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diff --git a/35034.txt b/35034.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ac681d0..0000000 --- a/35034.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9576 +0,0 @@ - LOST FARM CAMP - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Lost Farm Camp - -Author: Harry Herbert Knibbs - -Release Date: January 21, 2011 [EBook #35034] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST FARM CAMP *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net. - - - [Illustration: SWICKEY SHOOTS THE BEAR] - - - - -LOST FARM CAMP - -BY - -HARRY HERBERT KNIBBS - - -_Author of "Overland Red"_ - -ILLUSTRATED BY HAROLD JAMES CUE - -NEW YORK -GROSSET & DUNLAP -PUBLISHERS - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1912, -BY HARRY HERBERT KNIBBS - -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - -TO GRETCHEN - - -Over a height-of-land the trail -Wanders down to an inland sea -Where never a keel nor a mirrored sail -Has ruffled its broad tranquillity, -Save a golden shadow that fires the blue -When I drift across in my birch canoe.... - - -CONTENTS - - I. Swickey Shoots a Bear - II. Lost Farm Folk - III. Much Ado about Beelzebub - IV. The Compact - V. A Midnight Adventure - VI. Tramworth - VII. The Book and the "Specs" - VIII. Smoke Finds Employment - IX. Jim Cameron's Idea - X. Barney Axel's Exodus - XI. That Green Stuff - XII. "Us as don't know Nothin'" - XIII. David's "Real Good-Bye" - XIV. The Flight of Smoke - XV. Boston - XVI. The Man in the Street - XVII. News from Lost Farm - XVIII. A Consultation - XIX. Piracy - XX. Home for Christmas - XXI. The Traps - XXII. "Red" Smeaton's Love Affair - XXIII. A Confession - XXIV. Rivals - XXV. On the Drive - XXVI. David's Return - XXVII. "I Want Dave" - XXVIII. Complications - XXIX. Smoke's Last Stand - XXX. Just Fun - XXXI. The Bluff - XXXII. Hoss Avery's Tribute - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - -Swickey shoots the Bear -"Where be they?" she whispered -"Here's your game," he said hoarsely -"I didn't know, Swickey--I thought--there was someone else" - - - - -CHAPTER I--SWICKEY SHOOTS A BEAR - - -Old man Avery hurried from the woods toward his camp, evidently excited. -His daughter Swickey stood watching the black kitten Beelzebub play a -clever but rather one-sided game with a half-dead field-mouse. As Avery -saw the girl, he raised both hands above his head in a comical gesture -of imprecation. - -"Swickey, thet bug-eatin' ole pork-thief's been at the butter ag'in!" - -"Why, Pop, thet's the second time he's done it!" - -"Yes, an' he scraped all the butter he could outen it, an' upset the -crock likewise. Swickey, we've got to git that b'ar or take the butter -outen the spring-hole." - -The girl's brown eyes dilated. "Why don't you trap 'im, Pop?" - -"Law ag'in' trappin' b'ars in August." - -"Law ag'in' shootin' deer in August, too, ain't they?" - -"Thet's diff'runt. We've got to have fresh meat." - -"Ain't b'ar meat?" she asked ironically. - -"Reckon 'tis." - -"Then, why ain't you a-shootin' of him?" - -The old lumberman rubbed his hand across his eyes, or rather his eye, -for the other was nothing more than a puckered scar, and his broad -shoulders drooped sheepishly. Then he laughed, flinging his hand out as -though it contained an unpleasant thought which he tossed away. - -"Gol-bling it, Swickey, seems to me as lately every time I drawed a bead -on a deer, they was three front sights on the gun, and as many as three -deer where they oughter been one. 'Sides," he continued, "I ain't -ketched sight of him so fur. Now, mebby if you seen him you could -shoot--" - -Swickey grabbed the astonished Beelzebub to her breast and did a wild -and exceedingly primitive dance before the cabin door. - -"Be-el-zebub!" she cried, "Be-el-zebub! he's a-goin' to leave me shoot a -b'ar--me! I ain't shot nothin' but deer so fur and he's shot more 'n a -million b'ars, ain't you, Pop?" - -"Wa-al, mebby a hun'red." - -"Is thet more 'n a million, Pop?" - -The smile faded from Avery's face. Huge, gray-bearded, pensive, he stood -for a moment, as inscrutable as the front of a midnight forest. - -Swickey eyed him with awe, but Swickey at fourteen could not be -suppressed long. - -"Pop, one of your buttins is busted." - -Her father slid his hand down his suspender strap and wrinkled the loose -leather end round his thumb. - -"How many's a hun'red, Pop?" - -Avery spoke more slowly than usual. "You git the cigar-box where be my -ca'tridges." - -"Be I goin' to shoot now?" she exclaimed, as she dropped the kitten and -skipped into the cabin. - -"Got to see him fust," he said, as she returned with the cigar-box and -his glasses. - -"Here they be, Pop, and here's your 'specs.'" Avery adjusted his -spectacles, carried the box of cartridges to the chopping-log and sat -down. Beelzebub, who had recovered his now defunct field-mouse, tried to -make himself believe it was still alive by tossing it up vigorously and -catching it with a curved and graceful paw. - -"You count 'em, Swickey, as I hand 'em to you." - -"One." - -"One," she replied hurriedly. - -"Two." - -"Two," she repeated briskly. - -"Three." - -"Thr-ee." She turned the shells over in her hand slowly. - -"Four." - -"Four's 'nough to shoot a b'ar, ain't it, Pop?" - -"Five," continued Avery, disregarding her question. - -Swickey counted on her fingers. "One he guv me; two he guv me; then he -guv me 'nother. Them's two and them's two and thet's four, and this one -makes five--is thet the name fur it?" - -"Yes, five," he replied. - -"Yes, five," replied Swickey. "Ain't five 'nough?" - -The old man paused in his task and ran his blunt fingers through the -mass of glittering shells that sparkled in the box. The glint of the -cartridges dazzled him for a moment. He closed his eyes and saw a great -gray horse standing in the snow beneath the pines, blood trickling from -a wounded forward shoulder, and then a huddled shape lying beneath the -horse. Presently Nanette, Swickey's mother, seemed to be speaking to him -from that Somewhere away off over the tree-tops. "Take care of her, -Bud," the voice seemed to say, as it trailed off in the hum of a noonday -locust overhead. The counting of the shells continued. Painfully they -mounted to the grand total of ten, when Swickey jumped to her feet, -scattering the cartridges in the grass. - -"I don't want to shoot no million b'ars or no hun'red to oncet." - -There were tears of anger and chagrin in her voice. She had tried to -learn. The lessons usually ended that way. Rebellion on Swickey's part -and gentle reproof from her father. - -"Don't git mad, Swickey. I didn't calc'late to hurt you," said the old -man, as he stooped and picked up the cartridges. - -He had often tried to teach her what he knew of "book larnin'," but his -efforts were piteously unsuccessful. She was bright enough, but the -traps, the river, her garden-patch, the kitten, and everything connected -with their lonely life at Lost Farm had an interest far above such vague -and troublesome things as reading and writing. - -Once, after a perspiring half-hour of endeavor on her father's part and -a disinterested fidgeting on hers, she had said, "Say, Pop, I ain't -never goin' away from you, be I?" - -To which he had replied, "No, Swickey, not if you want to stay." - -"Then, ding it, Pop, ain't I good 'nough fur you jest as I be, 'thout -larnin'?" - -This was an argument he found difficult to answer. Still, he felt he was -not doing as her mother would have wished, for she often seemed to speak -to him in the soft _patois_ of the French-Canadian, when he was alone, -by the river or on the hills. - -As he sat gazing across the clearing he thought he saw something move in -the distance. He scowled quizzically over his spectacles. Then he drew -his daughter to him and whispered, "See thar, gal! You git the rifle." - -She glided to the cabin noiselessly and returned lugging the old .45 -Winchester. Avery pointed toward a lumbering black patch near the river. - -"He's too fur," she whispered. - -"You snick down through the bresh back of the camp. Don't you shoot -less'n you kin see his ear plain." - -The girl stooped and glided behind the cabin, to reappear for a moment -at the edge of the wood bordering the clearing. Then her figure melted -into the shadows of the low fir trees. Avery sat tensely watching the -river-edge. - -Swickey had often rested the heavy barrel of the old rifle on a stump or -low branch, and blazed away at some unsuspecting deer feeding near the -spring in the early morning or at dusk, with her father crouching behind -her; but now she was practically alone, and although she knew that bruin -would vanish at the first suspicion of her presence, she trembled at the -thought that he might seek cover in the very clump of undergrowth in -which she was concealed. She peered between the leafy branches. There he -was, sitting up and scraping the over-ripe berries from the bushes -clumsily. She raised the rifle and then lowered it. It was too heavy to -hold steadily, and there was no available branch or log upon which to -rest it. A few yards ahead of her was a moss-topped pine stump. Shoving -the rifle along the ground she wriggled toward the stump and sighed her -relief when she peeped over its bleached roots and saw the bear again. -He was sitting up as before, but his head was moving slowly from side to -side and his little eyes were shifting uneasily. She squirmed down -behind the rifle, hugging it close as her father had taught her. The -front sight glistened an inch below the short black ear. She drew a long -breath and wrapping two fingers round the trigger, pulled steadily. - -With the _r-r-r-ri-p-p, boom_! of the Winchester, and as the echoes -chattered and grumbled away among the hills, the bear lunged forward -with a prolonged _whoo-owoow_, got up, stumbled over a log, and turning -a disjointed somersault, lay still. - -The old man ran toward the spot. "Don't tetch him!" he screamed. - -From the fringe of brush behind the bear came Swickey, rifle in hand. -Disregarding her father she deliberately poked bruin in the ribs with -the gun-muzzle. His head rolled loosely to one side. She gave a shrill -yell of triumph that rang through the quiet afternoon, startling the -drowsy birds to a sudden riotous clamoring. - -Avery, panting and sweating, ran to his daughter and clasped her in his -arms. "Good fur you! You're my gal! Hit him plump in the ear." And he -turned the carcass over, inspecting it with a critical eye. - -"Goin' on five year, I reckon. A he one, too. Fur's no good; howcome it -were a bing good shot for a gal." - -"Don't care if the fur ain't no good, he's bigger nor you and me put -t'gither, ain't he, Pop?" - -"Wal, not more 'n four times," said Avery, as he reached for the short, -thin-bladed skinning-knife in his belt and began to deftly work the hide -off the animal. Swickey, used to helping him at all times, held a corner -of the hide here and a paw there, while the keen blade slipped through -the fat already forming under the bear's glossy black coat. Silently the -old man worked at cutting up the carcass. - -"Godfrey!" The knife had slipped and bit deep into his hand. "Why, Pop! -Looks as if you done it a-pu'pose. I was watchin' you." - -"It's the specs. They don't work right somehow." - -The girl ran to the cabin and returned with a strip of cloth with which -she bound up the cut. - -"Thar, pop. It ain't hurtin' you, be it?" - -"N-o-o." - -"We kin bile some ile outen him," said Swickey, as with a practical eye -she estimated the results. - -"Three gallon, mebby?" - -"How much does thet make in money?" - -"'Bout a dollar and a half." - -"Say, Pop!" She hesitated. - -"Wa-al?" - -"Kin I have the money for the ile?" - -Her father paused, wiped his forehead with a greasy hand, and nodded -toward the pocket containing his pipe and tobacco. She filled the pipe -and lighted it for him. - -"Say, Pop, I hear somebody singin'." - -"Wha--Jumpin' Gooseflesh! If I ain't clean forgot they was fifteen of -them lumber-jacks comin' fur supper. Ya-as, thar they be down along -shore. Swickey, you skin fur the house and dig into the flour -bar'l--quick! We'll be wantin' three bake-sheets. I'll bring some of the -meat." - - - - -CHAPTER II--LOST FARM FOLK - - -Lost Farm tract, with its small clearing, was situated in the northern -timber lands, at the foot of Lost Lake. Below lay the gorge through -which the river plunged and thundered, its diapason sounding a low -monotone over the three cabins on the hillside, its harsher notes -muffled by the intervening trees. - -When Hoss Avery first came there, bringing his little girl whom he had -fondly nicknamed "Swickey," he climbed the narrow trail along the river, -glanced at the camp, swung his pack from his shoulders, filled his pipe, -and sitting on a log drew Swickey down beside him and talked to her, -asking her her opinion of some things which she understood and a great -many things which she did not, to all of which she made her habitual -reply of "Yes, Pop." - -That was when Swickey, ten years old and proudly conscious of a new -black-and-red checkered gingham dress, had unwittingly decided a -momentous question. - -"You like this here place, Swickey?" her father had asked. - -"Yes, Pop," and she snuggled closer in his arm. - -"Think you and me can run the shebang--feed them lumber-jacks goin' in -and comin' out, fall and spring?" - -"Yes, Pop." - -"'Course you'll do the cookin', bein' my leetle woman, won't you?" And -the big woodsman chuckled. - -"Yes, Pop," she replied seriously. - -"And you won't git lonesome when the snow comes and you can't play -outside and ketch butterflies and sech things in the grass? They ain't -no wimmen-folks up here and no leetle gals to play with. Jest me and you -and the trees and the river. Hear it singin' now, Swickey! Bet you don't -know what it's sayin'." - -"Yes, Pop." But Swickey eyed her father a mite timidly as she twisted -her dress round her fist. She hoped he would not ask her what the river -was "really-truly, cross-your-heart-or-die, sayin'," but she had -imagination. - -"What be it sayin', Swickey?" - -She rose to the occasion pluckily, albeit hesitating at first. "Why -it's--it's--it's sayin', 'father, father, father,'--jest slow like thet. -Then it gets to goin' faster and faster and says, 'Hello, Swickey! -Hello, Pop! thet you?'