed to the floor, and an instant
+later the super and the master mechanic were in the room.
+
+"What's wrong, Bob?" Carleton flung the words from him in a single
+breath.
+
+Donkin told them. But his fingers were on the key again as he talked.
+There was still one chance, worse than the thousand-to-one shot; but it
+was the only one. Between the Gap and Blind River, eight miles from the
+Gap, seven miles from Blind River, was Cassil's Siding. But there was no
+night man at Cassil's, and the little town lay a mile from the station.
+It was ten o'clock--Donkin's watch lay face up on the table before
+him--the day man at Cassil's went off at seven--the chance was that the
+day man _might_ have come back to the station for something or other!
+
+Not much of a chance? No--not much! It was a possibility, that was all;
+and Donkin's fingers worked--the seventeen, the life and death--calling,
+calling on the night trick to the day man at Cassil's Siding.
+
+Carleton came and stood at Donkin's elbow, and Regan stood at the other;
+and there was silence now, save only for the key that, under Donkin's
+fingers, seemed to echo its stammering appeal about the room like the
+sobbing of a human soul.
+
+"CS--CS--CS," Donkin called; and then, "the seventeen," and then, "hold
+second Number Two." And then the same thing over and over again.
+
+And there was no answer.
+
+It had turned cold that night and there was a fire in the little heater.
+Donkin had opened the draft a little while before, and the sheet-iron
+sides now began to purr red-hot. Nobody noticed it. Regan's kindly,
+good-humored face had the stamp of horror in it, and he pulled at his
+scraggly brown mustache, his eyes seemingly fascinated by Donkin's
+fingers. Everybody's eyes, the three of them, were on Donkin's fingers
+and the key. Carleton was like a man of stone, motionless, his face set
+harder than face was ever carved in marble.
+
+It grew hot in the room; but Donkin's fingers were like ice on the key,
+and, strong man though he was, he faltered.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he whispered--and never a prayer rose more fervently from
+lips than those three broken words.
+
+Again he called, and again, and again. The minutes slipped away. Still
+he called--with the life and death--the "seventeen"--called and called.
+And there was no answer save that echo in the room that brought the
+perspiration streaming down from Regan's face, a harder light into
+Carleton's eyes and a chill like death into Donkin's heart.
+
+Suddenly Donkin pushed back his chair; and his fingers, from the key,
+touched the crystal of his watch.
+
+"The second section will have passed Cassil's now," he said in a
+curious, unnatural, matter-of-fact tone. "It'll bring them together
+about a mile east of there--in another minute."
+
+And then Carleton spoke--master railroader, "Royal" Carleton, it was up
+to him then, all the pity of it, the ruin, the disaster, the lives out,
+all the bitterness to cope with as he could. And it was in his eyes, all
+of it. But his voice was quiet. It rang quick, peremptory, his
+voice--but quiet.
+
+"Clear the line, Bob," he said. "Plug in the round-house for the
+wrecker--and tell them to send uptown for the crew."
+
+Toddles? What did Toddles have to do with this? Well, a good deal, in
+one way and another. We're coming to Toddles now. You see, Toddles,
+since his fracas with Hawkeye, had been put on the Elk River local run
+that left Big Cloud at 9.45 in the morning for the run west, and
+scheduled Big Cloud again on the return trip at 10.10 in the evening.
+
+It had turned cold that night, after a day of rain. Pretty cold--the
+thermometer can drop on occasions in the late fall in the mountains--and
+by eight o'clock, where there had been rain before, there was now a thin
+sheeting of ice over everything--very thin--you know the kind--rails and
+telegraph wires glistening like the decorations on a Christmas
+tree--very pretty--and also very nasty running on a mountain grade.
+Likewise, the rain, in a way rain has, had dripped from the car roofs to
+the platforms--the local did not boast any closed vestibules--and had
+also been blown upon the car steps with the sweep of the wind, and,
+having frozen, it stayed there. Not a very serious matter; annoying,
+perhaps, but not serious, demanding a little extra caution, that was
+all.
+
+Toddles was in high fettle that night. He had been getting on famously
+of late; even Bob Donkin had admitted it. Toddles, with his stack of
+books and magazines, an unusually big one, for a number of the new
+periodicals were out that day, was dreaming rosy dreams to himself as he
+started from the door of the first-class smoker to the door of the
+first-class coach. In another hour now he'd be up in the dispatcher's
+room at Big Cloud for his nightly sitting with Bob Donkin. He could see
+Bob Donkin there now; and he could hear the big dispatcher growl at him
+in his bluff way: "Use your head--use your head--_Hoogan!_" It was
+always "Hoogan," never "Toddles." "Use your head"--Donkin was
+everlastingly drumming that into him; for the dispatcher used to
+confront him suddenly with imaginary and hair-raising emergencies, and
+demand Toddles' instant solution. Toddles realized that Donkin was
+getting to the heart of things, and that some day he, Toddles, would be
+a great dispatcher--like Donkin. "Use your head, Hoogan"--that's the way
+Donkin talked--"anybody can learn a key, but that doesn't make a
+railroad man think quick and think _right_. Use your----"
+
+Toddles stepped out on the platform--and walked on ice. But that wasn't
+Toddles' undoing. The trouble with Toddles was that he was walking on
+air at the same time. It was treacherous running, they were nosing a
+curve, and in the cab, Kinneard, at the throttle, checked with a little
+jerk at the "air." And with the jerk, Toddles slipped; and with the
+slip, the center of gravity of the stack of periodicals shifted, and
+they bulged ominously from the middle. Toddles grabbed at them--and his
+heels went out from under him. He ricocheted down the steps, snatched
+desperately at the handrail, missed it, shot out from the train, and,
+head, heels, arms and body going every which way at once, rolled over
+and over down the embankment. And, starting from the point of Toddles'
+departure from the train, the right of way for a hundred yards was
+strewn with "the latest magazines" and "new books just out to-day."
+
+Toddles lay there, a little, curled, huddled heap, motionless in the
+darkness. The tail lights of the local disappeared. No one aboard would
+miss Toddles until they got into Big Cloud--and found him gone. Which is
+Irish for saying that no one would attempt to keep track of a newsboy's
+idiosyncrasies on a train; it would be asking too much of any train
+crew; and, besides, there was no mention of it in the rules.
+
+It was a long while before Toddles stirred; a very long while before
+consciousness crept slowly back to him. Then he moved, tried to get
+up--and fell back with a quick, sharp cry of pain. He lay still, then,
+for a moment. His ankle hurt him frightfully, and his back, and his
+shoulder, too. He put his hand to his face where something seemed to be
+trickling warm--and brought it away wet. Toddles, grim little warrior,
+tried to think. They hadn't been going very fast when he fell off. If
+they had, he would have been killed. As it was, he was hurt, badly hurt,
+and his head swam, nauseating him.
+
+Where was he? Was he near any help? He'd have to get help somewhere,
+or--or with the cold and--and everything he'd probably die out here
+before morning. Toddles shouted out--again and again. Perhaps his voice
+was too weak to carry very far; anyway, there was no reply.
+
+He looked up at the top of the embankment, clamped his teeth, and
+started to crawl. If he got up there, perhaps he could tell where he
+was. It had taken Toddles a matter of seconds to roll down; it took him
+ten minutes of untold agony to get up. Then he dashed his hand across
+his eyes where the blood was, and cried a little with the surge of
+relief. East, down the track, only a few yards away, the green eye of a
+switch lamp winked at him.
+
+Where there was a switch lamp there was a siding, and where there was a
+siding there was promise of a station. Toddles, with the sudden uplift
+upon him, got to his feet and started along the track--two steps--and
+went down again. He couldn't walk, the pain was more than he could
+bear--his right ankle, his left shoulder, and his back--hopping only
+made it worse--it was easier to crawl.
+
+And so Toddles crawled.
+
+It took him a long time even to pass the switch light. The pain made him
+weak, his senses seemed to trail off giddily every now and then, and
+he'd find himself lying flat and still beside the track. It was a white,
+drawn face that Toddles lifted up each time he started on
+again--miserably white, except where the blood kept trickling from his
+forehead.
