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diff --git a/26475-8.txt b/26475-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc00167 --- /dev/null +++ b/26475-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8360 @@ +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 Rivičre 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 Tęte-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 caņons, an' somewheres down there is thet awful caņon 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 +caņon, 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 Caņon, 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 piņons on the level rims. He believed these +breaks to be the mouths of caņons, and so it turned out. Wildfire's +trail led into the mouth of a narrow caņon 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 caņon, 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 +caņon wall. He walked the horses. From time to time he saw signs of +Wildfire's consistent progress. The caņon 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 caņon 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 +piņon, 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 caņon 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 piņons 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 piņons 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 piņons 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 caņon, 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 caņon, 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 caņon, 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 piņons 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 piņons 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 caņon. 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 caņon. 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 caņons 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 caņon 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 caņon, 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 caņon. 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 caņon 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 caņon. 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 caņon 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 caņons +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 caņon +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 caņon +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 caņon 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 caņon +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 caņon 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 caņon. 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 caņon 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 caņon 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 caņon 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 caņons 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 caņon, 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 caņon. The second was a slow +march of thirty miles into a scrub cedar and piņon forest, through which +the great red and yellow walls of the caņon 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 caņon. 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 +caņons. 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 caņons 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 caņon; 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 caņons +with red walls a thousand feet high. + +And one of the strange turning caņons 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 caņons; 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 Caņon +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 Caņon 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 caņon 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 Caņon 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 Caņon 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 Caņon--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 Caņon 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 Caņon. + +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 Caņon. 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 caņons, 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 caņons between rim rock carved fantastically and painted like a +Moorish faįade, 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 +espaņola?_" 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 Caņon; +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 caņon 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 caņon 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 įa 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 *** + +***** This file should be named 26475-8.txt or 26475-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/4/7/26475/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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