--jest like thet. Then it goes a-growlin' 'long -and says, 'Better stay fur a lo-o-ng time 'cause it's nice and big -and--and--' and I'm hungry fur supper," she added. "Ain't thet what it -says, Pop?" - -Avery pushed his hat over his eyes and scratched the back of his head. - -"Suthin' like thet. Yes, I reckon it says, 'Better stay,' and she says -better stay, howcome I don't jest know--" - -"Who is she, Pop?" - -"Your ma, Swickey. She talks to me like you hear'n' the river talkin' -sometimes." - -"She ain't never talkin' to me--reckon I be too leetle, ain't I, Pop?" - -"Ya-a-s. But when you git growed up, mebby she'll talk to ye, Swickey. -And if she do, you mind what she's a-tellin' you, won't you, leetle -gal?" - -"Yes, Pop." And she looked up at her father appealingly. "But ain't I -never goin' to see her in my new dress, mebby?" And she smoothed the -gingham over her knees with a true feminine hand and a childish -consciousness of having on her "good clothes." - -"If God-A'mighty's willin', Swickey, we'll both on us see her some day." - -"Who's he, Pop? Is he bigger'n you be?" - -"Ya-a-s," he replied gently. "He's bigger nor your Pop; but why was you -askin' thet?" - -"'Cause Jim Cameron, what drives the team, says you be the biggest man -that ever come into these here woods." She paused for breath. "And he -said, he did, 'thet even if you was a old man they warn't no man he -thunk could ever lick you.'" She drew another long breath of -anticipation and gazed at her father admiringly. "And mebby you could -make God-A'mighty giv my ma back to you." - -"Huh! Jim Cameron said I was a old man, hey? Wal, I reckon I be--reckon -I be. But I reckon likewise thet me and you kin git along somehow." He -began to count on his fingers. "Now thar's the feedin' of the crews -goin' in to Nine-Fifteen, and feedin' the strays comin' out, and the -Comp'ny settles the bills. Then thar's the trappin', and the snowshoes -and buckskin and axe-handles. Oh, I reckon we kin git along. Then thar's -the dinnimite when the drive comes through--" - -"What's dinnimite, Pop?" - -Avery ceased his calculating abruptly. He coughed and cleared his -throat. - -"Wal, Swickey, it's suthin' what makes a noise suthin' like thunder, -mebby, and tears holes in things and is mighty pow'ful--actin' -unexpected at times--" He paused for further illustrations, but Swickey -had grasped her idea of "dinnimite" from his large free gestures. It was -something bigger and stronger than her father. - -"Is dinnimite suthin' like--like God-A' mighty?" she asked in a timid -voice. - -"Ya-a-s, Swickey, it are--sometimes--" - -So Swickey and her father came to Lost Farm. The river had said "stay," -and according to Swickey's interpretation had repeated it. They both -heard it, the old giant-powder deacon of the lumber company, and his -"gal." - -Woodsmen new to the territory had often misjudged him on account of his -genial expression and indolent manner, but they soon came to know him -for a man of his hands (he bared an arm like the rugged bole of a beech) -and a man of his word, and his word was often tipped with caustic wit -that burned the conceit of those who foolishly invited his wrath. Yet he -would "stake" an outgoing woodsman whose pay-check was inadequate to see -him home, and his door was always open to a hungry man, whether he had -money or not. He liked "folks," but he liked them where they belonged, -and according to his theory few of them belonged in the woods. - -"The woods," he used to say, "gets the best of most folks. Sets 'em to -drinkin' or talkin' to 'emselves and then they go crazy. A man's got to -have bottom to live up here. Got to have suthin' inside of him 'ceptin' -grub and guts--and I ain't referrin' to licker nohow--or eddication. -When a feller gits to feelin' as like he was a section of the woods -hisself, and wa'n't lookin' at a show and knowin' all the while he was -lookin' at a show; when he kin see the whole works to onct 'thout seein' -things like them funny lights in the sky mornin's and evenin's, and -misses 'em wuss than his vittles when he be whar they ain't, then he -belongs in the bresh." - -Swickey used to delight in hearing her father hold forth, sometimes to a -lone woodsman going out, sometimes to Jim Cameron, the teamster at the -"Knoll," and often to her own wee brown self as she sat close to the big -stove in the winter, chin on knees, watching the fleecy masses of snow -climb slowly up the cabin windows. - -Four summers and four long winters they had lived at Lost Farm, happy in -each other's company and contented with their isolation. - -There was but one real difficulty. Swickey's needlecraft extended little -farther than the sewing on of "buttins," and the mending of tears, and -she did need longer skirts. She had all but out-grown those her father -had brought from Tramworth (the lumber town down river) last spring, and -she had noticed little Jessie Cameron when at the Knoll recently. -Jessie, with the critical eye of twelve, had stared hard at Swickey's -sturdy legs, and then at her own new blue frock. Swickey had returned -the stare in full and a little over, replying with that juvenile grimace -so instinctive to childhood and so disconcertingly unanswerable. - -The advent of the bear, and Swickey's hand in his downfall, offered an -opportunity she did not neglect. She had asked her father if he would -buy the oil for her before he got the money for it from Jim Cameron. -Avery, busy with clearing-up after the men who had arrived that -afternoon, said he "reckoned" he could. - -"I don't calc'late to know what's got into ye. No use in calc'latin' -'bout wimmen-folks, but I'll give you the dollar and a half. Mebby -you're goin' to buy your Pop a new dress-suit, mebby?" - -"What's a dress-suit, Pop?" - -"Wal," he replied, "I ain't never climb into one, but from what I seen -of 'em, it's a most a'mighty uncumf'table contrapshun, hollered out in -front and split up the back so they ain't nothin' left but the -belly-band and the pants. Makes me feel foolish like to look at em, and -I don't calc'late they'd be jest the best kind of clothes fer trappin' -and huntin', so I reckon I don't need any jest now." - -"Huh!" exclaimed Swickey, "I reckon _you're_ all right jest as you be. -Folks don't look at _your_ legs and grin." - -Avery surveyed himself from the waist down and then looked wonderingly -at his daughter. Suddenly his eye twinkled and he slapped his palm on -his thigh. - -"Wa-al, by the great squealin' moo-cow, if you ain't--" - -But Swickey vanished through the doorway into the summer night. - - - - -CHAPTER III--MUCH ADO ABOUT BEELZEBUB - - -Fourteen of the fifteen men, who arrived at Avery's camp that afternoon, -came into the woods because they had to. The fifteenth, David Ross, came -because he wanted to. Ever since he could read he had dreamed of going -into the woods and living with the lumbermen and trappers. His aunt and -only living relative, Elizabeth Ross, had discouraged him from leaving -the many opportunities made possible by her generosity. She had adopted -the boy when his father died, and she had provided for him liberally. -When he came of age the modest income which his father's estate provided -was transferred from her care, as a trustee, to him. Then she had -offered him his choice of professions, with the understanding that her -considerable fortune was to be his at her death. She had hoped to have -him with her indefinitely, but his determination to see more of the -woods than his summer vacations allowed finally resolved itself into -action. He told her one evening that he had "signed up" with the Great -Western Lumber Company. - -Protests, supplications, arguments were of no avail. He had listened -quietly and even smilingly as his aunt pointed out what seemed to her to -be the absurdities of the plan. Even a suggested tour of the Continent -failed to move him. Finally she made a last appeal. - -"If your income isn't sufficient, Davy, I'll--" - -He interrupted her with a gesture. "I've always had enough money," he -replied. "It isn't that." - -"You're just like your father, David," she said. "I suppose I shall have -to let you go, but remember there is some one else who will miss you." - -"Miss Bascomb has assured me that we can never agree, on--on certain -things, so there is really nothing to keep me here,--except you," he -added in a gentler tone, as he saw the pained look on her kindly old -face. "And you just said you would let me go." - -"Would have to let you go, Davy." - -"Well, it's all the same, isn't it, Aunt Bess?" - -She smiled tearfully at his boyishness. "It seems to be," she replied. -"I am sorry about Bessie--" - -The following morning he had appeared at an employment office where -"Fisty" Harrigan of the Great Western had "taken him on" as a likely -hand, influenced by his level gaze and direct manner. "Fisty" and David -Ross promised to become good friends until, during their stay at the -last hotel en route to the lumber camp, Harrigan had suggested "a little -game wid th' b'ys," wherein the "b'ys" were to be relieved of their -surplus change. - -"They jest t'row it away anyhow," he continued, as David's friendly chat -changed to a frigid silence. "T'ought you was a sport," said Harrigan, -with an attempt at jocularity. - -"That's just why I don't play poker with that kind," replied David, -gesturing contemptuously toward the mellow fourteen strung in -loose-jointed attitudes along the hotel bar. "I like sport, but I like -it straight from the shoulder." - -"You do, hey?" snarled Harrigan, drawing back a clenched fist. Ross -looked him full in the eye, calm and unafraid. Fisty's arm dropped to -his side. He tried a new tack. "I was only tryin' you out, kid, and -you're all right, all right," he said with oily familiarity. - -"Sorry I can't say the same for you, Harrigan," replied David. "But I'm -going through to the camps. That's what I came in for. If I don't go -with this crew, I'll go with another." - -"Forget it and come and have a drink," said Fisty, trying to hide his -anger beneath an assumption of hospitality. He determined to be even -with Ross when he had him in camp and practically at his mercy. David -declined both propositions and Harrigan moved away muttering. - -So it happened that when they arrived at Lost Farm Camp, the last -stopping-place until they reached the winter operations of the Company -at Nine-Fifteen, Fisty and David were on anything but friendly terms. -David's taciturn aloofness irritated Harrigan, who was not used to -having men he hired cross his suggestions or disdain his companionship. -When they arose in the morning to Avery's "Whoo--Halloo" for breakfast, -Harrigan was in an unusually sour mood and David's cheerful -"good-morning" aggravated him. - -The men felt that there was something wrong between the "boss" and the -"green guy," as they termed David, and breakfast progressed silently. A -straw precipitated the impending quarrel. - -The kitten Beelzebub, prowling round the table and rubbing against the -men's legs, jumped playfully to Harrigan's shoulder. Harrigan reached -back for him, but the kitten clung to his perch, digging in manfully to -hang on. The men laughed uproariously. Fisty, enraged, grabbed the -astonished kitten and flung it against the wall. "What'n hell kind of a -dump is this--" he began; but Swickey's rush for her pet and the wail -she gave as Beelzebub, limp and silent, refused to move, interrupted -him. - -Avery turned from the stove and strode toward Harrigan, undoing his long -white cook's apron as he came, but Ross was on his feet and in front of -the Irishman in a bound. - -"You whelp!" he said, shaking his fist under Harrigan's nose. - -The men arose, dropping knives and forks in their amazement. - -Fisty sat dazed for a moment; then his face grew purple. - -"You little skunk, I'll kill you fur this!" - -Avery interfered. "If thar's goin' to be any killin' did, -promisc'us-like, I reckon it'll be did out thar," he said quietly, -pointing toward the doorway. "I ain't calc'latin' to have things mussed -up in here, fur I tend to my own house-cleanin', understand?" - -Ross, who anticipated a "free-for-all," stood with a chair swung halfway -to his shoulder. At Avery's word, however, he dropped it. - -"Sorry, Avery, but I'm not used to that kind of thing," he said, -pointing to Harrigan. - -"Like 'nough, like 'nough--I hain't nuther," replied Avery -conciliatingly. "But don't you git your dander up any wuss than it be, -fur I reckon you got your work cut out keepin' yourself persentable fur -a spell." He drew Ross to one side. "Fisty ain't called 'Fisty' fur -nothin', but I'll see to the rest of 'em." - -Harrigan, cursing volubly, went outside, followed by the men. Avery -paused to offer a word of advice to Ross. - -"He's a drinkin' man, and you ain't, I take it. Wal, lay fur his wind," -he whispered. "Never mind his face. Let him think he's got you all bruk -up 'n' then let him have it in the stummick, but watch out he don't use -his boots on you." - -Harrigan, blazing with rage, flung his coat from him as Ross came up. -The men drew back, whispering as Ross took off his coat, folded it and -handed it to Avery. The young man's cool deliberation impressed them. - -Harrigan rushed at Ross, who dropped quickly to one knee as the -Irishman's flail-like swing whistled over his head. Before Harrigan -could recover his poise, Ross shot up and drove a clean, straight blow -to Harrigan's stomach. The Irishman grunted and one of the men laughed. -He drew back and came on again, both arms going. Ross circled his -opponent, avoiding the slow, heavy blows easily. - -"Damn you!" panted Harrigan, "stand up and take your dose--" - -Ross lashed a quick stinging fist to the other's face, and jumped back -as Harrigan, head down, swung a blow that would have annihilated an ox, -had it landed, but David leaped back, and as Harrigan staggered from the -force of his own blow, he leaped in again. There was a flash and a thud. - -The Irishman wiped the blood from his lips, and shaking his head, -charged at Ross as though he would bear him down by sheer weight. -Contrary to the expectations of the excited woodsmen, Ross, stooping a -little, ran at Harrigan and they met with a sickening crash of blows -that made the onlookers groan. Ross staggered away from his opponent, -his left arm hanging nervelessly at his side. As Harrigan recovered -breath and lunged at him again, Ross circled away rubbing his shoulder. - -Harrigan's swollen lips grinned hideously. "Now, you pup--" - -He swung his right arm, and as he did so Avery shouted, "Watch out fur -his boots!" - -David's apparently useless left arm shot down as Harrigan drew up his -knee and drove his boot at the other's abdomen. Ross caught Harrigan's -ankle and jerked it toward him. The Irishman crashed to the ground and -lay still. - -With a deliberation that held the men breathless, Ross strode to the -fallen man and stood over him. Harrigan got to his knees. - -"Come on, get up!" said Ross. - -Harrigan, looking at the white face and gleaming eyes above him, -realized that his prestige as a "scrapper" was gone. He thrust out his -hand and pushed Ross from him, staggering to his feet. As the trout -leaps, so David's fist shot up and smashed to Harrigan's chin. The -Irishman staggered, his arms groping aimlessly. - -"Get him! Get him!" shouted Avery. - -Ross took one step forward and swung a blow to Harrigan's stomach. With -the groan of a wounded bull, the Irishman wilted to a gasping bulk of -twitching arms and legs. - -For a moment the men stood spellbound. Fisty Harrigan, the bulldog of -the Great Western, had been whipped by a "green guy"--a city man. They -moved toward the prostrate Fisty, looking at him curiously. Ross walked -to the chopping-log in the dooryard, and sat down. - -"Thought he bruk your arm," said Avery, coming toward him. - -"Never touched it," replied Ross. "Much obliged for the pointer. He -nearly had me, though, that time when we mixed it up." - -One of the men brought water and threw it on Harrigan, who finally got -to his feet. Ross jumped from the log and ran to him. - -"All right, Harrigan," he said. "I'm ready to finish the job." - -Harrigan raised a shaking arm and motioned him away. - -Ross stepped back and drew his sleeve across his sweating face. - -"He's got his'n," said Avery. "Didn't reckon you could do the job, but -good men's like good hosses, you can't tell 'em until you try 'em out. -Wal, you saved me a piece of work, and I thank ye." - -A bully always knows when he is whipped. Fisty was no exception to the -rule. He refused Ross's hand when he had recovered enough breath to -refuse anything. Ross laughed easily, and Harrigan turned on him with a -curse. "The Great Western's t'rough wid you, but I ain't--yet." - -"Well, you want to train for it," said Ross, pleasantly. - -One by one the men shouldered their packs and jogged down the trail, -bound for Nine-Fifteen, followed by Harrigan, his usually red face -mottled with white blotches and murder in his agate-blue eyes. - -David stood watching them. - -"So-long, boys," he called. - -"So-long, kid," they answered. - -Harrigan's quarrel was none of theirs and his reputation as a bruiser -had suffered immeasurably. In a moment they were lost to sight in the -shadow of the pines bordering the trail. - -"Now for the kitten," said David. "I think he's only stunned." He went -into the cabin, and much to Avery's amusement, washed his hands. "A -dirty job," he said, catching the twinkle in the lumberman's eye. - -"A dum' good job, I take it. Whar you from?" - -"Boston." - -"Wal, I seen some mighty queer folks as hailed from Boston, but I don't -recollec' any jest like you." - -David laughed as he went to the corner and stooped over Swickey, who sat -tearfully rocking the limp Beelzebub in her dress. - -"What's his name?" he asked gently. - -"Be--el--zebub," she sobbed. - -"Will you let me look at him--just a minute?" - -Swickey unrolled her skirt, the kitten tumbled from her knees, turned -over, arched his back, and with tail perpendicular shot across the cabin -floor and through the doorway as though nothing had happened. - -David laughed boyishly. - -"He's got eight of them left, even now." - -"Eight whats left?" queried Swickey, fixing two tearfully wondering eyes -on his face. - -"Eight lives, you know. Every cat has nine lives." - -Swickey took his word for it without question, possibly because "eight" -and "nine" suggested the intricacies