+
+And then Toddles' heart, stout as it was, seemed to snap. He had reached
+the station platform, wondering vaguely why the little building that
+loomed ahead was dark--and now it came to him in a flash, as he
+recognized the station. It was Cassil's Siding--_and there was no night
+man at Cassil's Siding!_ The switch lights were lighted before the day
+man left, of course. Everything swam before Toddles' eyes. There--there
+was no help here. And yet--yet perhaps--desperate hope came
+again--perhaps there might be. The pain was terrible--all over him.
+And--and he'd got so weak now--but it wasn't far to the door.
+
+Toddles squirmed along the platform, and reached the door finally--only
+to find it shut and fastened. And then Toddles fainted on the threshold.
+
+When Toddles came to himself again, he thought at first that he was up
+in the dispatcher's room at Big Cloud with Bob Donkin pounding away on
+the battered old key they used to practice with--only there seemed to be
+something the matter with the key, and it didn't sound as loud as it
+usually did--it seemed to come from a long way off somehow. And then,
+besides, Bob was working it faster than he had ever done before when
+they were practicing. "Hold second"--second something--Toddles couldn't
+make it out. Then the "seventeen"--yes, he knew that--that was the life
+and death. Bob was going pretty quick, though. Then "CS--CS--CS"--Toddles'
+brain fumbled a bit over that--then it came to him. CS was the call for
+Cassil's Siding. _Cassil's Siding!_ Toddles' head came up with a jerk.
+
+A little cry burst from Toddles' lips--and his brain cleared. He wasn't
+at Big Cloud at all--he was at Cassil's Siding--and he was hurt--and
+that was the sounder inside calling, calling frantically for Cassil's
+Siding--where he was.
+
+The life and death--_the seventeen_--it sent a thrill through Toddles'
+pain-twisted spine. He wriggled to the window. It, too, was closed, of
+course, but he could hear better there. The sounder was babbling madly.
+
+"Hold second----"
+
+He missed it again--and as, on top of it, the "seventeen" came pleading,
+frantic, urgent, he wrung his hands.
+
+"Hold second"--he got it this time--"Number Two."
+
+Toddles' first impulse was to smash in the window and reach the key. And
+then, like a dash of cold water over him, Donkin's words seemed to ring
+in his ears: "Use your head."
+
+With the "seventeen" it meant a matter of minutes, perhaps even seconds.
+Why smash the window? Why waste the moment required to do it simply to
+answer the call? The order stood for itself--"Hold second Number Two."
+That was the second section of the Limited, east-bound. Hold her! How?
+There was nothing--not a thing to stop her with. "Use your head," said
+Donkin in a far-away voice to Toddles' wobbling brain.
+
+Toddles looked up the track--west--where he had come from--to where the
+switch light twinkled green at him--and, with a little sob, he started
+to drag himself back along the platform. If he could throw the switch,
+it would throw the light from green to red, and--and the Limited would
+take the siding. But the switch was a long way off.
+
+Toddles half fell, half bumped from the end of the platform to the right
+of way. He cried to himself with low moans as he went along. He had the
+heart of a fighter, and grit to the last tissue; but he needed it all
+now--needed it all to stand the pain and fight the weakness that kept
+swirling over him in flashes.
+
+On he went, on his hands and knees, slithering from tie to tie--and from
+one tie to the next was a great distance. The life and death, the
+dispatcher's call--he seemed to hear it yet--throbbing, throbbing on the
+wire.
+
+On he went, up the track; and the green eye of the lamp, winking at him,
+drew nearer. And then suddenly, clear and mellow through the mountains,
+caught up and echoed far and near, came the notes of a chime whistle
+ringing down the gorge.
+
+Fear came upon Toddles then, and a great sob shook him. That was the
+Limited coming now! Toddles' fingers dug into the ballast, and he
+hurried--that is, in bitter pain, he tried to crawl a little faster. And
+as he crawled, he kept his eyes strained up the track--she wasn't in
+sight yet around the curve--not yet, anyway.
+
+Another foot, only another foot, and he would reach the siding
+switch--in time--in plenty of time. Again the sob--but now in a burst of
+relief that, for the moment, made him forget his hurts. He was in time!
+
+He flung himself at the switch lever, tugged upon it and then,
+trembling, every ounce of remaining strength seeming to ooze from him,
+he covered his face with his hands. It was _locked_--padlocked.
+
+Came a rumble now--a distant roar, growing louder and louder,
+reverberating down the canyon walls--louder and louder--nearer and
+nearer. "Hold second Number Two. Hold second Number Two"--the
+"seventeen," the life and death, pleading with him to hold Number Two.
+And she was coming now, coming--and--and--the switch was locked. The
+deadly nausea racked Toddles again; there was nothing to do
+now--nothing. He couldn't stop her--couldn't stop her. He'd--he'd
+tried--very hard--and--and he couldn't stop her now. He took his hands
+from his face, and stole a glance up the track, afraid almost, with the
+horror that was upon him, to look.
+
+She hadn't swung the curve yet, but she would in a minute--and come
+pounding down the stretch at fifty miles an hour, shoot by him like a
+rocket to where, somewhere ahead, in some form, he did not know what,
+only knew that it was there, death and ruin and----
+
+"_Use your head!_" snapped Donkin's voice to his consciousness.
+
+Toddles' eyes were on the light above his head. It blinked _red_ at him
+as he stood on the track facing it; the green rays were shooting up and
+down the line. He couldn't swing the switch--but the _lamp_ was
+there--and there was the red side to show just by turning it. He
+remembered then that the lamp fitted into a socket at the top of the
+switch stand, and could be lifted off--if he could reach it!
+
+It wasn't very high--for an ordinary-sized man--for an ordinary-sized
+man had to get at it to trim and fill it daily--only Toddles wasn't an
+ordinary-sized man. It was just nine or ten feet above the rails--just a
+standard siding switch.
+
+Toddles gritted his teeth, and climbed upon the base of the switch--and
+nearly fainted as his ankle swung against the rod. A foot above the base
+was a footrest for a man to stand on and reach up for the lamp, and
+Toddles drew himself up and got his foot on it--and then at his full
+height the tips of his fingers only just touched the bottom of the lamp.
+Toddles cried aloud, and the tears streamed down his face now. Oh, if he
+weren't hurt--if he could only shin up another foot--but--but it was all
+he could do to hang there where he was.
+
+_What was that!_ He turned his head. Up the track, sweeping in a great
+circle as it swung the curve, a headlight's glare cut through the
+night--and Toddles "shinned" the foot. He tugged and tore at the lamp,
+tugged and tore at it, loosened it, lifted it from its socket, sprawled
+and wriggled with it to the ground--and turned the red side of the lamp
+against second Number Two.
+
+The quick, short blasts of a whistle answered, then the crunch and grind
+and scream of biting brake-shoes--and the big mountain racer, the 1012,
+pulling the second section of the Limited that night, stopped with its
+pilot nosing a diminutive figure in a torn and silver-buttoned uniform,
+whose hair was clotted red, and whose face was covered with blood and
+dirt.
+
+Masters, the engineer, and Pete Leroy, his fireman, swung from the
+gangways; Kelly, the conductor, came running up from the forward coach.
+
+Kelly shoved his lamp into Toddles' face--and whistled low under his
+breath.
+
+"Toddles!" he gasped; and then, quick as a steel trap: "What's wrong?"
+
+"I don't know," said Toddles weakly. "There's--there's something wrong.
+Get into the clear--on the siding."
+
+"Something wrong," repeated Kelly, "and you don't----"
+
+But Masters cut the conductor short with a grab at the other's arm that
+was like the shutting of a vise--and then bolted for his engine like a
+gopher for its hole. From down the track came the heavy, grumbling roar
+of a freight. Everybody flew then, and there was quick work done in the
+next half minute--and none too quickly done--the Limited was no more
+than on the siding when the fast freight rolled her long string of
+flats, boxes and gondolas thundering by.
+
+And while she passed, Toddles, on the platform, stammered out his story
+to Kelly.
+
+Kelly didn't say anything--then. With the express messenger and a
+brakeman carrying Toddles, Kelly kicked in the station door, and set his
+lamp down on the operator's table.