of arithmetic. Although little more -than a healthy young animal herself, she had instinctively disliked and -mistrusted most of the men who came to Lost Farm Camp. But this man was -different. He seemed more like her father, in the way he looked at her, -and yet he was quite unlike him too. - -"That's a big name for such a little cat," said David. "Where did he get -his name?" - -Swickey pondered. "Pop says it's his name, and I guess Pop knows. The -ole cat she run wild in the woods and took Beelzebub 'long with her -'fore he growed up, and Pop ketched him, and he bit Pop's thumb, and -then Pop said thet was his name. He ketched him fur me." - -Just then Avery came in with a pail of water and Swickey set about -clearing the table. David, a bit shaken despite his apparently easy -manner, strolled out into the sunshine and down the hill to the river. -"My chance with the Great Western is gone," he muttered, "and all on -account of a confounded little cat, and called 'Beelzebub' at that! -Harrigan would fix me now if I went in, that's certain. Accidents happen -in the camps and the victims come out, feet first, or don't come out at -all and no questions asked. No, I'll have to look for something else. -Hang it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his arm, "this being squire of dames and -kittens don't pay." - -Unconsciously he followed the trail down to the dam, across the gorge, -and on up the opposite slope. The second-growth maple, birch, and poplar -gave place to heavy beech, spruce, and pine as he went on. Presently he -was in the thick of a regiment of great spruce trees that stood rigidly -at "attention." The shadows deepened and the small noises of the -riverside died away. A turn in the trail and a startled doe faced him, -slender-legged, tense with surprise, wide ears pointed forward and -nostrils working. - -He stopped. The deer, instead of snorting and bounding away, moved -deliberately across the trail and into a screen of undergrowth opposite -him. David stood motionless. Then from the bushes came a little fawn, -timidly, lifting its front feet with quick, jerky motions, but placing -them with the instinctive caution of the wild kindred. Scarcely had the -fawn appeared when another, smaller and dappled beautifully, followed. -Their motions were mechanical, muscles set, as if ready to leap to a -wild run in a second. - -What unheard, unseen signal the doe gave to her offspring, David never -knew, but, as though they had received a terse command, the two fawns -wheeled suddenly and bounded up the trail, at the top of which the doe -was standing. Three white flags bobbed over the crest and they were -gone. - -"How on earth did that doe circle to the hillside without my seeing -her?" he thought. Then he laughed as he remembered the stiff-legged -antics of the fawns as they bounded away, stirring a noisy squirrel to -rebuke. On he went, over the crest and down a gentle slope, past giant -beeches and yellow birch whose python-like roots crept over the moss and -disappeared as though slowly writhing from the sunlight to subterranean -fastnesses. Dwarfed and distorted cedars sprung up along the way and he -knew he was near water. In a few minutes he stood on the shore of -No-Man's Lake, whose unruffled surface reflected the broad shadow of -Timberland Mountain on the opposite shore. - -"Well!" he exclaimed, "I suppose it's time to corral a legion of -guide-book adjectives and launch 'em at yonder mass of silver and green -glories, but it's all too big. It calls for silence. A fellow doesn't -gush in a cathedral, unless he doesn't belong there." He sat looking -over the water for perhaps an hour, contented in the restful vista -around him. "I wish Aunt Elizabeth could see this," he muttered finally. -"Then she might understand why I like it. Wonder who owns that strip of -land opposite? I'd like to. Great Scott! but my arm's sore where he -poked me." - -A soft tread startled him. He swung round to find Hoss Avery, shod with -silent moosehide, a Winchester across his arm, standing a few feet away. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE COMPACT - - -"After fresh meat?" asked Ross. - -"Nope. Lookin' fur a man." - -Avery's good eye closed suggestively and he grinned. Standing his rifle -in the crotch of a cedar, he drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket and -carefully shaved a pipeful from it. Then he smoked, squatting beside -David as he gazed across the lake. - -"Purty lake, ain't it?" - -"Yes, it is," replied David. - -"Chuck full of trout--big fellers, too. Ever do any fishin'?" - -"A little. I like it." - -"Slithers of deer in thet piece across thar," pointing with his pipestem -to the foot of Timberland Mountain. "Ever do any huntin'?" - -"Not much. Been after deer once or twice." - -"Must have been suthin' behind thet poke you gave Fisty this mornin', I -take it?" - -"About one hundred and seventy pounds," replied David, smiling. Avery -chuckled his appreciation. Evidently this young man didn't "pump" -easily. - -Puff--puff--"Reckon you never done no trappin'." - -"No, I don't know the first thing about it." - -Avery was a trifle disconcerted at his companion's taciturnity. He -smoked for a while, covertly studying the other's face. - -"Reckon you're goin' back to Tramworth--mebby goin' to quit the woods, -seein' as you and Fisty ain't calc'lated to do any hefty amount of -handshakin' fur a while?" - -"Yes, I'm going back, to get work of some kind that will keep me up -here. I wanted to learn a bit about lumbering. I think I began the wrong -way." - -"Don't jest feel sartain about thet, m'self. Howcome mebby Harrigan do, -and he's boss. He would have put you on swampin' at one plunk a day and -your grub. Reckon thet ain't turrible big pay fur a eddicated man. -They's 'bout six months' work and then you git your see-you-later -pay-check fur what the supply store ain't a'ready got." - -"It's pretty thin picking for some of the boys, I suppose," said David. - -"Huh! Some of 'em's lucky to have their britches left to come out in." - -"I didn't expect to get rich at it, but I wanted the experience," -replied David, wondering why Avery seemed so anxious to impress him with -the wage aspect of lumbering. - -"Don't calc'late you ever did any spec'latin', did you?" - -"Well, I have done some since I had my fuss with Harrigan this morning." - -Avery tugged at his beard thoughtfully. - -"I'm turnin' a penny onct in a while or frequenter. With the trappin' -winters, feedin' the crews goin' in and comin' out, makin' axe-handles -and snowshoes, and onct in a spell guidin' some city feller in the fall -up to whar he kin dinnimite a moose, I reckon six hundred dollars -wouldn't cover my earnin's. I could do more trappin' if I had a partner. -Mebby me and him could make nigh on to five hundred a year, and grub." - -"That's pretty good,--five hundred clear, practically." - -"Ya-a-s." Avery grunted and stood up, thrusting his pipe in his pocket. -"Said I was huntin' fur a man when you ast me. You're the man I be -huntin' fur if you want a job bad 'nough to hitch up with me, and -Swickey." - -Ross arose and faced him, his surprise evident in the blank expression -of his face. - -"I'm not out of cash," he replied. - -"Thet ain't what I ast you fur," said Avery, a shade of disappointment -flickering across his face. "I want a man to help." - -"How much would it cost to outfit?" asked David. - -"Wal, I got a hundred and fifty traps, and mebby we could use fifty -more, not countin' dead-falls for b'ar and black-cat. And you sure need -a rifle and some blankets and some winter clothes. I figure fifty plunks -would fit you out." - -"I didn't know but that you would want me to put up some cash toward -expenses,--provisions, I mean?" - -"No," said Avery. "I reckon you ain't broke, but thet ain't makin' any -diff'runce to me." - -"That's all right, Avery. It wasn't the expense of outfitting. I simply -wanted to know where I would stand if I did accept. But I have no -recommendations, no letters--" - -"Hell! I guess them two hands of your'n is all the recommendations I -want. I've fit some m'self and be reckoned a purty fair jedge of hosses, -and a man what is a good jedge of hosses knows folks likewise. I ain't -in no hurry fur you to say yes or no." The old man swung his rifle to -the hollow of his arm. "Take your time to think on it, and you kin stay -to Lost Farm Camp jest as long as you are wishful. 'Tain't every day a -eddicated man what kin use his hands comes floatin' into these here -woods." - -"Well," said David, "I've decided. There are reasons why I don't want to -go back. It's a fair offer and I'll take it." - -"Put her thar!" the huge bony fist of the lumberman closed heavily on -David's hand, but met a grip almost as tense. "Me and you's partners. -Half-and-half share of workin', eatin', earnin's, and fightin'--if -there's any fightin' to be did. Reckon you'd better go to Tramworth and -git fixed up and mebby you calc'late to write to your folks." - -They strode down the trail, Avery in the lead. As they neared the last -turn which led them out to the footboard of the dam, he paused. - -"My gal Swickey is growin' up to whar she oughter git larnin'. I sot in -to learn her, but she's always a-squirmin' out of it by askin' me things -what I can't answer and then gettin' riled at her Pa. Now if you -could--'thout lettin' on as you was doin' it--larn her readin' and -writin' and sech, I'd be pow'ful glad to pay you extra-like fur it." - -So the cat was out of the bag at last. Avery wanted a teacher for his -girl. The old man was willing to take a green hand as partner in -trapping and share the proceeds with him for the sake of Swickey's -education. Well, why not? - -"I'll do what I can, Avery." - -"Thet's the talk. Me and you'll make a lady of her." - -As they approached the cabin a figure appeared in the doorway and the -melodious treble of a girl's voice rang across the river. She -disappeared as Avery's Triton bellow answered. - -"She's callin' us fur dinner," he explained needlessly. - -"Did you get anything?" said Swickey, as they entered the cabin. - -"He bagged me," said Ross, laughing. - -"Whar'd he bag you?" exclaimed Swickey, solicitously looking at David -for visible proof of her father's somewhat indifferent marksmanship. - -"Over on No-Man's Lake--I think that's what he called it," replied -David. - -"He's a-goin' to stay, right along now. I've been wantin' to git a -partner to help with the traps fur quite a spell." - -"You ain't never said nothin' to me 'bout gettin' a partner," said -Swickey, her vanity wounded. "You always said I was as good as any two -men helpin' you." - -Avery, a trifle embarrassed at his daughter's reception of the new -partner, maintained an uncomfortable silence while dinner was in -progress. He had hoped for delight from her, but she sat stolidly -munching her food with conscious indifference to his infrequent sallies. - -That evening, after David had gone to bed in the small cabin back of the -camp, Avery sat on the porch with his daughter. For a long time she -cuddled the kitten, busily turning over in her mind the possibilities of -a whole dollar and a half. She had heard her father say that the new man -was going to Tramworth in the morning. Perhaps he would be able to get -her a dress. A dollar and a half was a whole lot of money. Maybe she -could buy Pop some new "specs" with what she had left after purchasing -the dress. Or if she had a book, a big one that would tell how to make -dresses and everything, maybe _that_ would be better to have. Jessie -Cameron could sew doll's clothes, but her mother had taught her. The -fact that Swickey could not read did not occur to her as relevant to the -subject. She felt, in a vague way, that the book itself would overcome -all obstacles. Yes, she would ask the new man to buy a book for her and -"specs" for her Pop. How to accomplish this, unknown to her father, was -a problem she set aside with the ease of optimistic childhood, to which -nothing is impossible. - -"Pop," she said suddenly. - -"Wal?" - -"Mebby you kin give me thet dollar-money fur the ile." - -"Ya-a-s," he drawled, secretly amused at her sudden interest in money -and anxious to reinstate himself in her favor. "Ya-a-s, but what you -goin' to do? Buy Pop thet dress-suit, mebby?" - -"I reckon not," she exclaimed with an unexpected show of heat that -astonished him. "You said dress-suits made folks ack foolish, and I -reckon some folks acks foolish 'nough right in the clothes they has on -without reskin' changin' 'em." With this gentle insinuation, she -gathered Beelzebub in her arms and marched to her room. - -"Gosh-A'mighty but Swickey's gettin' tetchy," he exclaimed, grinning. -"Wal, she's a-goin' to have a new dress if I have to make it myself." - -When he went into the cabin, he drew a chair to the table and, sitting -down, took two silver pieces from his pocket and laid them on Swickey's -plate. He sat for a long time shading his eyes with his hand. He nodded, -recovered, nodded again. Then he said quite distinctly, but in the voice -of one walking in dreams, "I know it, Nanette. Yes, I know it. I'm doin' -the best I kin--" - -He sat up with a start, saw the silver pieces on the plate and picked -them up. - -"Swickey!" he called, "be you sleepin'?" - -"Yes, Pop," she replied dutifully. - -He grinned as he went to her room. As he bent over her she found his -head in the dark, and kissed him. "I'm sorry what I said 'bout the -clothes, Pop. I don't want no money-dollar--I jest want you." - -He tucked the money in her hand. "Thar it is. Dollar and a half fur the -ile." - -She sighed happily. "I say thanks to my Pop." - -"Good-night, leetle gal." - -She lay awake long after he had left her, turning the coins over in her -hot fingers. Presently she slipped from the bed and, drawing the blanket -about her, stole softly to the door. - - - - -CHAPTER V--A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE - - -With a soft rush of wings an owl dropped from the interior blackness of -the midnight forest and settled on a stub thrust from a dead tree at the -edge of the clearing. - -Beelzebub, scampering sinuously from clump to clump of the long grass, -flattened himself to a shadow as the owl launched silently from the -limb, legs pointing downward and curved talons rigid. Wide, shadowy -wings darkened the moonlit haze where Beelzebub crouched, tail -twitching, and ears laid back. Suddenly he sprang away in long, lithe -bounds; a mad patter of feet on the cabin porch and he scrambled to his -fastness in the eaves. - -Slowly the great bird circled to the limb again, where he sat motionless -in the summer night, a silver-and-bronze epitome of melancholy patience. - -Below him a leafless clump of branches moved up and down, although there -was no breeze stirring. The owl saw but remained motionless. Stealthily -the branches moved from beneath the shadow of the trees, and a buck -stepped to the clearing, his velvet-sheathed antlers rocking above his -graceful neck. Cautiously he lifted a slender foreleg and advanced, -muzzle up, scenting the warm night air. Down to the river he went, -pausing at times, curiously intent on nothing, then advancing a stride -or two until he stood thigh-deep in the stream. Leisurely he waded down -shore, lifting a muzzle that dripped silvery beads in the moonlight. - -Above him on the slope of the bank a door opened and closed softly. He -stiffened and licked his nostrils. With the slight breeze that rippled -toward him over the wavering grasses, he turned and plunged toward the -shore, whirling into a dusky cavern of tangled cedars. With a swishing -of branches he was gone. - -"Ding thet deer," said Swickey, as she hesitated on the cabin porch. She -listened intently. Sonorous and regular strains from her father's room -assured her that he had not been disturbed. - -She stepped carefully along the porch and into the dew-heavy grass, -gathering the blanket closely about her. Beelzebub's curiosity overcame -his recent scare and he clambered hastily from his retreat, tail -foremost, dropping quickly to the ground. Here was big game to stalk; -besides, the figure was reassuringly familiar despite its disguise. The -trailing end of the blanket bobbed over the hummocks invitingly. - -"_Ouch!