+
+"Hold me up," whispered Toddles--and, while they held him, he made the
+dispatcher's call.
+
+Big Cloud answered him on the instant. Haltingly, Toddles reported the
+second section "in" and the freight "out"--only he did it very slowly,
+and he couldn't think very much more, for things were going black. He
+got an order for the Limited to run to Blind River and told Kelly, and
+got the "complete"--and then Big Cloud asked who was on the wire, and
+Toddles answered that in a mechanical sort of a way without quite
+knowing what he was doing--and went limp in Kelly's arms.
+
+And as Toddles answered, back in Big Cloud, Regan, the sweat still
+standing out in great beads on his forehead, fierce now in the revulsion
+of relief, glared over Donkin's left shoulder, as Donkin's left hand
+scribbled on a pad what was coming over the wire.
+
+Regan glared fiercely--then he spluttered:
+
+"Who's Christopher Hyslop Hoogan--h'm?"
+
+Donkin's lips had a queer smile on them.
+
+"Toddles," he said.
+
+Regan sat down heavily in his chair.
+
+"_What?_" demanded the super.
+
+"Toddles," said Donkin. "I've been trying to drum a little railroading
+into him--on the key."
+
+Regan wiped his face. He looked helplessly from Donkin to the super, and
+then back again at Donkin.
+
+"But--but what's he doing at Cassil's Siding? How'd he get there--h'm?
+H'm? How'd he get there?"
+
+"I don't know," said Donkin, his fingers rattling the Cassil's Siding
+call again. "He doesn't answer any more. We'll have to wait for the
+story till they make Blind River, I guess."
+
+And so they waited. And presently at Blind River, Kelly, dictating to
+the operator--not Beale, Beale's day man--told the story. It lost
+nothing in the telling--Kelly wasn't that kind of man--he told them what
+Toddles had done, and he left nothing out; and he added that they had
+Toddles on a mattress in the baggage car, with a doctor they had
+discovered amongst the passengers looking after him.
+
+At the end, Carleton tamped down the dottle in the bowl of his pipe
+thoughtfully with his forefinger--and glanced at Donkin.
+
+"Got along far enough to take a station key somewhere?" he inquired
+casually. "He's made a pretty good job of it as the night operator at
+Cassil's."
+
+Donkin was smiling.
+
+"Not yet," he said.
+
+"No?" Carleton's eyebrows went up. "Well, let him come in here with you,
+then, till he has; and when you say he's ready, we'll see what we can
+do. I guess it's coming to him; and I guess"--he shifted his glance to
+the master mechanic--"I guess we'll go down and meet Number Two when she
+comes in, Tommy."
+
+Regan grinned.
+
+"With our hats in our hands," said the big-hearted master mechanic.
+
+Donkin shook his head.
+
+"Don't you do it," he said. "I don't want him to get a swelled head."
+
+Carleton stared; and Regan's hand, reaching into his back pocket for his
+chewing, stopped midway.
+
+Donkin was still smiling.
+
+"I'm going to make a railroad man out of Toddles," he said.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[10] One of a number of stories from book bearing same title, _The Night
+Operator_. Copyright, 1919, by George H. Doran Company. Reprinted by
+special permission of publisher and author.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XI.--Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp[11]
+
+_By Ralph Connor_
+
+
+IT was due to a mysterious dispensation of Providence and a good deal to
+Leslie Graeme that I found myself in the heart of the Selkirks for my
+Christmas eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had been my plan to spend
+my Christmas far away in Toronto, with such bohemian and boon companions
+as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly city. But Leslie
+Graeme changed all that, for, discovering me in the village of Black
+Rock, with my traps all packed, waiting for the stage to start for the
+Landing, thirty miles away, he bore down upon me with resistless force,
+and I found myself recovering from my surprise only after we had gone in
+his lumber sleigh some six miles on our way to his camp up in the
+mountains. I was surprised and much delighted, though I would not allow
+him to think so, to find that his old-time power over me was still
+there. He could always in the old varsity days--dear, wild days--make
+me do what he liked. He was so handsome and so reckless, brilliant in
+his class work, and the prince of half backs on the Rugby field, and
+with such power of fascination as would "extract the heart out of a
+wheelbarrow," as Barney Lundy used to say. And thus it was that I found
+myself just three weeks later--I was to have spent two or three days--on
+the afternoon of December 24, standing in Graeme's Lumber Camp No. 2,
+wondering at myself. But I did not regret my changed plans, for in those
+three weeks I had raided a cinnamon bear's den and had wakened up a
+grizzly---- But I shall let the grizzly finish the tale; he probably
+sees more humor in it than I.
+
+The camp stood in a little clearing, and consisted of a group of three
+long, low shanties with smaller shacks near them, all built of heavy,
+unhewn logs, with door and window in each. The grub camp, with cook-shed
+attached, stood in the middle of the clearing; at a little distance was
+the sleeping camp with the office built against it, and about a hundred
+yards away on the other side of the clearing stood the stables, and near
+them the smiddy. The mountains rose grandly on every side, throwing up
+their great peaks into the sky. The clearing in which the camp stood was
+hewn out of a dense pine forest that filled the valley and climbed
+halfway up the mountain sides and then frayed out in scattered and
+stunted trees.
+
+It was one of those wonderful Canadian winter days, bright, and with a
+touch of sharpness in the air that did not chill, but warmed the blood
+like drafts of wine. The men were up in the woods, and the shrill scream
+of the bluejay flashing across the open, the impudent chatter of the red
+squirrel from the top of the grub camp, and the pert chirp of the
+whisky-jack, hopping about on the rubbish-heap, with the long, lone cry
+of the wolf far down the valley, only made the silence felt the more.
+
+As I stood drinking in with all my soul the glorious beauty and the
+silence of mountain and forest, with the Christmas feeling stealing into
+me, Graeme came out from his office, and catching sight of me, called
+out, "Glorious Christmas weather, old chap!" And then, coming nearer,
+"Must you go to-morrow?"
+
+"I fear so," I replied, knowing well that the Christmas feeling was on
+him, too.
+
+"I wish I were going with you," he said quietly.
+
+I turned eagerly to persuade him, but at the look of suffering in his
+face the words died at my lips, for we both were thinking of the awful
+night of horror when all his bright, brilliant life crashed down about
+him in black ruin and shame. I could only throw my arm over his shoulder
+and stand silent beside him. A sudden jingle of bells roused him, and,
+giving himself a little shake, he exclaimed, "There are the boys coming
+home."
+
+Soon the camp was filled with men talking, laughing, chaffing like
+light-hearted boys.
+
+"They are a little wild to-night," said Graeme, "and to-morrow they'll
+paint Black Rock red."
+
+Before many minutes had gone the last teamster was "washed up," and all
+were standing about waiting impatiently for the cook's signal--the
+supper to-night was to be "something of a feed"--when the sound of bells
+drew their attention to a light sleigh drawn by a buckskin broncho
+coming down the hillside at a great pace.
+
+"The preacher, I'll bet, by his driving," said one of the men.
+
+"Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey!" said Blaney, a
+good-natured, jovial Irishman.
+
+"Yes, or for pay-day, more like," said Keefe, a black-browed, villainous
+fellow countryman of Blaney's and, strange to say, his great friend.
+
+Big Sandy McNaughton, a Canadian Highlander from Glengarry, rose up in
+wrath.
+
+"Bill Keefe," said he with deliberate emphasis, "you'll just keep your
+dirty tongue off the minister; and as for your pay, it's little he sees
+of it, or any one else except Mike Slavin, when you's too dry to wait
+for some one to treat you, or perhaps Father Ryan, when the fear of
+hell-fire is on you."
+
+The men stood amazed at Sandy's sudden anger and length of speech.
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's good for you, my bully boy," said Baptiste, a wiry little
+French-Canadian, Sandy's sworn ally and devoted admirer ever since the
+day when the big Scotchman, under great provocation, had knocked him
+clean off the dump into the river and then jumped in for him.
+
+It was not till afterward I learned the cause of Sandy's sudden wrath
+which urged him to such unwonted length of speech. It was not simply
+that the Presbyterian blood carried with it reverence for the minister,
+but that he had a vivid remembrance of how, only a month ago, the
+minister had got him out of Mike Slavin's saloon and out of the clutches
+of Keefe and Slavin and their gang of bloodsuckers.
+
+Keefe started up with a curse. Baptiste sprang to Sandy's side, slapped
+him on the back, and called out:
+
+"You keel him, I'll hit [eat] him up, me."
+
+It looked as if there might be a fight, when a harsh voice said in a
+low, savage tone:
+
+"Stop your row, you fools; settle it, if you want to, somewhere else."
+
+I turned, and was amazed to see old man Nelson, who was very seldom
+moved to speech.
+
+There was a look of scorn on his hard iron-gray face, and of such
+settled fierceness as made me quite believe the tales I had heard of his
+deadly fights in the mines at the coast. Before any reply could be made
+the minister drove up and called out in a cheery voice:
+
+"Merry Christmas, boys! Hello, Sandy! _Comment ca va_, Baptiste? How do
+you do, Mr. Graeme?"
+
+"First rate. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Connor, sometime medical
+student, now artist, hunter, and tramp at large, but not a bad sort."
+
+"A man to be envied," said the minister, smiling. "I am glad to know any
+friend of Mr. Graeme's."
+
+I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good eyes that looked straight
+out at you, a clean-cut, strong face well set on his shoulders, and
+altogether an upstanding, manly bearing. He insisted on going with Sandy
+to the stables to see Dandy, his broncho, put up.
+
+"Decent fellow," said Graeme; "but though he is good enough to his
+broncho, it is Sandy that's in his mind now."
+
+"Does he come out often? I mean, are you part of his parish, so to
+speak?"
+
+"I have no doubt he thinks so; and I'm blowed if he doesn't make the
+Presbyterians of us think so too." And he added after a pause: "A dandy
+lot of parishioners we are for any man. There's Sandy, now, he would
+knock Keefe's head off as a kind of religious exercise; but to-morrow
+Keefe will be sober and Sandy will be drunk as a lord, and the drunker
+he is the better Presbyterian he'll be, to the preacher's disgust." Then
+after another pause he added bitterly: "But it is not for me to throw
+rocks at Sandy. I am not the same kind of fool, but I am a fool of
+several other sorts."
+
+Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the bottom of a dishpan.
+Baptiste answered with a yell. But though keenly hungry, no man would
+demean himself to do other than walk with apparent reluctance to his
+place at the table. At the further end of the camp was a big fireplace,
+and from the door of the fireplace extended the long board tables,
+covered with platters of turkey not too scientifically carved, dishes of
+potatoes, bowls of apple sauce, plates of butter, pies, and smaller
+dishes distributed at regular intervals. Two lanterns hanging from the
+roof and a row of candles stuck into the wall on either side by means of
+slit sticks cast a dim, weird light over the scene.
+
+There was a moment's silence, and at a nod from Graeme Mr. Craig rose
+and said:
+
+"I don't know how you feel about it, men, but to me this looks good
+enough to be thankful for."
+
+"Fire ahead, sir," called out a voice quite respectfully, and the
+minister bent his head and said:
+
+"For Christ the Lord who came to save us, for all the love and goodness
+we have known, and for these Thy gifts to us this Christmas night, our
+Father, make us thankful. Amen."
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's fuss rate," said Baptiste. "Seems lak dat's make me hit
+[eat] more better for sure." And then no word was spoken for a quarter
+of an hour. The occasion was far too solemn and moments too precious for
+anything so empty as words. But when the white piles of bread and the
+brown piles of turkey had for a second time vanished, and after the last
+pie had disappeared, there came a pause and a hush of expectancy,
+whereupon the cook and cookee, each bearing aloft a huge, blazing
+pudding, came forth.
+
+"Hooray!" yelled Blaney; "up wid yez!" and grabbing the cook by the
+shoulders from behind, he faced him about.
+
+Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the cookee in the same
+way, called out: "Squad, fall in! quick march!" In a moment every man
+was in the procession.
+
+"Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel!" shouted Blaney, the appellation
+a concession to the minister's presence; and away went Baptiste in a
+rollicking French song with the English chorus--
+
+          Then blow, ye winds, in the morning,
+            Blow, ye winds, ay oh!
+          Blow, ye winds, in the morning,
+            Blow, blow, blow.
+
+And at each "blow" every boot came down with a thump on the plank floor
+that shook the solid roof. After the second round Mr. Craig jumped upon
+the bench and called out:
+
+"Three cheers for Billy the cook!"
+
+In the silence following the cheers Baptiste was heard to say:
+
+"_Bon!_ Dat's mak me feel lak hit dat puddin' all hup meself, me."
+
+"Hear till the little baste!" said Blaney in disgust.
+
+"Batchees," remonstrated Sandy gravely, "ye've more stomach than
+manners."
+
+"Fu sure! but de more stomach, dat's more better for dis puddin',"
+replied the little Frenchman cheerfully.
+
+After a time the tables were cleared and pushed back to the wall and
+pipes were produced. In all attitudes suggestive of comfort the men
+disposed themselves in a wide circle about the fire, which now roared
+and crackled up the great wooden chimney hanging from the roof. The
+lumberman's hour of bliss had arrived. Even old man Nelson looked a
+shade less melancholy than usual as he sat alone, well away from the
+fire, smoking steadily and silently. When the second pipes were well
+a-going one of the men took down a violin from the wall and handed it to
+Lachlan Campbell. There were two brothers Campbell just out from Argyll,
+typical Highlanders: Lachlan, dark, silent, melancholy, with the face of
+a mystic, and Angus, red-haired, quick, impulsive, and devoted to his
+brother, a devotion he thought proper to cover under biting, sarcastic
+speech.
+
+Lachlan, after much protestation, interposed with gibes from his
+brother, took the violin, and in response to the call from all sides
+struck up "Lord Macdonald's Reel."
+
+In a moment the floor was filled with dancers, whooping and cracking
+their fingers in the wildest manner. Then Baptiste did the "Red River
+Jig," a most intricate and difficult series of steps, the men keeping
+time to the music with hands and feet.
+
+When the jig was finished Sandy called for "Lochaber No More," but
+Campbell said:
+
+"No! no! I cannot play that to-night. Mr. Craig will play."
+
+Craig took the violin, and at the first note I knew he was no ordinary
+player. I did not recognize the music, but it was soft and thrilling,
+and got in by the heart till every one was thinking his tenderest and
+saddest thoughts.
+
+After he had played two or three exquisite bits he gave Campbell his
+violin, saying, "Now, 'Lochaber,' Lachlan."
+
+Without a word Lachlan began, not "Lochaber"--he was not ready for that
+yet--but "The Flowers o' the Forest," and from that wandered through
+"Auld Robin Gray" and "The Land o' the Leal," and so got at last to that
+most soul-subduing of Scottish laments, "Lochaber No More." At the first
+strain his brother, who had thrown himself on some blankets behind the
+fire, turned over on his face feigning sleep. Sandy McNaughton took his
+pipe out of his mouth and sat up straight and stiff, staring into
+vacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, drew a short, sharp breath. We had
+often sat, Graeme and I, in our student days, in the drawing-room at
+home, listening to his father wailing out "Lochaber" upon the pipes, and
+I well knew that the awful minor strains were now eating their way into
+his soul.
+
+Over and over again the Highlander played his lament. He had long since
+forgotten us, and was seeing visions of the hills and lochs and glens of
+his far-away native land, and making us, too, see strange things out of
+the dim past. I glanced at old man Nelson, and was startled at the
+eager, almost piteous look in his eyes, and I wished Campbell would
+stop. Mr. Craig caught my eye, and stepping over to Campbell held out
+his hand for the violin. Lingeringly and lovingly the Highlander drew
+out the last strain and silently gave the minister his instrument.
+
+Without a moment's pause, and while the spell of "Lochaber" was still
+upon us, the minister, with exquisite skill, fell into the refrain of
+that simple and beautiful camp-meeting hymn, "The Sweet By-and-By."
+After playing the verse through once he sang softly the refrain. After
+the first verse the men joined in the chorus; at first timidly, but by
+the time the third verse was reached they were shouting with throats
+full open, "We shall meet on that beautiful shore." When I looked at
+Nelson the eager light had gone out of his eyes, and in its place was a
+kind of determined hopelessness, as if in this new music he had no part.