_ Beelzebub, you stop scratchin' my legs!" Swickey raised a -threatening forefinger and the kitten rollicked away in a wide circle. -She took another step. Stealthily the kitten crept after her. What live, -healthy young cat could resist the temptation to catch that teasing -blanket end? He pounced on it and it slipped from her nervous fingers -and slid to the ground, leaving her lithe, brown young body bathed in -the soft light of the summer moon. She dropped to her knees and -extracted Beelzebub from the muffling folds. Then she administered a -spanking that sent him scampering to his retreat in the eaves, where he -peeked at her saucily, his wide round eyes iridescent with mischief. She -gathered the blanket about her and resumed her journey, innocently -thankful in every tense nerve that the cabin in which David Ross slept -was on the other side of the camp. Patiently she continued on her way, -keeping a watchful eye on Beelzebub's possible whereabouts until she -arrived at the smallest of the three buildings. She took the silver -pieces from her mouth, where she had placed them for safe-keeping while -admonishing the kitten, and rapped on the pane of the open window. - -David Ross had found it impossible to sleep during the early hours of -the night. The intense quiet, acting as a stimulant to his overwrought -nerves, tuned his senses to an expectant pitch, magnifying the slightest -sound to a suggestiveness that was absurdly irritating. The roar of the -rapids came to him in rhythmic beats that pulsed faintly in his ears, -keeping time with his breathing. A wood-tick gnawed its blind way -through the dry-rot of a timber, _T-chick_--_T-chick_--_T-chick_--It -stopped and he listened for it to resume its dreary progress. From the -river came the sound of some one or something wading in the shallows. -Each little noise of the night seemed to float on the undercurrent of -that deep _hum-m-m_ of the rapids, submerged in its heavier note at -times, at times tossed above it, distinctly audible, always following -the rushing waters but never entirely lost beyond hearing. Finally, he -imagined the river to be a great muffled wheel turning round and round, -and the sounds that lifted from its turning became visible as his eyes -closed heavily. They were tangible annoyances, imps in stagged trousers -and imps in calico dresses. The imps danced away to the forest and the -dream-wheel of the river stopped abruptly. So abruptly that its great -iron tire flew jangling across the rocks and fell a thousand miles away -with a faint _clink, clink, clink_. - -He sat up in bed listening. _Clink, clink_. He went to the window, -leaned out, and gazed directly down into the dusky face of Swickey. - -Without preamble she began. - -"I shot a b'ar yest'day." - -"You did! Well, that's pretty good for a girl." - -"My Pop guv me the money fur the ile." - -"Yes, but why did you come out to-night to tell me? Aren't you afraid?" - -"Afraid of what?" she asked, with an innocence that despite itself was -ironical. - -"That's so. There's nothing to be afraid of, is there?" - -She hesitated, drawing the blanket closer about her. - -"Nothin'--'cept you." - -"Afraid of me? Why, that's funny." - -"I was sca'd you'd laugh at me." Then she whispered, "I dassent tetch my -clothes, 'cause Pop would have waked up, so I jest put on this, and -come." - -"That's all right, Swickey. I'm not going to laugh." - -"I say thanks fur thet." - -Such intensely childish relief and gratitude as her tone conveyed, -caused David to feel a sense of shame for having even smiled at her -pathetically ridiculous figure. He waited for her to continue. Reassured -by his grave acceptance of her confidence, she unburdened her heart, -speaking with hesitant deliberation and watching his face with a -sensitive alertness for the first sign of ridicule. - -"You're goin' to Tramworth in the mornin', ain't you?" - -"Yes." - -"I reckon you could buy me a book if I guv the money-dollar fur it?" - -"A book! What kind of a book, Swickey?" - -"Big as you kin git fur this," she said, thrusting the moist dollar into -his hand; "a book what tells everything, to sew on buttins and make -clothes and readin' and writin' and to count ca'tridges fur a -hun'red--and everything!" - -"Oh, I see!" His voice was paternally gentle. "Well, I'll try to get one -like that." - -"And a pair of 'specs'"--she hesitated as his white, even teeth gleamed -in the moonlight--"fur Pop," she added hurriedly. - -"All right, Swickey, but I--" - -"His'n don't work right." - -"But I don't just know what kind of 'specs' your father needs. There are -lots of different kinds, you know." - -Her heart fell. So this man with "larnin'"--his man who could fight -Fisty Harrigans and make dead kittens come alive and jump right up, -didn't know about "specs." Why, her Pop knew all about them. He had said -his didn't work right. - -The troubled look quickly vanished from her face, however, as a -tremendous inspiration lifted her over this unexpected difficulty. - -"Git 'specs,'" she whispered eagerly, "what Pop kin skin a b'ar with -'thout cuttin' his hand." There! what more was necessary except the -other silver piece, which she handed to David with trembling fingers as -he assured her he would get "just that kind." In her excitement the coin -slipped and fell jingling to the cabin floor. - -"I--beg--your--pardon." - -She had heard David say that and had memorized it that afternoon in the -seclusion of the empty kitchen, with Beelzebub as the indifferent object -of her apology. She cherished the speech as a treasure of "larnin'" to -be used at the first opportunity. Ross missed the significance of her -politeness, although he appreciated it as something unusual under the -circumstances. - -"You won't tell Pop?" she asked appealingly. - -"No, I won't tell him." - -She retraced her steps toward the main camp, bankrupt in that her -suddenly acquired wealth was gone, but rich in the anticipated joy that -her purchases would bring to her father and herself accurate eyesight -and "book-larnin'." - -David wanted to laugh, but something deeper than laughter held him -gazing out of the window, across the cabin roofs to where the moon was -rocking in the haze of the tree-tops on the distant hills. Long after -she had regained her bedroom and crept hurriedly beneath the blanket to -fall asleep and dream of Beelzebubs wearing bright new "specs" and -chasing little girls across endless stretches of moonlight, he was still -gazing out of the window, thinking of his little friend and her trust. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--TRAMWORTH - - -David was awakened by the sound of chopping. He arose and dressed -sleepily. After a brisk ablution at the river's edge he came up the -hill, where he found Avery making firewood. - -"Mornin'. Skeeters bother you some?" - -"Guess I was too sleepy to notice them," replied David. - -He watched the old man swing the axe, admiring his robust vigor. Then he -stooped and gathered an armful of wood. As he lugged it to the kitchen, -Avery muttered, "He's a-goin' to take holt. I have noticed folks as is -a-goin' to take holt don't wait to ask how to commence." - -"Where's Swickey?" said David, as he came for more wood. - -"Up to the spring yonder." - -David was about to speak, but thought better of it. When he had filled -the wood-box he started for the spring. - -"He's a-goin' to spile thet gal, sure as eggs," said the old man, -pausing to watch David. - -But he whistled cheerfully as he moved toward the cabin. Presently the -rattling of pans and a thin shaft of blue smoke from the chimney, a -sizzling and spluttering and finally an appetizing odor, announced the -preparation of breakfast. - -"If they don't come purty quick," said Avery, as he came to the doorway -and looked toward the spring path, "they'll be nothin' left but the -smell and what me and Beelzebub can't eat." - -As he turned to go in, David and Swickey appeared, both laughing. He was -carrying both water-pails and she was skipping ahead of him. - -"Pop, we seen some fresh b'ar tracks nigh the spring." - -"You did, hey?" - -"Yip. Big uns. We follered 'em for a spell, goin' back into the swamp." - -"Huh! Was you calc'latin' to bring him back alive, mebby?" - -Swickey disdained to answer. Her prestige as a bear hunter was not to be -discounted with such levity. - -After breakfast Avery tilted his chair against the wall and smoked. -David laughingly offered to help Swickey with the dishes. He rolled up -his sleeves, and went at it, much to her secret amusement and proud -satisfaction. Evidently "city-folks" were not all of them "stuck-up -donothin's," as Mrs. Cameron had once given her to understand, even, -thought Swickey, if they didn't know how to drain the rinsing-water off. - -"When you get to the Knoll," said Avery, addressing David, "Jim Cameron -will hitch up and take you to Tramworth. Like as not he'll ask you -questions so long's he's got any breath left to ask 'em. Folks calls him -'Curious Jim,' and he do be as curious as a old hen tryin' to see into a -jug. But you jest say you're outfittin' fur me. That'll make him hoppin' -to find out what's a-doin' up here. I be partic'lar set on havin' Jim -come up here with the team. I got 'bout fifty axe-helves fur him. He's -been goin' to tote 'em to Tramworth and sell 'em fur me sence spring. If -he thinks he kin find out suthin' by comin' back to-night he'll make it -in one trip and not onhitch at the Knoll and fetch you up in the -mornin'. If he did thet he'd charge us fur stablin' his own team in his -own stable, and likewise fur your grub and his'n. It's Jim's reg'lar way -of doin' business. Now I figure them axe-handles will jest about cover -the cost of the trip if he makes her in one haul, and from what I know -of Jim, he'll snake you back lively, wonderin' what Hoss Avery's up to -this time." - -"I'll hold him off," said David, secretly amused at his new partner's -shrewdness. - -David departed shortly afterward, striking briskly down the shady -morning trail toward the Knoll, some ten miles below. It was noon when -he reached Cameron's camp, a collection of weathered buildings that had -been apparently erected at haphazard on the hillside. - -Cameron was openly surprised to see him. - -"Thought you went into Nine-Fifteen with Harrigan's bunch?" - -"No! I was headed that way, but Harrigan and I had a misunderstanding." - -Curious Jim was immediately interested. - -"Goin' back--goin' to quit?" - -"I have quit the Great Western. I'm going to Tramworth to get a few -things." He delivered Avery's message, adding that the old man seemed -particularly anxious to have the proposed purchases that night. "There's -some of the stuff he declares he must have to-night," said David, -"although I don't just understand why." - -"Short of grub?" asked Jim. - -"By Jove, that may be it! He did tell me to get a keg of molasses." - -Cameron sniffed as he departed to harness the team. "Molasses! Huh! -They's somethin' deeper than molasses in Hoss Avery's mind and that city -feller he's in it. So Hoss thinks he can fool Jim Cameron. Well, I guess -not! Sendin' me a message like that." - -He worked himself into a state of curiosity that resulted in a -determination to solve the imaginary riddle, even if its solution -entailed spending the night at Lost Farm. - -"You ain't had no dinner, have you?" he asked as he reappeared. - -"No, I haven't," replied David. "But I can wait till we get to town." - -"Mebby you kin, but you ain't a-goin' to. You come in and feed up. My -missus is to Tramworth, but I'll fix up somethin'." - -After dinner, as they jolted over the "tote-road" in the groaning wagon, -Cameron asked David if he intended to stay in for the winter. - -"Yes, I do," he replied. - -"Sort of lookin' around--goin' to buy up a piece of timber, hey?" - -"No. Avery offered me a job and I took it." - -"Huh!" Curious Jim carefully flicked a fly from the horse's back. -"You're from Boston?" - -"Yes." - -Curious Jim was silent for some time. Suddenly he turned as though about -to offer an original suggestion. - -"Railroads is funny things, ain't they?" - -"Sometimes they are." - -Jim was a bit discouraged. The new man didn't seem to be much of a -talker. - -"Hoss Avery's a mighty pecooliar man," he ventured. - -"Is he?" David's tone conveyed innocent surprise. - -"Not sayin' he ain't straight enough--but he's queer, mighty queer." - -Ross offered no comment. Tediously the big horses plodded along the -uneven road. The jolting of the wagon was accentuated as they crossed a -corduroyed swamp. - -"I think I'll walk," said David, springing from the seat. - -"That settles it," thought Cameron. "He don't want to talk. He's afeared -I'll find out somethin', but he don't know Jim Cameron." - -The desolate outskirts of Tramworth, encroaching on the freshness of the -summer forest, finally resolved themselves into a fairly level -wagon-road. Cameron drew up and David mounted beside him. - -"Reckon you want Sikes's hardware store first." said Jim. - -"No. I think I'll go to the hotel. You can put up the horses. I'll get -what I want and we'll call for it on the way back." - -At the hotel Cameron accepted his dismissal silently. When he returned -from stabling the team he noticed David was standing on the walk in -front of the hotel, apparently in doubt as to where he wanted to go -first. - -"Do you know where there is a dressmaker's shop," he asked. - -"Dressmaker's shop?" Cameron scratched his head. "Well--now--let's see. -Dressmaker's sh--They's Miss Wilkins's place round the corner," he said, -pointing down the street. - -"Thank you," said Ross, starting off in the opposite direction. - -Cameron's curiosity was working at a pressure that only the sympathy of -some equally interested person could relieve, and to that end he set out -toward his brother's where Mrs. Cameron was visiting. There he had the -satisfaction of immediate and attentive sympathy from his good wife, -whose chief interest in life, beside "her Jim," and their daughter -Jessie, was the receiving and promulgating of local gossip, to which she -added a measure of speculative embellishment which was the real romance -of her isolated existence. - -After purchasing blankets, a rifle, ammunition, traps, and moccasins at -the hardware store, David turned to more exacting duties. The book and -the "specs" next occupied his attention. With considerable elation he -discovered a shop-worn copy of "Robinson Crusoe," and paid a dollar for -it with a cheerful disregard of the fact that he had once purchased that -identical edition for fifty cents. - -He found an appalling variety of "specs" at the drug store, and bought -six pairs of various degrees of strength, much to the amazement of the -proprietor, who was uncertain as to whether his customer was a -purchasing agent for an Old Ladies' Home, or was merely "stocking-up" -for his old age. - -"Haven't crossed the Rubicon yet," muttered David, as he left the drug -store and proceeded to the dry-goods "emporium." Here he chose some -mild-patterned ginghams, with Avery's whispered injunction in mind to -get 'em plenty long enough anyhow. - -With the bundle of cloth tucked under his arm, he strode valiantly to -the dressmaker's. The bell on the door jingled a disconcerting length of -time after he had entered. He felt as though his errand was being -heralded to the skies. From an inner room came a pale, dark-haired -little woman, threads and shreds of cloth clinging to her black apron. - -"This is Miss--er--" - -"Wilkins," she snapped. - -"I understand you are the most competent dressmaker in Tramworth." - -Which was unquestionably true. Tramworth supported but one establishment -of the kind. - -"I certainly am." - -"Well, Miss Wilkins, I want to get two dresses made. Nothing elaborate. -Just plain sensible frocks for a little girl." He gained courage as he -proceeded. An inspiration came. "You don't happen to have a--er--niece, -or daughter, or"--Miss Wilkins's expression was not reassuring--"or -aunt, say about fourteen years old. That is, she is a big girl for -fourteen--and I want them long enough. Her father says, that is--" - -"Who are they for?" she asked frigidly. - -"Why, Swickey, of course--" - -"Of course!" replied Miss Wilkins. - -David untied the bundle and disclosed the cloth. - -"Here it is. I'm not--exactly experienced in this kind of thing." He -smiled gravely. "I thought perhaps you could help me--" - -Miss Wilkins was a woman before she became a dressmaker. She did what -the real woman always does when appealed to, which is to help the male -animal out of difficulties when the male animal sincerely needs -assistance. - -"Oh, I see! No, I haven't a niece or daughter, or even an aunt of -fourteen years, but I have some patterns for fourteen-year-old sizes." - -"Thank God!" said David, so fervently that they both laughed. - -"And I think I know what you want," she continued. - -He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a bill. - -"I'll pay you now," he said, proffering a five-dollar note, "and I'll -call for them in about three hours. There's to be two of them, you know. -One from this pattern and one from this." - -"Oh, but I couldn't make one in three hours! I really can't have them -done before to-morrow night." - -David did some mental arithmetic rapidly. - -"What is your charge for making them?" he asked. - -She hesitated, looking at him as he stood, hat in hand, waiting her -reply. - -"Two dollars each," she said, her eyes fixed on his hat. - -The males of Tramworth were not always uncovered in her presence, when -they did accompany their wives to her shop. - -"I have to leave for Lost Farm at five o'clock, Miss Wilkins. If you can -have one of the dresses done by that time, I'll gladly give you four -dollars for it." - -"I've got a hat to trim for Miss Smeaton, and a dress for Miss Sikes and -she wants it to-morrow--but, I'll try." - -"Thank you," replied David, depositing the cloth on the counter and -opening the door; "I'll call for it at five." - -From there he went toward the hotel, where he intended to write a letter -or two. As he turned the corner some one called:-- - -"Ross! I say, Ross!" - -Startled by the familiarity of the tone rather than by the suddenness of -the call, he looked about him in every direction but the right one. - -"Hello, Davy!" - -The round face and owlish, spectacled eyes of "Wallie" Bascomb, son of -_the_ Walter Bascomb, of the Bernard, White & Bascomb Construction -Company of Boston, protruded from the second-story window of the hotel -opposite. - -"Come on up, Davy. I just fell out of bed." - -The face withdrew, and David crossed the street, entered the hotel, and -clattered up the uncarpeted stairs. - -"Hey! where are you, Wallie?" - -A door opened in the corridor. Bascomb, in scanty attire, greeted him. - -"Softly, my Romeo. Thy Juliet is not fully attired to receive. Shut the -door, dear saint, the air blows chill." - -They shook hands, eyeing each other quizzically. A big, white English -bull-terrier uncurled himself and dropped from the foot of the bed to -the floor. - -"Hello, Smoke! Haven't forgotten me, have you?" - -The terrier sniffed at David and wagged his tail in grave recognition. -Then he climbed back to his couch on the tumbled blankets. - -"Now," said Bascomb, searching among his scattered effects for the -toothbrush he held in his hand, "tell Uncle Walt, why, thus disguised, -you pace the pensive byways of this ignoble burg?" - -"Outfitting," said David. - -"Brief, and to the point, my Romeo." - -"For the winter," added David. - -"Quite explicit, Davy. You're the same old clam--eloquent, interestingly -communicative." - -David laughed. "What are you doing up here? I supposed you were snug in -the office directing affairs in the absence of your father." - -"Oh, the pater's back again. I guess the speed-limit in Baden Baden was -too slow for him. He's building the new road, you know, N. M. & Q. Your -Uncle Wallie is on the preliminary survey. Devil of a job, too." - -"Oh, yes. I heard about it. It's going to be a big thing." - -"Yes," said Bascomb, peering with short-sighted eyes into the dim glass -as he adjusted his tie, "it may be a big thing if I"--striking an -attitude and thumping his chest--"don't break my neck or die of -starvation. Camp cooking, Davy--whew! Say, Davy, I'm the Christopher -Columbus of this expedition, I am, and I'll get just about as much -thanks for my stake-driving and exploring as he did." - -Bascomb kicked an open suit-case out of his way and a fresh, crackling -blue-print sprang open on the floor. - -"That's it. Here we are," he said, spreading the blue-print on the bed, -"straight north from Tramworth, along the river. Then we cross here at -Lost Farm, as they call it. Say, there's a canny old crab lives up there -that holds the shell-back record for grouch. Last spring, when we were -working up that way and I took a hand at driving stakes, just to ease my -conscience, you know, along comes that old whiskered Cyclops with a big -Winchester on his shoulder. I smelled trouble plainer than hot asphalt. - -"'Campin'?' he asked. - -"'No,' I said. 'Just making a few dents in the ground. A kind of -air-line sketch of the new road--N. M. & Q.' - -"'Uhuh!' he grunted. 'Suppose the new rud 's a-comin' plumb through -here, ain't it?' - -"'Right-o,' said I. - -"I guess he didn't just cotton to the idea. Anyway he told me I could -stop driving 'them stakes' on his land. I told him I'd like to -accommodate him, but circumstances made it necessary to peg in a few -more for the ultimate benefit of the public. Well, that old geyser -straightened up, and so did I, for that matter. - -"'Drive another one of them,' he said, pointing to the stake between my -feet, 'and I reckon you'll pull it out with your teeth.'" - -Bascomb lit a cigarette and puffed reflectively. "Well, I never was much -on mumble-the-peg, so I quit. The old chap looked too healthy to -contradict." - -David sat on the edge of the bed rubbing the dog's ears. - -Bascomb observed him thoughtfully. - -"Say, Davy, I don't suppose you want to keep Smoke for a while, do you? -He's no end of bother in camp. He has it in for the cook and it keeps me -busy watching him." - -"The cook? That's unnatural for a dog, isn't it?" - -"Well, you see our aboriginal chef don't like dogs, and Smoke knows it. -Besides, he once gave Smoke a deer-shank stuffed with lard and -red-pepper, regular log-roller's joke, and since then his legs aren't -worth insuring--the cook's, I mean. You used to be quite chummy with -Smoke, before you dropped out of the game." - -"I'll take him, if he'll come," said David. "Just what I want, this -winter. He'll be lots of company. That is, if you mean it--if you're -serious." - -"As serious as a Scotch dominie eating oysters, Davy mon." - -"Won't Smoke make a fuss, though?" - -"Not if I tell him to go. Oh, you needn't grin. See here." Bascomb -called the dog to him, and taking the wide jaws between his hands he -spoke quietly. "Smoke," he said, "I'm going to leave you with Davy. He -is a chaste and upright young man, so far as I ken. Quite suitable as a -companion for you. You stick to him and do as he says. Look after him, -for he needs looking after. And don't you leave him till I come for you, -sir! Now, go and shake hands on it." - -The dog strode to David and raised a muscular foreleg. Laughing, David -seized it and shook it vigorously. - -"It's a bargain, Smoke." - -The terrier walked to Bascomb, sniffed at his knees and then returned to -David, but his narrow eyes moved continually with Bascomb's nervous -tread back and forth across the room. - -"What's on your mind, Wallie?" - -"Oh, mud--mostly. Dirt, earth, land, real-estate; but don't mind me. I -was just concocting a letter to the pater. Say, Davy, you don't want a -job, do you? You know some law and enough about land deals, to--to cook -'em up so they won't smell too strong, don't you?" - -"That depends, Walt." - -"Well, the deal I have in mind depends, all right. It's hung up--high. -It's this way. That strip of timber on the other side of No-Man's Lake, -up Lost Farm way, has never seen an axe nor a cross-cut saw. There's -pine there that a friend of mine says is ready money for the chap that -corrals it. I wrote the pater and he likes the idea of buying it out and -out and holding on till the railroad makes it marketable. And the road -is going plumb through one end of it. Besides, the pater's on the N. M. -& Q. Board of Directors. When the road buys the right-of-way through -that strip, there'll be money in it for the owner. I've been after it on -the Q.T., but the irate gentleman with the one lamp, who held me up on -the survey, said that 'if it was worth sellin', by Godfrey, it was worth -keepin'.' I showed him a certified check that would seduce an angel, but -he didn't shed a whisker. My commission would have kept me in Paris for -a year." Bascomb sighed lugubriously. "Do you want to tackle it, Davy?" - -"Thanks for the chance, Wallie, but I'm engaged for the winter, at -least." - -"Congratulations, old man. It's much more convenient that -way,--short-term sentence, you know,--if the young lady doesn't object." - -Bascomb's banter was apparently innocent of insinuation, although he -knew that his sister had recently broken her engagement with David. - -If the latter was annoyed at his friend's chaff, he made no show of it -as he stood up and looked at his watch. - -"That reminds me, Wallie. I'm due at the dressmaker's in about three -minutes. Had no idea it was so late." - -"Dressmaker's! See here, Davy, your Jonathan is miffed. Here I've been -scouring this town for anything that looked like a real skirt and didn't -walk like a bag of onions or a pair of shears, and you've gone and found -one." - -"That's right," said David, "but it was under orders, not an original -inspiration." - -"Hear that, Smoke! Davy'll bear watching up here." - -"Come on, Wallie. It's only a block distant." - -"All right, Mephisto. Lead on. I want to see the face that launched a -thousand--what's the rest of it?" said Bascomb, as they filed down the -stairs. - -As they entered the little shop round the corner, Wallie assumed a -rapturous expression as he gazed at the garishly plumed hats in the -window. - -"Might have known where to look for something choice," he remarked. -"Now, that hat with the green ribbon and the pink plume is what I call -classy, eh, Davy?" - -They entered the shop and presently Miss Wilkins appeared with the new -gingham on her arm. - -"I just managed to do it," she said, displaying the frock from ingrained -habit rather than for criticism. - -"Isn't it a bit short?" asked Bascomb, glancing from her to David. - -Miss Wilkins frowned. Bascomb's countenance expressed nothing but polite -interest. - -David was preternaturally solemn. - -"Don't mind him, Miss Wilkins. He's only a surveyor and don't understand -these things at all." - -"Only a surveyor!" muttered Bascomb. "Oh, mother, pin a rose on me." - -He walked about the shop inspecting the hats with apparent interest -while the dressmaker folded and tied up the frock. When they had left -the place and were strolling up the street, Bascomb took occasion to ask -David how long he had been "a squire of suburban sirens." - -"Ever since I came in," replied David cheerfully. - -"Is the to-be-ginghamed the real peaches and cream or just the ordinary -red-apple sort?" - -"Neither," replied his friend. "She's fourteen and she's the daughter of -your up-country friend the Cyclops, or, to be accurate, Hoss Avery." - -"Oh, Heavings, Davy! But she must be a siren child to have such an -intelligent purchasing agent in her employ." - -David did not reply, as he was engaged at that moment in waving the -parcel containing the dress round his head in a startling, careless -manner. - -"Easy with the lingerie, Davy dear. Oh, it's Cameron you're -flagging--Curious Jim--do you know him?" - -"Distantly," replied David smilingly. - -"Correct, my son. So do I." - -Cameron acknowledged the signal by hurrying to the rear of the hotel. In -a few minutes he appeared on the wagon, which he drove to the store, and -David's purchases were carefully stowed beneath the seat. - -"Where'll I put this?" said Cameron, surreptitiously squeezing the -parcel containing the dress. - -"Oh, the lingerie," volunteered Bascomb. "Put that somewhere where it -won't get broken." - -"The which?" asked Curious Jim, standing astride the seat. - -"Lingerie, Jim. It's precious." - -"How about Smoke?" David turned toward Bascomb. - -"I'll fix that," said Wallie, calling the dog to him. "Up you go, old -fellow. Now, you needn't look at me like that. Great Scott! I'm not -going to sell you--only lend you to Davy." - -The dog drew back and sprang into the wagon. It was a magnificent leap -and Cameron expressed his admiration earnestly. - -"Whew!" he exclaimed, "he's whalebone and steel springs, ain't he? Wisht -I owned him!" - -"Well, so-long, Davy." Bascomb held out his hand. "Oh, by the way, I -suppose the reason for your advent in this community is--back in Boston -wondering where you are, isn't she?" - -David laid a friendly hand on the other's shoulder. - -"Wallie," he said, speaking low enough to be unheard by the teamster, -"you mean right, and I understand it, but it was a mistake from the -first. My mistake, not Bessie's. Fortunately we found it out before it -was too late." - -Bascomb was silent. - -"And there's one more thing I wanted to say. Avery of Lost Farm is my -partner. I should have told you that before, but you went at your story -hammer-and-tongs, before I could get a word in. I'm going to advise him, -as a business partner, to hold up his price for the tract." - -Bascomb's eyes narrowed and an expression, which David had seen -frequently on the face of the elder Bascomb, tightened the lips of the -son to lines unpleasantly suggestive of the "market." - -"It's honest enough, Davy, I understand that, but don't you think it's a -trifle raw, under the circumstance?" - -"Perhaps it is, but I should have done the same in any event." - -Bascomb bit his lips. "All right. A conscience is an incumbrance at -times. Well, good-bye. I'll be up that way in a few weeks, perhaps -sooner." - -With a gesture of farewell, David climbed into the wagon. - -Smoke stood with forepaws on the seat, watching his master. When he -could no longer see him, he came solemnly to David's feet and curled -down among the bundles. He, good soldier, had received his captain's -command and obeyed unhesitatingly. This man-thing, that he remembered -vaguely, was his new master now. - -In the mean time Bascomb was in his room scribbling a hasty note to his -father. He was about to seal it when he hesitated, withdrew it from the -envelope, and added a postscript:-- - -"I don't think Davy Ross knows _why_ we want Lost Farm tract, but I'll -keep an eye on him, and close the deal at the first opportunity." - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE BOOK AND THE "SPECS" - - -The wavering image of the overhanging forest was fading in the -somnolent, foam-dappled eddies circling lazily past Lost Farm Camp when -Jim Cameron's team, collars creaking and traces clinking, topped the -ridge and plodded heavily across the clearing. Smoke swayed to the pitch -and jolt of the wagon, head up and nose working with the scent of a new -habitation. As the horses stopped, David and Smoke leaped down. -Beelzebub immediately scrambled to his citadel in the eaves, where he -ruffled to fighting size, making small unfriendly noises as he walked -along the roof, peering curiously over the edge at the broad back of the -bull-terrier. Cameron unhitched the team leisurely, regretting the -necessity for having to stable them out of earshot from the cabin. "I'll -find out what a 'loungeree' is or bust," he confided to the horses, as -he whisked the rustling hay from mow to manger. - -"We been keepin' supper fur you," said Avery, as David came in, laden -with bundles. "Set right down. Jim won't keep you waitin' long if he's -in his reg'lar health. But where, this side of the New Jerusalem, did -you git the dog?" - -"That's Smoke. Here, Smoke, come and be introduced." - -The dog allowed Swickey and her father to pat him, but made no overtures -toward friendship. Avery eyed the animal critically. - -"He's a born fighter. Kin tell it by the way he don't wag his tail at -everything goin' on. Likewise he don't make up to be friends in a hurry, -like some dogs, and folks." - -"I hope he won't bother Beelzebub," said David, as Smoke, mouth open and -tongue lolling, watched the kitten peek at him from the doorway. - -"They'll be shakin' hands afore long," said Avery. "Thet cat's got spunk -and he ain't afraid of nothin' reason'ble, but he ain't seen no dogs -yit. He'll get sorter used to him, though." - -When Cameron came in he glanced at the end of the table. None of the -bundles had been opened. He ambled out to the wash-bench and made a -perfunctory ablution. Judging by the sounds of spouting and