+
+After the voices had ceased Mr. Craig played again the refrain, more and
+more softly and slowly; then laying the violin on Campbell's knees, he
+drew from his pocket his little Bible and said:
+
+"Men, with Mr. Graeme's permission I want to read you something this
+Christmas eve. You will all have heard it before, but you will like it
+none the less for that."
+
+His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as he read the eternal
+story of the angels and the shepherds and the Babe. And as he read, a
+slight motion of the hand or a glance of an eye made us see, as he was
+seeing, that whole radiant drama. The wonder, the timid joy, the
+tenderness, the mystery of it all, were borne in upon us with
+overpowering effect. He closed the book, and in the same low, clear
+voice went on to tell us how, in his home years ago, he used to stand on
+Christmas eve listening in thrilling delight to his mother telling him
+the story, and how she used to make him see the shepherds and hear the
+sheep bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory used to make
+his heart jump.
+
+"I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because a boy told me they
+were ghosts; but my mother told me better, and I didn't fear them any
+more. And the Baby, the dear little Baby--we all love a baby." There was
+a quick, dry sob; it was from Nelson. "I used to peek through under to
+see the little one in the straw, and wonder what things swaddling
+clothes were. Oh, it was so real and so beautiful!" He paused, and I
+could hear the men breathing.
+
+"But one Christmas eve," he went on in a lower, sweeter tone, "there was
+no one to tell me the story, and I grew to forget it and went away to
+college, and learned to think that it was only a child's tale and was
+not for men. Then bad days came to me and worse, and I began to lose my
+grip of myself, of life, of hope, of goodness, till one black Christmas,
+in the slums of a far-away city, when I had given up all and the devil's
+arms were about me, I heard the story again. And as I listened, with a
+bitter ache in my heart--for I had put it all behind me--I suddenly
+found myself peeking under the shepherds' arms with a child's wonder at
+the Baby in the straw. Then it came over me like great waves that His
+name was Jesus, because it was He that should save men from their sins.
+Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon my ears, and before I knew I had
+called out, 'Oh! can He save me?' It was in a little mission meeting on
+one of the side streets, and they seemed to be used to that sort of
+thing there, for no one was surprised; and a young fellow leaned across
+the aisle to me and said: 'Why, you just bet He can!' His surprise that
+I should doubt, his bright face and confident tone, gave me hope that
+perhaps it might be so. I held to that hope with all my soul,
+and"--stretching up his arms, and with a quick glow in his face and a
+little break in his voice--"He hasn't failed me yet; not once, not
+once!"
+
+He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal like making a fool of
+myself, for in those days I had not made up my mind about these things.
+Graeme, poor old chap, was gazing at him with a sad yearning in his dark
+eyes; big Sandy was sitting very stiff and staring harder than ever into
+the fire; Baptiste was trembling with excitement; Blaney was openly
+wiping the tears away, but the face that held my eyes was that of old
+man Nelson. It was white, fierce, hungry-looking, his sunken eyes
+burning, his lips parted as if to cry. The minister went on.
+
+"I didn't mean to tell you this, men; it all came over me with a rush;
+but it is true, every word, and not a word will I take back. And,
+what's more, I can tell you this: what He did for me He can do for any
+man, and it doesn't make any difference what's behind him, and"--leaning
+slightly forward, and with a little thrill of pathos vibrating in his
+voice--"oh, boys, why don't you give Him a chance at you? Without Him
+you'll never be the men you want to be, and you'll never get the better
+of that that's keeping some of you now from going back home. You know
+you'll never go back till you're the men you want to be." Then, lifting
+up his face and throwing back his head, he said, as if to himself,
+"Jesus! He shall save His people from their sins," and then, "Let us
+pray."
+
+Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands; Baptiste and Blaney
+dropped on their knees; Sandy, the Campbells, and some others stood up.
+Old man Nelson held his eye steadily on the minister.
+
+Only once before had I seen that look on a human face. A young fellow
+had broken through the ice on the river at home, and as the black water
+was dragging his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there came
+over his face that same look. I used to wake up for many a night after
+in a sweat of horror, seeing the white face with its parting lips and
+its piteous, dumb appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down.
+
+Nelson's face brought it all back; but during the prayer the face
+changed and seemed to settle into resolve of some sort, stern, almost
+gloomy, as of a man with his last chance before him.
+
+After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a Christmas dinner next
+day in Black Rock. "And because you are an independent lot, we'll charge
+you half a dollar for dinner and the evening show." Then leaving a
+bundle of magazines and illustrated papers on the table--a godsend to
+the men--he said good-by and went out.
+
+I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into the sleigh first and
+waited while he said good-by to Graeme, who had been hard hit by the
+whole service and seemed to want to say something. I heard Mr. Craig say
+cheerfully and confidently: "It's a true bill: try Him."
+
+Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while that interesting broncho was
+attempting with great success to balance himself on his hind legs, came
+to say good-by.
+
+"Come and see me first thing, Sandy."
+
+"Aye! I know; I'll see ye, Mr. Craig," said Sandy earnestly as Dandy
+dashed off at a full gallop across the clearing and over the bridge,
+steadying down when he reached the hill.
+
+"Steady, you idiot!"
+
+This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side spring into the deep
+snow, almost upsetting us. A man stepped out from the shadow. It was old
+man Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh and, ignoring my presence
+completely, said:
+
+"Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this? Will it work?"
+
+"Do you mean," said Craig, taking him up promptly, "can Jesus Christ
+save you from your sins and make a man of you?"
+
+The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on the other's face.
+
+"Well, here's His message to you: 'The Son of Man is come to seek and to
+save that which was lost.'"
+
+"To me? To me?" said the old man eagerly.
+
+"Listen; this, too, is His word: 'Him that cometh unto Me I will in no
+wise cast out.' That's for you, for here you are, coming."
+
+"You don't know me, Mr. Craig. I left my baby fifteen years ago
+because----"
+
+"Stop!" said the minister. "Don't tell me, at least not to-night;
+perhaps never. Tell Him who knows it all now and who never betrays a
+secret. Have it out with Him. Don't be afraid to trust Him."
+
+Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, and said in a husky
+voice:
+
+"If this is no good, it's hell for me."
+
+"If it is no good," replied Craig almost sternly, "it's hell for all of
+us."
+
+The old man straightened himself up, looked up at the stars, then back
+at Mr. Craig, then at me, and drawing a deep breath said:
+
+"I'll try Him." As he was turning away the minister touched him on the
+arm and said quietly:
+
+"Keep an eye on Sandy to-morrow."
+
+Nelson nodded and we went on; but before we took the next turn I looked
+back and saw what brought a lump into my throat. It was old man Nelson
+on his knees in the snow, with his hands spread upward to the stars,
+and I wondered if there was any One above the stars and nearer than the
+stars who could see. And then the trees hid him from my sight.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[11] From _Black Rock_. Reprinted by special permission of publisher,
+The Fleming H. Revell Company.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XII.--The Story That the Keg Told Me
+
+_By Adirondack (W. H. H.) Murray_
+
+          _The author is "Adirondack Murray" because he,
+          more than any other man, rediscovered for the past
+          and present generation the wonderful Adirondack
+          Woods. We are grateful to Mr. Archibald Rutledge
+          for having shortened the story, and to Mr.
+          Murray's publishers, De Wolfe and Fiske Company,
+          for permission to print it in the abbreviated
+          form._--THE EDITOR.
+
+
+IT was near the close of a sultry day in midsummer, which I had spent in
+exploring a part of the shore line of the lake where I was camping, and
+wearied with the trip I had made, I was returning toward the camp.
+
+The lake was a very secluded sheet of water hidden away between the
+mountains, not marked on the map, whose very existence was unsuspected
+by me until I had a few days before accidentally stumbled upon it.
+Indeed, in all the world there is hardly another sheet of water so
+likely to escape the eye, not only of the tourist and the sportsman, but
+also of the hunter and the trapper. Day by day as I paddled over the
+lake or explored its shores the conviction grew upon me that the place
+had never before been visited by any human being. The more I examined
+and explored, the more this belief grew upon me. The thought was ever
+with me. But on this afternoon as I was paddling leisurely along, my
+paddle struck some curious object in the water. I reached down and
+lifted it into the boat. It was a Keg!
+
+Amazed, I sat looking at this proof that my lake was not so unknown as I
+had supposed it to be. Where had it come from? How did it get here? Who
+brought it, and for what purpose? These and similar questions I put to
+myself as I paddled onward toward my camp.
+
+After having built my camp fire I seated myself with my back against a
+pine; it was then that my gaze again fell on the Keg, which I had
+brought up from the boat and had set on the ground across the fire from
+me. I sat wondering where it had come from, and what had become of him
+who must once have handled it. . . . It may be that I was awake; it may
+be that I was asleep; but as I was thus looking steadily and curiously
+at the Keg, it seemed to change its appearance. It was no longer a Keg:
+it was a man! A queer little man he was, with strange little legs, and
+the funniest little body, and the tiniest little face! Then, standing
+bold upright, and looking at me with eyes that glistened like black
+beads, the miraculous Keg-Man opened his mouth and began to talk!
+
+"I desire to tell you my story," it said; "the story of the man who
+brought me here; why he did it, and what became of him; how he lived and
+died.
+
+"The earliest remembrance I have of myself is of the cooper's shop where
+I was made. Although I look worn now, I can recall the time when all my
+staves were smooth and clean, so that the oak-grain showed clearly from
+the top to the bottom of me, and my steel hoops were strong and bright.
+The cooper made me on his honor and took a deal of honest pride in
+putting me together, as every workman should in doing his work. I
+remember that when I was finished and the cooper had sanded me off and
+oiled me, he set me up on a bench and said to his apprentice boy:
+'There, that Keg will last till the Judgment Day, and well on toward
+night at that.' I wondered at that.
+
+"One day a few weeks later a man came into the shop and said, 'Have you
+a good strong keg for sale?'
+
+"He put the question in such a half-spiteful, half-suspicious way that I
+eyed him curiously. And a very peculiar man I saw. He was not more than
+forty years old, of good height and strongly built. He was a gentleman,
+evidently, although his face was darkly tanned and his clothes were old
+and threadbare. His mouth was small. His lips were thin, and had a look
+of being drawn tightly over his teeth. His chin was long, his jaws large
+and strong. His hair was thin and brown. But the remarkable feature of
+his face was his eyes. They were blue-gray in color, small, and deeply
+set under his arching eye-brows. How hard and steel-like they were, and
+restless as a rat's! And what an intense look of suspicion there was in
+them; a half-scared, defiant look, as if their owner felt every one to
+be his enemy. Ah, what eyes they were! I came to know them well
+afterward, and to know what the wild, strange light in them meant; but
+of that by and by.
+
+"'Have you a good strong keg for sale?' he shouted to my master, who
+turned round and looked squarely at the questioner.
+
+"'Yes, I have, Mr. Roberts. Do you want one?'
+
+"'Yes!' returned the other; 'but I want a strong one--_strong_, do you
+hear?'
+
+"'Here's a keg,' said my master, tapping me with his mallet, 'that I
+made with my own hands from the very best stuff. It will last as long as
+steel and white oak staves will last.'
+
+"The price was paid with a muttered protest and Roberts hoisted me under
+his arm and bore me from the shop.
+
+"As we hurried along, I noticed that my new master spoke to no one, and
+that people looked at him coldly or wonderingly. At last we came to a
+common-looking house set back from the road, with a very high fence
+built around it and a heavy padlock on the front gate. There were great
+strong wooden shutters at every window. My master entered the house and
+set me down on the floor, then went to the door and locked it, drawing
+two large iron bars across it. He went to every window to see if it was
+fastened.
+
+Carrying a candle in one hand and a great bludgeon in the other, he
+examined every room, every closet, the attic, and the cellar. After this
+he came back to me, set me on a table, started one of my hoops, and took
+out one of my heads. From a cupboard he got a large sheepskin, and with
+a pair of shears fitted me with a lining of it. I must say that he did
+it with cleverness, and he seemed well pleased with his work.
+
+"When he had done all this, he brought his bludgeon and laid it on the
+table beside me; also he laid there a large knife. Then he went to the
+chimney and brought the ash-pail, which was full of ashes; from the
+cupboard he brought an earthen jar; from under the bed he fetched a bag;
+from the cellar he returned with a sack, all damp and moldy. When he had
+all these side by side near the table, he sat down. Then out of the
+ash-pail he took a small pot, and having carefully blown the ashes off,
+he turned it bottom-upward on the table. And what do you think was in
+it?
+
+"Gold coins! Some red and some yellow, but all gold!
+
+"He emptied each of the other receptacles, and out there flowed heaps of
+gold coins almost without number! How they gleamed and glistened! How
+they clinked and jingled! And how the deep and narrow eyes of my master
+glittered, but how the lips drew apart in a wild smile!
+
+"It was a fearful sight to see him playing with the gold and to hear him
+laugh over his treasure. It was dreadful to think that a human soul
+could love money so. And he did love it--madly, with all the strength of
+his nature.
+
+"He would take up a coin and look at it as a father might look upon the
+face of a favorite child. Ah, me, 'twas dreadful! He would take up a
+piece and say to it, 'Thou art better to me than a wife'; and to
+another, 'Thou art dearer than father or mother!' Ah, such blasphemy as
+I heard that night! How the sweet and blessed things of human life were
+derided, and the things that are divine and holy sneered at!
+
+"At length he fell to counting his gold; and for a long, long time he
+counted, until his hands shook, and his eyes gleamed as if he were mad.
+When he had counted all, he jumped from his seat, shouting like a
+maniac, 'Sixteen thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars!' Again and
+again he shouted this in wild triumph.
+
+"After a while he sobered down, and inside of me he began to pack away
+his treasures--carefully, caressingly, as a mother might lay her
+children to sleep. When I was full to the brim with shining gold, he put
+my head on, fitted the upper hoop on snugly, and then put me in the bed.
+The great knife he slipped under the pillow. Then, blowing out the
+light, he lay down beside me with one arm thrown about me. So the
+miser, clasping me to his heart, fell asleep.
+
+"Day after day, night after night, this selfsame performance was
+repeated. My master did little work; indeed, he did not seem eager to
+increase his store, but merely to hold it safely. But about this he was
+so anxious that he was in a fever of excitement all the time. For days
+he would not leave the house. Never was he free from the fear of losing
+his money. And this suspicion had poisoned his whole life, had made him
+hate his kind and lose all belief in the love and the goodness of God,
+that he had once professed.
+
+"One day in summer he left the front door open. I was drowsing, when
+suddenly I heard him give a frightened yell. In the doorway stood a man
+and a woman. The man was the village pastor, and the woman, I soon
+learned, was my master's wife. For a moment my master stood looking
+angrily at them. Then he said abruptly, 'Why did you come here?'
+
+"'John,' said the woman, 'your child Mary is dying; and I thought that
+you, her father, would want to see her before she passed away.' Her
+voice choked, and her breast heaved with sobs.
+
+"'Dying, is she?' said my master brutally. 'I don't believe it. You are
+simply after my gold. You might as well get away from here,' he added
+with a threatening look.
+
+"'John,' returned the woman, great tears coming to her eyes, 'I never in
+my life lied to you. Mary is dying, and I could not let her go without
+giving you a chance to see her. Last night in her delirium she begged
+for you. She wants you, John; she wants to say good-by to you!'
+
+"But my master remained unmoved. The sinister look in the eyes, the
+doggedness of the face did not change. He stared at them; then he
+shouted in frenzy: 'You lie! You want my money! Everybody wants it!
+Everybody loves it! There isn't an honest man in the world! All are
+thieves! All are lovers of gold! I know by your looks that you love it,'
+he went on; 'and you can't fool me by your tears and your preaching. You
+get out of this house!' he suddenly shrieked, 'or I will kill you,--both
+of you!' He swore a terrible oath and stepped back to seize the heavy
+bludgeon on the table. The woman cried out in fear and turned away
+weeping. But the parson stood his ground.