blowing -which accompanied his efforts, he was not far from that state of -godliness which soap and water are supposed to encourage, but the -roller-towel, which he patronized generously, hung in the glare of the -lamp, its limp and gloomy folds suggesting that nothing remained for it -but kindly oblivion. In fact, David, who succeeded Cameron at the -wash-basin, gazed at the towel with pensive interrogation, illumined by -a smile as hand over hand he pulled it round and round the creaking -roller, seeking vainly for an unstaked claim. - -Supper over, the men moved out to the porch and smoked. Swickey, busy -with the dishes, glanced frequently at the bundles on the table, -wondering which one contained her precious book and the "specs fur Pop." -The dishes were put away hurriedly and she came out and joined the men. - -"Now, Swickey," said her father, "you jest tell Jim how you shot the -ba'r. Me and Dave's got them things to put away and you kin keep Jim -comp'ny." - -Swickey, fearing that she would miss the opening of the bundles, gave -Cameron a somewhat curtailed account of her first bear hunt, and -Cameron, equally solicitous about a certain mysterious package, listened -with a vacant gaze fixed on the toe of his dusty boot. - -In the cabin David and Avery were inspecting the purchases. - -"Glad you got a .45," he said, handling the new rifle. "They ain't no -use diddlin' around with them small bores. When you loose a .45 at -anything and you hit it, they's suthin' goin' to happen direct. But did -you get the dresses?" - -"Only one," replied David. "The other will be ready for us the next time -we go to Tramworth. But I want to talk business with you. I met a friend -to-day,--a Mr. Bascomb of the new railroad survey." - -Avery hitched his chair nearer. - -"You don't say?" he exclaimed a few minutes later. "Wal, it's 'bout what -I figured, but I can't make out jest why they's so mighty pa'tic'lar to -get the whole piece of land. You see, if they ain't suthin' behind it, -land up here ain't wuth thet money, mine or anybody else's." - -Cameron came in and took down the drinking-dipper. Over its rim he -surveyed the table. The bundles were still unopened. With an expression -of disgust he walked to the door and threw half the contents of the -dipper on the grass. Then he sat down beside Swickey, moodily silent and -glum. - -Again he arose and approached the dipper. Still the partners were -talking in guarded tones. He drank sparingly and returned the dipper to -its nail. The parcels were as he had seen them before. - -"Drivin' team makes a man pow'ful thirsty, eh, Jim?" - -"That's what," replied Cameron. "'Sides, they's a skunk prowlin' round -out there," he added, pointing through the doorway, "and a skunk jest -sets my stomach bilin'." - -"Thought I smelled _suthin'_," said Avery, with a shrewd glance at the -teamster. - -"Skunks is pecooliar things," said Cameron, endeavoring to prolong the -conversation. - -"Thet's what they be," said Avery, turning toward David. - -"Them 'loungerees' is pecooliar actin' things, too, ain't they?" said -Cameron. - -The old man rose to the occasion superbly, albeit not altogether -familiar with the species of animal so called. - -"Yes, they be," he remarked decisively. "I et one onct and it liked to -kill me. Reckon it hung too long afore it was biled." - -David had immediate recourse to the drink-dipper. The cough which -followed sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh to Cameron's -sensitive ears. - -"Huh!" he exclaimed, with some degree of sarcasm; "sounds as if he'd et -one hisself to-day." - -He sat down, filled his pipe and smoked, feeling that if he was not -entitled to their confidence he was at least entitled to their society. -Presently his pipe fell to the floor as his head nodded in slumber. - -"Guess I'll turn in, Hoss," he remarked, recovering the pipe and yawning -abysmally. - -"I fixed up the leetle cabin fur you," replied Avery. "I'll go 'long out -and onlock it. Keep it locked account of skunks comin' in and makin' -themselves to home." - -As the teamster and Avery went out, Swickey ran to David. "Where be -they?" she whispered. "Quick! afore Pop comes!" - -He pointed to the package. She broke the string and whisked off the -paper. She opened the book, unfortunately for her first impression, at a -picture of the "Man Friday," clothed with "nothing much before and a -little less than half of that behind." A shade of disappointment crossed -her eager face. Evidently there were rudiments to master, even in -dressmaking. But it was her book. She had earned it, and her face glowed -again with the buoyant rapture of childhood as she clasped the volume to -her breast and marched to her room. She dropped it quickly on the bed, -however, and returned. "I 'most forgot the 'specs,'" she said -self-accusingly. She untied the smaller package and drew them out, "one, -two, three, four," six pair of glittering new glasses. Evidently the -potency of money was unlimited. She laid them down, one at a time, after -vainly endeavoring to see through them. - - - [Illustration: "WHERE BE THEY?" SHE WHISPERED] - - -"Your father's eyes are different," explained David. - -She danced gleefully across the room and back again. Smoke followed her -with deliberate strides. He knew they were to be _the_ friends of that -establishment. She ran to the bedroom and returned with her book. -Assuming a serious demeanor, one leg crossed over the other, book on -knee and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, she cleared her throat -in imitation of her father. - -"Is he comin'?" she asked. - -"Yes, I hear him," replied David. - -"S-s-h!" She held up a warning finger. - -Avery had the kitten in his arm when he entered. "Fished him off the -eaves and brung him in to get acquainted with the dog--Sufferin' -catfish!" he exclaimed, as he gazed at Swickey. "Where'd you--?" He -glanced at David, who nodded meaningly. - -Slowly the old man stepped to his daughter's chair. He took the "specs" -and the book gently from her, and laid them on the table. She felt that -her father was pleased, yet she knew that if she didn't laugh right -away, she would surely cry. He was so quiet, yet he smiled. - -Presently he held out his hands. She ran to him and jumped into his -arms, her black hair mingling with his snowy beard as he carried her to -her room. - -When he returned, he sat down, shading his eyes from the light of the -lamp. Presently he chuckled. - -"Wal, a feller's a fool anyway till he's turned forty. And then if he is -a mind to he can look back and say so,--to hisself, quiet-like, when -nobody is a-listenin',--and even then I reckon he won't believe -hisself." - -"Thinking of Cameron?" said David. - -"No," replied Avery sententiously; "wimmen folks." - -David pushed the parcel containing the "loungeree" toward him. Avery -untied it and spread the dress across his knees, smoothing it -reverently, as the newness of the cloth came to his nostrils. "Makes me -think of her mother." His voice deepened. "And my leetle gal's growin' -up jest like her." He sat with his head bent as though listening. Then -from the interior of the cabin came Swickey's laugh, full, high, and -girlish. Avery folded the dress carefully and went to her room. - -As David arose to go to his cabin, he started and checked an -exclamation. Smoke and Beelzebub stood facing each other, the dog rigid -and the kitten's tail fluffed beyond imagination. Beelzebub advanced -cautiously, lifted a rounded paw, and playfully touched the dog's nose. - -Smoke moved his head a fraction of an inch to one side. The kitten -tilted his own head quizzically, as though imitating the dog. Then he -put up his pert, black face and licked Smoke's muzzle. The dog sniffed -condescendingly at the brave little adventurer, who danced away across -the floor in mimic fright and then returned as the dog laid down, -stretching his forelegs and yawning. The kitten, now that a truce was -proclaimed, walked back and forth in front of Smoke, flaunting his -perpendicular tail with no little show of vanity. - -David spoke to the dog. With an almost shamefaced expression the big -terrier got up and followed his master out, across the cool grass, and -into still another abode. - -To him the man-thing was a peculiar animal. He had one place to eat in, -another to sleep in. The man-thing also protected impudent, furry, -disconcerting kittens that it wouldn't do to kill-- - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--SMOKE FINDS EMPLOYMENT - - -September drifted imperceptibly into October, and even then there were -days when coats were shed and sleeves rolled up as the noon sun burned -down on the tawny gold and scarlet of the woodside. It was not until the -sedges grew brittle on the river edges and the grasses withered that -November sent forth its true harbingers of winter--small fluttering -white flakes that covered the ground sparsely. - -With the keen tang of the first snow stirring his blood, David swung -down the river-trail toward Tramworth, Smoke padding at his heels. With -Avery's help he had built a snug winter camp near the three cabins, and -although not in the best location available, it reflected some Celtic -astuteness on David's part, as it was centred on the prospective -right-of-way of the new road. His present errand involved the purchase -of a stove, cooking utensils, and the other essentials to independent -housekeeping. He found out, early in his undertaking to teach Swickey, -that he could not maintain the prestige necessary, in her continual -presence. - -He felt pleased with himself that brisk November morning. He had his own -cabin, neat, new, fragrant. He had learned to swing an axe during its -construction. He had not missed the first deer he hunted, and thereby -had earned Swickey's condescending approval. _She_ had killed a "b'ar." -In the setting of traps and dead-falls he won Avery's appreciation by a -certain deftness and mechanical ability. But, above all, was the keen -joy he felt when he thought of the Bascombs' recent offer of twenty-five -thousand dollars for Lost Farm tract. - -"There is something behind it," he muttered. "Avery gave five thousand -for the land. But why don't they appraise it and sell it from under us. -They could. By Jove, I have it! The Great Western Lumber Company is back -of the N. M. & Q., and they want the pine. Why didn't I think of that -before." - -Unused to observing signs on the trail, he failed to notice the moccasin -tracks in the light snow ahead of him, but Smoke picked up a scent and -trotted along, sniffing and blowing. Then he came to heel again, -evidently satisfied. The man-thing he followed ought to know that the -people who made the tracks were not far ahead, and that one of them had -turned off in a clump of firs they were just passing. - -He noted the dog's actions subconsciously, his mind busy with the -problem of how to get the best results from the sale which he knew must -come eventually, despite Avery's assertion that "No blamed railrud would -come snortin' across his front yard, if he knew it." - -He had about decided to advise his partner to sell and avoid -complications, but only the right-of-way and retain the stumpage-- - -_Wh-e-e-e--Pang!_ His pack jumped from his shoulders as a bullet clipped -a beech and sung off at a tangent with a mournful _ping--ouing--ing_. - -From the hillside above him, again came the sharp _Pang! Pang!_ of a -high-power rifle. He flung up both arms, whirled half round, and dropped -on the frozen trail. Smoke bristled and growled, pacing with stiff -forelegs round his master. He nuzzled the limp hands and whined. He -trembled and a ridge of hair rose along his spine. He was not afraid, -but the rage of an impotent avenger shook him. This man-thing had been -struck down--from where?--by whom? - -He sniffed back along the trail till he came to the tracks that swung -off into the firs. He leaped to the hunt, following the scene over knoll -and hollow. An empty brass shell lay melting the thin snow around it. He -nosed it, then another and another. They were pungently disagreeable to -his nostrils. The tracks circled back to the trail again. They were -leading him to where his master lay--he knew that. Near the fringe of -undergrowth that edged the trail the big white terrier stiffened and -raised his homely nose. A new man-smell came to him and he hated it -instinctively. With the caution and courage of the fighter who loves -battle for its own sake, he crept through the low, snow-powdered -branches noiselessly. He saw a dark figure stooping above his master. - -Smoke gathered his haunches beneath him and shot up, a white -thunderbolt, straight for the naked, swarthy neck. The man heard and -whirled up his arm, but that hurtling death brushed it aside and the -wide straining jaws closed on the corded throat and crunched. The man -fumbled for his knife, plunging about on his knees. It had slipped round -in front. With a muffled scream he seized the dog's throat. Smoke braced -his hind legs in the man's abdomen, arched his back, and the smooth -thigh muscles jumped to knots as he tugged, once--twice-- - -Blotched with crimson, muzzle dripping, he drew back from the twitching -shape, lay down and lapped his steaming breast and legs. His work was -done. - -Finally he arose and sniffed at that silent nothing beneath the firs. -Then he went over and sat beside the other man-thing, waiting--waiting-- - -Presently David stirred, groaned, and raised tremblingly on his elbow. -Smoke stood up. "Home, Smoke!" he murmured inarticulately, but the dog -understood. He sprang up the trail in long leaps, a flying horror of red -and white. - -"Must have--hurt--himself." David was gazing stupidly at the dead man. -This thing was a joke--everything was a joke--Swickey, her father, Jim -Cameron, Smoke, David Ross-_ung_-_gh!_ His grinning lips drew tense -across his clenched teeth. A lightning whip of pain shot through his -temples, and the white trail, worming through the dark-green pit of the -forest, faded, and passed to the clouds. A smothering blackness swooped -down and enveloped him. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--JIM CAMERON'S IDEA - - -Below, at the Knoll, Fisty Harrigan and Barney Axel, one of his foremen, -had entered Cameron's camp. - -Mrs. Cameron, a tall, broad-faced, angular woman, greeted them from a -busy kitchen with loud masculine familiarity. "Jim's out to the stable. -He'll be in in a minute." - -They drew off their caps and mackinaws, rubbing their hands above the -wide box-stove as they stamped the snow from their moccasins. - -"Where's Jessie?" asked Harrigan. - -"She's to Jim's folks at Tramworth," replied Mrs. Cameron, wrapping the -end of her apron round her hand and reaching into the oven. "Jim said it -was about time she learned somethin',--them biscuits ain't commenced to -raise yet,--and I reckon he's right. He says that Avery young-one can -read her letters and write 'em, too. That man Ross is a-teachin' her. So -Jessie's goin' to school this winter." She lifted a dripping lid from a -pot on the stove and gave a muscular impetus to its contents. "But I -can't fancy that Avery young-one learnin' anything 'ceptin' to make -faces at other folkses' children and talkin' sassy to her betters!" - -Harrigan acquiesced with a nod. - -Barney Axel stood, back to the stove, gazing out of the window. - -"Indian Pete's takin' his time about that deer, Denny. Reckon he's -waitin' for us to come and help him tote it out?" - -Harrigan glanced at the speaker's back. "Might 'a' missed. I didn't hear -no shot, did you?" - -"Nope." - -Just then Cameron came in with a bridle in his hand. - -"Hello, Denny! H'lo, Barney. Set down--don't cost nothin'. Missus 'll -have grub ready in a minute. When did you get here? Didn't hear you come -in." - -"Oh, we been here quite a spell--waitin' fur Pete." - -"Where's Pete--Injun Pete, you mean?" - -"Uhuh. He sneaked in, a ways back, lookin' fur a deer. Said he seen -one--" - -"Thought you seed it fust--when you looked back that time." Axel turned -and looked at Harrigan. - -"No," said Harrigan decisively. "He seen it first." Mrs. Cameron felt -that her visitors were slighting her, even if the Company was paying for -their meals. She had introduced the topic of Swickey Avery. Was she -going to cook dinner for three hungry men and get nothing in immediate -return for it except dishes to wash? Not she. - -"That little snip, Swickey Avery," she began; but Cameron shuffled his -feet and glanced appealingly at his Amazonian spouse to no avail;--"that -little snip," she continued, opening the oven door and closing it with a -bang that made Harrigan start, "came traipsin' down here in a new -dress--a new dress, mind you! and told my Jim she had 'nother -'loungeree' to home. Said Davy Ross had jest ketched it. And my Jim was -fool enough to pertend he wanted to see Hoss Avery, and he sets to and -walks--walks over to Lost Farm,--and what do you think she showed him?" - -Harrigan realized that the question was launched particularly at him. -"Showed who?" he queried. He had been thinking of something far -different. - -"Why, Jim!" she replied irately, red arms folded and thin lips -compressed in bucolic scorn. - -"Search me," said Harrigan absently. - -"A calicah dress! Now, if you, Barney Axel," she said, "kin see any -sense in callin' a calicah dress a 'loungeree'--" - -Something rattled the door-latch faintly. Harrigan started, recovered -himself, and nervously bit a chew from his plug. - -"Guess it's Pete," said Cameron, dropping the bridle he was mending, and -opening the door. He looked, and stepped back with an exclamation of -horror. - -His face as white as the snow at his feet, hat gone, hair clotted with -blood, and hands smeared with a sickening red, David Ross stood -tottering in the doorway. His eyes were heavy with pain. He raised an -arm and motioned weakly up the trail. Then he caught sight of Harrigan's -face over Cameron's shoulder. The soul of a hundred Highland ancestors -flamed in his eyes. - -"Your man," he said, pointing to Harrigan, "is a damned poor shot." He -raised his hand to his coat-collar and fumbled at the button,--"And he's -dead--up there--" - -Cameron caught him as he wilted across the threshold, and, with Barney -Axel, helped carry him to the bedroom. - -Harrigan had gone pale and was walking about the room. - -Barney stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him silently. "So that's -the deer Fisty sent the Indian back fur. Always knowed Fisty'd jest as -leave kill with his dukes, but settin' a boozy Indian to drop a man from -behind--Hell! that's worse than murder." - -Cameron came from the bedside where his wife was bathing David's head -with cold water and administering small doses of whiskey. - -"What did he mean, sayin' your man was a dam' poor shot?" Curious Jim -fixed Harrigan with a suspicious glare. - -Fisty tugged into his coat. "You got me. Injun Pete slipped into the -bresh lookin' for a deer he seen,"--Harrigan glanced apprehensively at -Barney,--"and it looks like as if he made a mistake and took--" - -"From what Ross said afore he keflummixed, I guess he did make a -mistake," said Jim dryly, "but I'll hitch up and go and have a look -anyway. Then I'll go fur the Doc. Comin' along?" - -Cameron drove and the two lumbermen walked silently behind. Just beyond -the first turn in the trail they found the body and beside it many -animal tracks in the snow. A new Winchester lay at the side of the -trail. - -"My God!" cried Harrigan, as he jumped back from the dead man, "his -throat's cut!" - -Curious Jim was in his element. Here was something to solve. He threw -the reins to Barney Axel and examined the tracks leading into the -bushes. He followed them for a short distance while his companions -waited. "Nothin' up there," he said, as he returned. Then he walked -along the trail toward Lost Farm. Finally he turned and came back -briskly. - -He was unusually quiet as they drove toward his camp. At the Knoll he -brought out a blanket from the stable and covered the thing in the -wagon. - -"I'm goin' to Tramworth with this," he said, jerking his head toward the -body, "and git Doc Wilson. Missus says Ross is some easier--only tetched -by the bullet--lifted a piece of scalp; but I guess you better keep the -missus comp'ny, Barney, for sometimes they get crazy-like and bust -things. I've knowed 'em to." - -"You was goin' to Tramworth anyhow, warn't you?" asked Cameron, as he -faced Harrigan. - -"Sure thing, Jim," replied Harrigan, a trifle over-eagerly. "There's -some stuff at the station fur the camp, that we're needin' bad." - -"Denny," said Cameron solemnly, as the wide-tired wagon shrilled over -the frosted road, "'t warn't no knife that cut Injun Pete's throat. That -big dog of Ross's done the job, and then skinned back to Lost Farm to -tell Hoss Avery that they was somethin' wrong." He paused, looking -quickly sideways at his companion. Then, fixing his gaze on the horses' -ears, he continued, "And they was, for Injun Pete warn't three feet from -young Ross when the dog got him." - -"Hell, but you're gettin' mighty smart--fur a teamster." - -Harrigan's self-control was tottering. The three words, "for a -teamster," were three fates that he unleashed to destroy himself, and -the moment he uttered them he knew it. Better to have cursed Cameron -from the Knoll to Tramworth than to have stung his very soul with that -last speech. But, strangely enough, Curious Jim smiled serenely. -Harrigan saw, and understood. - -They drove slowly down the trail in the cold, dreary afternoon, jolting -the muffled shape beneath the blanket as they lumbered over the corduroy -crossing the swamp. Pete the Indian meant little enough to Cameron, -but-- - -He pulled up his horses and stared at Harrigan's feet. The Irishman -glanced at him, then down. A lean, scarred brown hand lay across his -foot. "Christ!" he shrieked, as he jumped to the ground. The horses -bounded forward, but Cameron pulled them up, talking to them gently. - -"I was goin' to ask you to get down and pull it back a piece," he called -to Harrigan, who came up, cursing at his loss of nerve. "The dum' -thing's been pokin' at my legs for a half an hour, but I guess you -didn't notice it. The old wagon shakes things up when she ain't loaded -down good." - -Again Harrigan felt that Jim Cameron was playing with him. He, Fisty -Harrigan, the bulldog of the Great Western, chafed at his inability to -use his hands. He set his heavy jaw, determined to hold himself -together. What had he done? Why, nothing. Let them prove to the contrary -if they could. - -They found the sheriff at the hotel. In the privacy of his upstairs room -he questioned them with easy familiarity. As yet no one knew nor -suspected what brought them there, save the thick-set, ruddy, gray-eyed -man, who listened quietly and smiled. - -"Got his rifle?" he said suddenly, still smiling. - -"It's in the wagon. I brung it along," replied Cameron. - -"Denny, will you step down and get it?" The sheriff's tone was bland, -persuasive. - -Harrigan mistrusted Cameron, yet he dared not refuse. As the door closed -behind him the sheriff swung toward Cameron. - -"Now, out with it!" The tone was like the snapping of pine in the -flames. - -"How in--" began Cameron, but the sheriff's quick gesture silenced him. - -"Here they be," said Jim. "Three shells I picked up 'bout two rods from -the trail. Injun Pete might 'a' took young Ross for a deer _onct_, but -three times--" - -Harrigan's hand was on the door-knob. The sheriff swept the shells into -his pocket. - -"Thanks, Denny," he said, as he emptied the magazine and laid the rifle -on the table. "A 30-30 is a good deer gun, but it's liable to over-shoot -an inch or two at short range." - - - - -CHAPTER X--BARNEY AXEL'S EXODUS - - -Indian Pete's death was the talk of Tramworth for a month. The -"Sentinel" printed a vivid account of the tragedy, commenting on the -Indian as having been a crack shot and emphasizing the possibility of -even experienced hunters making grave mistakes. Much to the sheriff's -disgust the article concluded with, "In again reviewing this tragedy, -one important fact should not be overlooked. The Indian fired three -shots at the supposed deer. This information we have from a trustworthy -source." In a later issue the sheriff read, "Mr. Ross visited Tramworth -last week, accompanied by the brave animal that so nobly avenged the -alleged 'mistake,' as described in a recent issue of this paper. Both -seem to be in excellent health." - -This issue of the "Sentinel" eventually reached the lumber-camps -clustered about the spot where township lines Nine and Fifteen -intersected. It was read with the eager interest that such an article -would create in an isolated community that had known and liked or -disliked "Injun Pete." Some of the lumbermen expressed approval of the -dog, appreciating the unerring instinct of animals in such cases. Others -expressed a sentimental sympathy for the Indian, and Smoke's history -would have been a brief one had their sanguinary threats been executed. -Most of the men seemed to consider David Ross as a victim of -circumstance rather than an active participant in the affair. Yet in one -shadowy corner of the main camp it was recalled by not a few that Ross -had made Harrigan "take the count," had in fact whipped him in fair -fight. There were head-shakings and expressive silences over this; -silences because Harrigan had friends in the camp, and he was czar. - -One evening, much to the surprise of every one, Barney Axel, who had -been gloomily uncommunicative heretofore, gave them something to think -about, especially as he was regarded as Harrigan's closest friend, and a -man prone to keep his own counsel. - -It happened that Joe Smeaton, an axe-man at the main camp, and -universally unpopular owing to his habit of tale-bearing, was rehearsing -the "Sentinel's" account of Indian Pete's death to an interested but -silent audience. - -"Denny's hit kind of hard," he ventured at random. - -Several nodded. - -"He kind of liked Pete." - -More nods and a muttering of "That's so--he sure did." - -Then, out of the smoke-heavy silence following, came Barney Axel's -voice, tense with the accumulated scorn of his secret knowledge. - -"He'll be hit harder yet!" - -There was a covert threat in the tone. Pipes stopped wheezing. The men -stared anywhere but at each other. This was high treason. - -"Fisty's drinkin' too much," he added, covering his former statement -with this counter-suggestion, which seemed to satisfy every one but -Smeaton. He took occasion to repeat the conversation to Harrigan that -night in the seclusion of the wangan office. - -"He said that, did he?" Harrigan's heavy brows drew together. Smeaton -nodded. Harrigan spat on the glowing stove viciously. "Things at the -'Wing' ain't runnin' jest to suit me. Barney's been boss there just -three years too long. He's sufferin' fur a new job, and he'll get it." -Then he turned to Smeaton. "Joe, you can take charge at the 'Wing' in -the mornin'." - -Early next day Fisty and Joe Smeaton drove over to Axel's camp. They -found him in the woods, hard at it with his men, as usual. The "Wing" -was the best-managed camp at Nine-Fifteen. - -"Barney," said Harrigan, taking him to one side, "I'm thinkin' you'd -like a better job." - -"Ain't got no kick, Denny," said Axel, eyeing Smeaton suspiciously. - -"You've been foreman here for three years. I'm thinkin' you'd like a -change--to a better payin' job." - -"Well, if it's more pay--I would that," said Axel. "What's the job?" - -Harrigan stepped close to him. "It's lookin' fur another one," he said. -"You kin go!" - -A wolfish grin twisted Axel's lips and Harrigan reached for his -hip-pocket; but, disregarding him, the discharged foreman leaped to -Smeaton and planted a smashing blow in his face. "That's one I owe you, -Joe. Stand up ag'in and I'll pay the whole 'count and int'rest." - -Smeaton, on his knees, the blood dripping from his mouth and nose, spat -out curses and incidentally a tooth or two, but he refused to stand up. -Harrigan had drawn his gun and stood swinging it gently, and -suggestively. Axel swung round and faced him, his eyes contemptuous as -they rested on the blue gleam of the Colt. - -"Got any fust-class reason for firin' me so almighty fast?" he asked -quietly. - -"No," said Harrigan, "'cept I'm t'rough wid you." - -"Don't be so ram-dam sure of that, Mr. Denny Harrigan," he said, turning -his back and going for his mackinaw, which was down the road near the -men. - -Smeaton looked up and saw the gun in Harrigan's hand. He arose and -walked quietly toward his boss, who was still watching Axel. Fisty felt -the gun jerked from his grip, and before he could even call out, the big -.44 roared close to his ear and he saw Axel's shirt-sleeve twitch, a -second before he leaped behind a spruce for protection. - -Smeaton flung the gun from him and ran toward the shanty, as the men -came up from here, there, and everywhere. The shot had been too near -them to pass unnoticed. - -Harrigan recovered the Colt and slid it in his pocket, as Axel came from -behind the tree, white, but eyes burning. - -"It's all right, boys," he shouted. "Went off by accident. Nobody's -goin' to get shot." - -They picked their steps back through the heavy snow, one "Pug" Enderly -grunting to his companion, "Dam' a man that'll carry a gun, anyhow." - -"Keep your hands easy, Denny Harrigan," said Axel. "I got a better way -to get even with you, and you knows it." - -Harrigan fingered the butt of the Colt in his pocket. So Barney was -going to peach about--no, he couldn't prove anything about Ross and the -Indian, but he did know too much about a certain find on Lost Farm -tract. Harrigan snarled as he realized that Axel held the whip-hand. - -He jerked the gun from his pocket, murder gleaming in his agate-blue -eyes. - -"Now, you git, quick!" he snapped, leveling the short, ugly barrel at -Axel's head. - -"It's mighty nigh time--you're right," said Axel. "When a boss gits -crazy 'nough to come at the men he's hirin', with a gun, it's about time -to quit. And I'm goin'," he added, stalking to where his snowshoes were -planted in a drift; "and if you dast, shoot ahead while I'm gettin' -ready." - -Harrigan stood watching him as he laced the thongs of his snowshoes. He -realized that Axel's going meant the squelching of his prospects, the -unmasking of the find on Lost Farm, and he temporized gruffly. - -"You can't make it by to-night, Barney." - -"Can't, eh? Well, my bucko, I'm goin' to." - -He straightened to his gaunt height and shook first one foot, then the -other. "Guess they'll stick." - -Then he swung down the road, passed the men at work, without a word to -them, and disappeared in the forest. - -The pulse of his anger steadied to a set purpose with the exertion of -breaking a trail through the fine-bolted snow which lay between him and -the Tramworth "tote-road." When he came out on the main road, he swung -along vigorously. At the end of the second mile he stopped to light his -pipe and shed the mackinaw, which he rolled and carried under his arm. -It was piercingly cold, but, despite the stinging freshness of the -morning, he was sweating. He knew that he must reach Lost Farm before -nightfall. He trudged along, a tall, lonely figure, the lines of his -hard-lived forty years cut deep in his weather-worn face. The sun rode -veiled by a thin white vapor, a blurred midday moon. He glanced up and -shook his head. "She's a-goin' to snow," he muttered. From nowhere a jay -flashed across the opening ahead of him. Again he stopped and lit his -pipe. Then he struck up a brisker gait. The long white miles wound in -and out of the green-edged cavern through which he plodded. _Click! -clack! click! clack!_ his snowshoes ticked off the stubborn going. He -fell to counting. "A dum' good way to git played out," he exclaimed. He -fixed his gaze on the narrow, tunnel-like opening left by the -snow-feathered branches that seemed to touch in the distance and bar the -trail, endeavoring to forget the monotonous tick of his snowshoes. - -A little wind blew in his face and lifted a film of snowdust that stuck -to his eyelashes. He pulled off his mitten and brushed his eyes. There -on the trail, where had been nothing but an unbroken lane of undulating -white, stood a great brown shape. As Barney tugged at his mitten the -shape whirled, forelegs clear of the snow, and _Whish!_ a few shaking -firs, a falling of light snow from their breast-high tops, and the moose -was gone. - -"Go it, ole gamb'l roof!" shouted Barney, as the faint _plug, plug, -plug_, of those space-melting strides died away. Before he realized it -he was counting again. Then he sang,--a mirthless, ribald ditty of the -shanties,--but the eternal silence swallowed his chant so passively that -he ceased. - -A film of snow slid from a branch and powdered the air with diamond-dust -that swirled and settled gently. Above, a thin wind hissed in the pine -tops. - -The sun had gone out in a smother of ashy clouds, and the trees seemed -to be crowding closer. _Pluff! pluff!