+
+"'John Roberts,' he said, 'thou art a doomed man. The lust of gold that
+destroys so many is in thee strong and mighty, and only God can save
+thee, nor He against thy will. Repent, or thou shalt perish in a lonely
+place, on a dark night, with none to help thee or hear thy cries; and
+all thy gold shall perish with thee.' So saying, he turned and slowly
+left the house.
+
+"For a moment my master stood glaring at the retreating forms of those
+who had come to him as friends, but whom he had treated as enemies; then
+he rushed for the door and locked it. After that he lifted me tenderly
+upon the table, laughed softly, patted me with his hands, and stroked me
+caressingly. 'My gold,' he kept repeating, 'my precious, precious gold!'
+And as night came on, he poured out the gold and counted the glittering
+pieces. Again and again he counted his treasure until deep midnight had
+settled over all.
+
+"But when he awoke in the morning he was very nervous. All day long he
+neither opened the door nor unbarred the shutters. All the while he kept
+muttering to himself as if planning some crafty plot. I could not know
+what all this might mean, but I caught enough of his talk to understand
+that he was more than ever suspicious of losing his money, was fearing
+all man-kind more and more, and was trying to devise some scheme whereby
+he could find a place where no one could molest him or try to steal his
+gold. 'They will get it yet,' he kept saying, 'unless I can go where no
+one can find me.' Then he would curse his kind.
+
+"At last, after hours of muttering and tramping back and forth in the
+darkened house, he suddenly seemed to find his decision. I shall never
+forget the terrible expression of evil triumph on his face as he paused
+before me and shouted:
+
+"'I'll go! Go where they can never find me! I want to be alone with my
+money, where I can spread it out and see it shine! I will go where there
+is not a man!'
+
+"After my master had said that, he made no further remarks; but he
+began with eager haste to pack a few things for his journey. He put me
+in a sack in which I could neither see nor hear what was happening; and
+that was all I knew for many a day. But all the while I felt myself
+being _carried, carried, carried_! One day I realized that I had been
+put in a boat; then we went on and on, day after day. Finally the boat
+was stopped and I was carried ashore. Then for the first time in many a
+long day I was taken from the bag. Again I saw the world about me. But
+how different were my surroundings from those of my old home! Where was
+I? I was on the very point of land off which you found me this evening.
+
+"For the first few weeks of our stay on the shores of this lonely lake,
+things continued almost as they had been at home. The gold was my
+master's single thought. He seemed happy, almost joyous, in the thought
+that he and I were at last out of the reach of men. Most of his time was
+spent looking at his gold. Every morning and every evening he would take
+me down to that point yonder where the sun shines clearly, and there
+would pour the treasure out in a great pile. He always did this
+exultingly. And his greatest pleasure was to play with the yellow coins,
+to count them over and over, and to laugh to himself in a satisfied way.
+
+"But after a time I could see that a change was coming over my master.
+He grew grave and quiet. No, more, as he poured out his gold, did he
+chuckle and laugh to himself. All his movements seemed listless. He
+counted his money less frequently, and when he did so it was in a
+half-hearted manner. One day I even saw him go away and leave the yellow
+heap lying on the sands. At last one day he came, packed the gold in me,
+and put in my head with the greatest care. Moreover, when he went back
+to the camp, he left me there on the beach! I felt very strange and
+lonely, and the night seemed long indeed.
+
+"At last the daybreak came, and glad I was to see it. But it was not
+until near sunset that my master came down to the point where I was. His
+face was as I had never seen it before. It was the countenance of a man
+who had suffered much, and who was still suffering. He came to me,
+paused before me, and said: 'For thee, thou cursed gold, I have wasted
+my life and ruined my soul!'
+
+"For some time he stood thus looking at me; then he began to walk up and
+down the strip of beach, wringing his hands and beating his breast. 'Oh,
+if I could only do it!' he kept saying; 'if I could only do it! If I
+could, there might be hope, even for me. Lord, help me to do it! Lord,
+help me!'
+
+"After many hours of this, which I knew to be mental torment for my poor
+wretched master, when he was exhausted in body and in mind, he came back
+along the sands toward me. To my astonishment he knelt down beside me,
+he placed his hands together, he lifted his face skyward. My master
+prayed!
+
+"'Lord of the great world,' he said, 'come to my aid or I am lost. In
+Thy great mercy, save me! Hear where no man may hear, hear Thou my cry;
+Thou Lord of heavenly mercy, lend me thine aid!'
+
+"He paused, and over his face I seemed to see the dawning of a deep
+peace. He rose to his feet, lifted me, and bore me down to the boat.
+Then he slowly paddled away toward the center of the lake, repeating his
+prayer. At last he checked the boat; then, having looked toward the sky,
+he said in a low, sweet voice, 'Lord, Thou hast given me grace and
+strength.' At that he lifted me high above his head----"
+
+There was a crash as if pieces of wood were falling together and my eyes
+opened with a snap. My fire had smoldered down. The Keg, heated by the
+fire, had tumbled inward, and lay there in a confused heap.
+
+"What a queer dream," I said to myself. I was really beginning to
+believe that these things had happened. I rose to my feet and stepped
+down to the edge of the lonely water. I am not ashamed to say that my
+blood was chilled at what I saw. As I looked across the lake, within
+twenty feet of where I had found the Keg, there was a boat with a man
+sitting motionless in it!
+
+When that mysterious canoe appeared on the bosom of the lonely lake, I
+thought that I was looking upon a vision of a spectral nature. In spite
+of all my belief that I was alone on this remote beach, there sat the
+man in the boat, only a few rods off shore. He was as a mirage, as
+silent as the very lake itself. A few eerie moments passed; then the
+boat began to move slowly toward me, gently propelled by a skillful
+paddle. As it approached, the light of the full moon streaming upon it
+made it easy for me to study its occupants. Near the bow I could discern
+a hound crouching. In the stern sat the paddler, his rifle across his
+knees.
+
+"Hello, the camp there!" shouted the man in the boat.
+
+"Hello!" I called, glad enough to find that my strange visitor was no
+apparition.
+
+The canoe came ashore, I greeted the boatman, and together we walked up
+toward the camp, the hound following us in a leisurely fashion. There I
+replenished the fire. Then for a moment the stranger and I stood and
+looked at each other. He was over six feet in height, but so
+symmetrically proportioned in his physical stature that, great as it
+was, he was neither awkward nor ungainly. But for the fact that his eye
+had lost its earlier brightness and that his hair was sprinkled with
+threads of gray, it would have been impossible to believe that he had
+reached three-score years and ten, for his form was still erect, his
+step elastic, and his voice clear and strong. His features were regular
+and strong, giving proof of the man's self-reliant and indomitable
+character. Years, perhaps a lifetime of activity in the woods and on the
+lakes, had bronzed the man. From beneath heavy eyebrows looked eyes
+gray in color and baffling in depth. The man's whole appearance
+attracted me singularly.
+
+"Thank ye for your welcome, mister," he began. "I shouldn't have dropped
+in on ye at this onseemly hour, but the line of your smoke caught my eye
+as I was turning the point yonder. I didn't expect to find a human being
+on these shores. I ax your pardon for comin' in on ye, but I have
+memories of this spot that made me think strange things when I saw your
+camp. I am John Norton, the trapper. And who might you be, young man?"
+
+"I am Henry Herbert," I replied; "but just call me plain Henry."
+
+"Well, Henry," began the old trapper, "I am going to call you that. When
+men meet in the woods they don't put on any airs. I have been in these
+woods sixty-two years, and they have been a home for me, for my father
+and mother are gone, and I have never had wife nor child of my own. And
+I have heard of you, Henry. Ye be no stranger to me. For ten years back
+I have heard how you like to travel the woods and the waters by
+yourself, larning things that Nature does not tell about in crowds. I
+have heard, too, that you be a good shot, and that you know the ways of
+outwitting the trout and the pickerel. Hearing about you this way, I
+knew some day that I would come across your trail; but I never thought
+to run agin you to-night, for I'd no idee that mortal man knowed this
+lake, save me--save me and that other. . . ."
+
+The old man paused, seated himself on the end of a log, and gazed into
+the fire with a solemn look on his face.
+
+I did not feel like breaking in on his meditations, whatever they might
+be. I was silent out of deference to his memories.
+
+"This lake," John Norton said at length, "this lake is a strange place.
+I have been here for eleven years. No other place in all this wide
+country makes me feel as this place does."
+
+Again he fell into a reverie. I, meanwhile, busied myself with supper;
+and as soon as this was prepared, the two of us enjoyed it as only
+woodmen can.
+
+"If you know me," I said, "we are no strangers to each other, for I know
+you. Who draws the steadiest bead with a rifle; who is the best boatman
+who ever feathered paddle, and who is as honest a man as ever drew
+breath?--who, but John Norton, whom I have always been wanting to meet.
+No man could be as welcome to my camp."
+
+"Well, well," laughed the old man, "when you're at home you must be one
+of them detective fellows. I see we aren't no strangers to each other.
+And if while in these woods old John Norton can teach you any trick of
+huntin' or of fishin' or of trappin', be sure he will do so for the
+welcome you have give him."
+
+So we sat on either side of the fire, silent for a few moments. Then the
+old trapper said:
+
+"I am thinking of the things that happened here long years agone.
+Strange things have come to pass on this very point. It is eleven year
+this very night that me and the hound slept here, and a solemn night it
+was, too. . . . God of heaven, man, what is that?"
+
+The old man's startled ejaculation brought me to my feet as if a panther
+were upon me. Glancing at the spot he had indicated by look and gesture,
+I beheld only the shattered portion of the Keg. Not knowing what to make
+of the trapper's excited action, I said: "That? That is only a Keg I
+picked up in the lake this evening."
+
+John Norton rose in silence to his feet and went over to where the
+staves lay. One of these he picked up and held contemplatively in his
+hand.
+
+"The ways of the Lord are past the knowing of mortals," he said. "But
+perhaps in the long run He brings the wrong to the right, and so makes
+the evil in the world to praise him. Henry," said the Old Trapper,
+looking keenly at me, "I have a mind to tell you the story of the man
+who owned that Keg. A strange tale it be, but a true one, and the
+teachings of it be solemn."
+
+Eagerly I urged him to give me the story, a part of which, at least, I
+felt that I already knew.
+
+"It was eleven year agone, in this very month, that I came down the
+inlet yonder into the lake. The moon was nigh her full, and everything
+looked solemn and white just as it do now. Lord knows I little thought
+to meet a man in these solitudes when I run agin what I am telling ye
+of.
+
+"I was paddling down this side of the lake when I heard the strangest
+sounds I ever heard coming out of a bird or beast. Ye better believe,
+Henry, that I sot and listened until I was nothing but ears. But nary a
+thing could I make out of it. After awhile I said I would try to ambush
+the creetur and find out what mouth had a language that old John Norton
+couldn't understand. As I got nearer the shore, my boat just drifting in
+the moonlight, I heerd a kind of crawling sound as if the brute was
+a-trailing himself on the ground. The shake of a bush give me the line
+on him, and I felt sure that in a minute I could let the lead drive
+where it ought to go. I had my rifle to my face, when by the Lord of
+marcy, Henry, I diskivered I had ambushed a man!
+
+"And, Henry," he continued, "the words of the man was words of prayer.
+Never in my life was I taken so unawares or was so unbalanced as when I
+heard the voice of that man I had mistook for an animal break out in
+prayer. For a minute the blood stopped in my heart and my hair moved in
+my scalp; then I shook like a man with the chills. I had come that nigh
+being a murderer, Henry!
+
+"How that man prayed! He prayed for help as one calls to a comrade when
+his boat has gone down under him in the rapids, and he knows he must
+have help or die. This man's soul was struggling hard, I tell ye. The
+words of his cry come out of his mouth like the words of one who is
+surely lost unless somebody saves him. It's dreadful for a man to live
+in such a way that he has to pray in that fashion; for we ought to live,
+Henry, so that it is cheerful-like to meet the Lord, and pleasant to
+hold converse with Him.
+
+"I sot in my boat till his praying was done; then I hugged myself close
+in under the bushes, for I heard him coming down toward the shore. And
+he did come, and come close to me; and in his arms he carried something
+very heavy. In a moment I heard him shove a boat out from the bushes;
+then, getting in, he pushed off into the lake. He held for the center of
+it; and when he had come nigh to the middle of it, he laid his paddle
+down, and lifted something into the air. This he turned upside down, and
+out streamed into the water something that glinted in the moonlight.
+After that, he come paddling back for the shore. Myself--I kept shy of
+the man that night, but the next morning I went to the stranger's camp.
+
+"There was nothing in sight but an old ragged tent, sagging at every
+seam. I called aloud so that mayhap the man would answer me. But no
+answer came. I walked up to the tent and drew aside the rotten flap.
+And, Henry, there lay the man senseless before me! I thought he was
+dead, and I onkivered my head. But the hound here knowed better, for he
+began to wag his tail. I went in, and found that the man was still
+breathing. I lifted him in my arms, Henry, and bore him out of the foul
+air of that tent, taking him down to the warm sunshine on the point.
+
+"For a long while I thought he was going to die in my arms. He just lay
+there lifeless-like, a-looking across the lake with eyes half-shut. But
+the sun and air revived him; and after a long while he stirs and says:
+
+"'Old man, who are you who are so kind to me?'
+
+"I tells him I was John Norton, the trapper.
+
+"'I am John Roberts,' he says, 'and I haven't a friend on the earth, nor
+do I deserve one. Old man, you cannot understand, because you have lived
+an innocent life, but I am a sinner--a wretched sinner. And my moments
+here are numbered. I will tell you of my crimes; I will confess them,
+for they lie heavy on my heart.
+
+"'John Norton, I was a miser; I had a heart with a passion for gold. For
+the evil love of money I turned my face away from my kind. My wife I
+deserted. My only child I refused, with curses, to see, even when she
+sent for me as she lay dying. John Norton, I gave all for gold. And the
+more I loved it, the more I hated man. With my dreadful lust there grew
+suspicion of every one. All ties of affection were severed. I lived
+alone, hoarding my gold and gloating over it.
+
+"'At last I fled from the habitations of men, bringing my gold, my god,
+with me in a Keg. Here on this lonely shore I thought to be happy, far
+from my own kind, far from any danger that my precious treasure be
+stolen. But, John Norton--and a dying man is speaking--for all my
+counting of the bright gold on the sands here, and my dancing about it
+as a devil might, laughing and singing--I was unhappy. I knew that God
+was watching me and was disapproving. I could not but think of my wife
+and child. The thought of them began to make the gold hateful to me. Ah,
+then, old man, I began to pray the Lord to deliver me! It was a bitter
+struggle I fought, but at length He rescued me. He gave me strength,
+John Norton, to overcome the Wicked One; He gave me strength to break
+away from my sin; He gave me strength last night to pour every piece of
+gold that had been for me both love and life, into the lake there. I
+shall never see it more, and I am happy.'
+
+"After that, he lay silent-like, looking up at the blue sky. Then his
+eyes closed, and I thought him sleeping. But suddenly he started up, 'A
+light, a light! I see a light!' Then, Henry, he sank back into my arms
+and spoke no more. I hope my passing may be as peaceful as his, and my
+face as calm as was his after his battle of life was over.
+
+"The next day I buried him up yonder under them hemlocks--having no one
+to help me, but doing it respectful-like, as all such should be done.
+There he lies, Henry, the man who was the owner of that Keg--John
+Roberts--the miser who repented before it was too late. Nor do I doubt,"
+he added, in his kindly tone, "but he's been forgiven by those he
+wronged."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
+
+Words that have varied hyphenation: a-way, clean-cut, camp-fire,
+east-bound, round-house.
+
+Page 32, "Naggar" changed to "Nagger" (to find Nagger)
+
+Page 200, "Skinney" changed to "Skinny" (Skinny soon returned)
+
+Page 237, "Toodles" changed to "Toddles" (Toddles swung from)
+
+Page 243, "pur" changed to "purr" (began to purr)
+
+Page 270, "But" changed to "but" (but the face)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts Book of Campfire Stories, by Various
+
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