_ a mass of snow slid from the wide -fan of a cedar, and breaking, dropped softly in the snow beneath. - -Barney quickened his stride. A single flake, coming out of the blind -nothingness above, drove slanting down and sparkled on his leather -mitten. Then came another and another, till the green-fringed vista down -which he trudged was suddenly curtained with whirling white. The going -became heavier. The will to overcome the smothering softness that gave -so easily to the forward thrust, yet hung a clogging burden on each lift -of the hide-laced ash-bows, redoubled itself as he plunged on. Presently -the trail widened, the forest seemed to draw back, and he found himself -on the wide, white-masked desolation of Lost Lake. - -Panting, he stopped. Instantly the rising wind struck freezing through -his sweat-dampened shirt. He jerked on his coat. "I'll make her yet--but -I guess I'll stick to the shore. How in tarnation I come to miss the -road gets me, but this is Lost Lake all right, and a dum' good name fur -it." - -He turned toward the forest that loomed dimly through the hurtling white -flakes. When he reached its edge he looked at his watch. It was four -o'clock. He had been traveling six hours without food or rest. He -followed the shore line, frequently stumbling and falling on the rocks -that lay close to the surface of the snow. The wind grew heavier, -thrusting invisible hands against him as he leaned toward it. It was not -until after his third fall that the possibility of his never reaching -Lost Farm overtook him. Before he realized it, night was upon him, and -he could scarcely see the rim of his snowshoes as he drew them up, each -step accomplished by sheer force of will. He thought of the men who had -left the camp above and had never been heard from. It was bad enough, -when a man's light went out in a brawl, or on the drive; but to face the -terror of the creeping snow, lost, starving, dragging inch by inch -toward a hope that was treason to sanity. Finally, raving, cursing, -praying, dying, alone-- - -Well, it was "up to him" to walk. He struggled on in the darkness. Had -he known it, he was almost opposite the trail that crossed the dam at -the foot of Lost Lake and wound up the hillside to Avery's camp. Again -he stumbled and fell. The fury of despair seized him and he struggled in -the resistless snow. His foot was caught in some buried branches. Had it -been daylight he would have reached down and carefully disentangled -himself, but the terror of night and uncertainty was on him. He jerked -his leg out and was free, but the dangling web of a broken snowshoe hung -about his ankle. The ash-bow had snapped. - -"Done!" His tone commingled despair and anger. Then the spirit, which -had buoyed on the lashing current of many a hazardous enterprise, -rallied for a last attempt. - -"What! Quit because I think I'm done? The dam' snowshoe is busted, but I -ain't--yet." - -He hobbled toward the trees, fighting his slow way with terrible -intensity. Beneath a twisted cedar he rested. The cold took hold upon -him and lulled him gently. - -"I'll fix her up and plug along somehow." He examined the shoe. "Take a -week to fix that," he muttered. "Guess I'll start a fire and wait till -mornin'." - -He felt in his pockets. He had used his last match in lighting his pipe. -"Wal, I was a fool to fly off the handle 'thout grub or matches or -nothin'. Wal, I kin cool off now, I reckon." - -He felt drowsily comfortable. The will to act was sinking as his -vitality ebbed beneath the pressure of cold and hunger. - -He gritted his teeth. "What! let my light go out afore I get a finishin' -crack at Denny Harrigan?" - -In the blanket of night a pin-prick of red appeared. It moved, vanished, -moved again. - -"Dreamin'," he grumbled. His head sunk on his chest. Once more he lifted -his frosted eye-lids. The red point _was_ moving. - -"Last call fur supper," he said; and bracing his hands against the -cedar, he drew in a great breath and shouted. - -"Hallo-o-o!" came faintly to him on the wind. - -"Hallo-o-o--yerself," he added, in a drowsy whisper. His last round was -spent. - -David Ross, on his way from Avery's cabin to his own, heard the far-away -call. He immediately turned and walked toward the spot where Axel was. -As he drew near he circled about, peering under the bending branches. He -looked here and there, holding the lantern high above his head. Nothing -answered as he called. Nothing moved. He turned back toward the trail, -round which twinkled the lights of Lost Farm Camp. The wind had hushed. -The snow fell lazily. In the silence a rustling caught his ear. Axel, -huddled against the cedar trunk, had slipped sideways, his coat scraping -against the loose-fibred bark. - -David traced the sound to a snowshoe sticking up in the drift beneath -the tree. Then a moccasined foot, a red-striped stocking, and finally he -was kneeling by the unconscious Barney, shaking him vigorously. The -lumberman's eyes slowly opened, then closed again heavily. David placed -his lantern in the lee of the cedar and, kicking off one of his own -racquettes, belabored Axel with it unsparingly. - -Finally, the torpor broke and Axel opened his eyes. "A'right, a'right," -he muttered. "Git up in a minute--jest a minute--" - -In the half-hour it had taken David to reach him, the frost had gripped -Axel's blood with clogging fingers that were not to be easily shaken -off. Slipping his snowshoe on again, he propped the drowsy figure -against the tree and worked himself under the inert shoulders. He -reached up and grasped the wide coat-collar, then straightened himself -suddenly. He had the lumberman on his back, but could he stagger through -that killing half-hour again? Hanging the lantern on a low stub as he -stooped beneath the burden of that dead weight on his shoulders, he -turned toward the camp, fighting his way first and wondering how he did -it afterwards. - -Hoss Avery was pouring hot coffee between Axel's blue lips when the -latter coughed and his eyes unclosed. - -David, holding the lamp above him, stooped nearer. A look of recognition -brightened Barney's heavy eyes for a moment. - -"Jest--the--man--I'm--lookin'--fur," he whispered. Then he yawned, -turned on his side and David thought he heard those grim lips murmur, -"Sleep." - - - - -CHAPTER XI--THAT GREEN STUFF - - -RRR-R-UUF! _R-r-r-r-uff!_ Swickey grabbed Smoke's collar and stood -astride of him, holding on with both hands. "He ain't goin' to -bite--'cause he don't growl when he's goin' to bite." - -Barney Axel came from the front room of the cabin, limping a little. -"'Course not! Smoke ain't got nothin' ag'in' me, have you, Smoke?" - -The dog had paid little attention to the lumberman during the three days -he had been "resting up" at Lost Farm, as Ross and Avery had been in the -cabin most of that time; but this morning they were both out, toting in -firewood on the hand-sleighs. - -"He's jest pertendin'," said Swickey, patting the terrier and -encouraging him to make friends with Barney. - -But Smoke was inclined to maintain a position of vigilant neutrality. -Somewhere in the back of his head he had recorded that particular -man-smell, and he took many uneasy paces between Swickey and Barney, -keeping the while a slanted and suggestive gaze on the latter. - -"Pop says ever since Injun Pete was killed, they's folks might shoot -Smoke." - -Axel's pipe didn't draw well. The pine splinter which he thrust in the -stove occupied his entire attention. - -"Pop says they won't, if he sees 'em fust." - -"Reckon that's right," said Barney noncommittally. - -"The sheriff was up to see Pop and Dave." - -"So?" - -"Yip. And Jim Cameron come, too." - -"Ain't su'prised at that." - -"Smoke he didn't growl at them." - -"That dog knows his business," replied Barney. - -The conversation lagged. Axel sat smoking, eyes ceilingward and chair -tilted at a perilous angle. "Fisty Harrigan give me the dirty end of the -stick," he thought. "But I got holt of the stick and Fisty's goin' to -git it back ag'in good and plenty. Here I be settin' easy and -com'f'table right on the job. Hoss Avery and his partner Ross is plumb -square, both of 'em. And the young feller's mighty smart, keepin' the -ole man from sellin' even if he don't know they's a fortune of money up -there in Timberland, layin' right on the ground waitin' for him to come -and find it. And, by gum, he's a-goin' to find it. All bets is off with -Denny Harrigan and me. He done me and I'm goin' to do him; and Ross he -pulled me out of the snow, dumb near friz, and I reckon when I show him -what's over on Timberland, I'll be square with the whole bilin' of 'em. -Then me fur Canady. Them St. John's folks need men. Guess I kin land a -job, all right." - -Swickey wanted to talk, but Barney's abstraction awed her. She left the -room finally, and returned with her "Robinson Crusoe." She sidled up to -the lumberman and laid the book on his knee. Still he smoked, apparently -oblivious to the girl's presence. - -"Barney." The tone was cajoling. - -"Wal, sis?" - -"Kin you read?" - -"Wal, some." - -"Pop kin!" This was a challenge. - -Barney glanced at the volume. "You want me to read this here?" he said, -his chair clumping to the floor. - -"Yes." - -"Thanks. I _was_ feelin' kind of lonesome." - -He studied the first page for a long time. Then he settled back against -the wall again, apparently absorbed in the book. - -Swickey stood patiently waiting. She shifted from one foot to the other. -_Tick-tack. Tick-tack_. The cabin was silent save for the rhythmic -perseverance of the old clock. Smoke lay in front of the stove watching -her. - -"Barney!" - -He glanced up, a surprised expression seaming his forehead. - -"Kin you read--so'st I kin hear?" - -"Why, sure!" - -The suggestion seemed a novel idea to him. He turned back to the first -page and began slowly, often pausing to illustrate the meaning with -colloquialisms that to Swickey were decidedly interesting. He had -already read the first page and he intended to make it last as long as -possible. He felt fairly safe on the ground he had already covered, but -new territory loomed ahead. "Let's see," he said, approximating the -pronunciation of an unfamiliar word, "c-o-n-v-" but the stamping of feet -on the porch saved him. - -Avery and Ross entered, ruddy with exercise. Smoke raised his head and -dropped it again with a grunt of satisfaction. - -"Wal, Barney, how's the feet?" said Avery, drawing off his mittens. - -"Siz'able," he replied. - -"Kind of think you'd better not try to make thet explorin' trip this -a'ternoon. It's heavy goin'." - -"Guess I kin hump along somehow. Jim's comin' up with the team fur me -t'morrow, so I figure we'd best be joggin' over there to Timberland." - -"Jest as you're wishful. Me and Dave's ready." - -"Kin I go?" asked Swickey. - -"Reckon you better stay and keep Smoke comp'ny," replied her father. -"Dogs gits tol'able lonesome when they's alone, jest the same as folks. -They git to thinkin' 'bout their famblys and friends and--" - -"Has Smoke got a _fambly?_" asked Swickey. - -"Wishin' they was back home ag'in same as thet Robi'son Crusoe feller, -all alone on a big island s'rrounded by cannibells jest dyin' to git a -taste of white meat biled tender--" - -"They roasted 'em," corrected Swickey. - -"Thet's right--roasted; and they's no tellin' what thet dog might do. He -might take a notion to go home by hisself--" - -"I'd shet the door," said Swickey. - -"Huh! s'pose thet'd make any diff'runce. Why, if thet dog sot out to do -it, he'd go through a winder like a hoss kickin' a hole in a fog. You -stay by Smoke, thet's a good gal." - -Swickey was silenced. The thought of losing Smoke outweighed the -anticipated joy of lacing on her small snowshoes and accompanying the -men on the trip about which there seemed to be so much mystery. - -After dinner the three men filed out of the cabin and down across the -frozen river, then up toward No-Man's Lake, David breaking the trail, -Avery and Barney Axel following. They crossed the windswept glare of the -lake, carrying their snowshoes. Round the base of Timberland Mountain -they crept like flies circling a sugar-cone, slowly and with frequent -pauses. David carried a rifle, Avery an axe, and Barney his own -complaining body, which was just a trifle more than he bargained for at -the start. His feet telegraphed along the trunk-line (so to speak) to -give them a rest. But Barney was whipcord and iron, and moreover he had -a double purpose of gratitude and revenge to stimulate him. - -They came to the mouth of a black, ice-bound brook, and, following his -directions, skirted its margin for perhaps a half-mile through the glen -which wound along the north side of the mountain. - -"It's somewhere right here," he called from the rear, where he had been -examining the blaze on a pine. The two men waited for him, and, -following his slow pace, were presently on a comparative level where a -branch of the stream swung off toward the east. The second stream ran -through a shallow gorge of limestone ledges, their ragged edges sticking -up through the snow at intervals. - -"Fust time I ever sighted this stream," said Avery. "Howcome we got a -line of traps t'other side of the main brook." - -Axel leaned wearily against a tree. His vengeance was costing him more -physical pain than he cared to admit. - -"There's where it is," he said, pointing to the ledges. "Mebby you might -poke around with the axe a bit. You'll know it when you find it." - -Avery handed the axe to David, who scooped away the snow and tapped a -sliver of shale from the ledge. "Nothing here," he said, "except stone." - -"Try a piece furder along," said Axel. "That surveyor feller, young -Bascomb, could show you. He's been here, and so has Harrigan." - -David tried again. This time he broke away a larger piece of rock and -threw it aside to peck at a crevice. Presently he laid down the axe and -came to Avery, holding something in his hand. - -They crowded close to him. He held out his hand, disclosing a shining, -dark-green mineral with little white cracks on its grained surface. - -"That's her!" said Axel. - -Avery took the piece of mineral from David and looked at it curiously, -turning it over and over in his hand. - -"Thet green stuff!" he exclaimed skeptically. "Thet green stuff! And -thet's what they was a'ter. Wal, I'll be henpoggled! What's it good fur? -What d'you call it?" - -"Asbestos," said David. - -"That's her," assented Barney. - -David picked a sliver from the mineral and shredded it to a white fibre. -"Got a match?" - -Avery handed him one. He lit it, and, holding the white shreds in the -flame, watched them grow red, then pale to a grayish white ash, but the -substance was unconsumed. - -"That's her!" said Barney. "And there's miles of it strung along this -here creek. Drillin' and dinnimite 'll show more. Fisty set a blast in -up there," he said, pointing above them, "but I promised him I'd never -squeak about there bein' asbestos on your land--and I hain't nuther. I -never told you they was asbestos here. I said they was suthin' wuth -comin' a'ter, and you come and found it. I reckon I'm square with Fisty -Harrigan now--and mebby with you," he added, turning to David, "fur -diggin' me out of the snow." - -"What's it wuth?" said Avery. - -"Well, if there's the quantity that Barney seems to think there is, it's -worth a whole lot more than Bascomb offered you," replied David. - -"Yes," said Axel, "and Denny was in on the deal with young Bascomb. -Denny put him on to it, expectin' to make a fortune. Said he found it -cruisin' fur the Great Western." - -"Cruisin' fur the Great Western?" exclaimed Avery. "What's Harrigan been -doin' cruisin' my land fur timber fur them?" - -"Oh, they'll get it some day," replied Axel. "They've got a pull down to -the State House." - -"Wal, they ain't got it yit," said Avery, pocketing the sample. "And -they ain't a-goin' to." - -"They's one thing more I was a-goin' to say." Barney Axel gazed at the -rim of his snowshoe. "Denny Harrigan was my friend onct. That's up the -spout now. But Injun Pete was set on to do what he come dum' near doin' -and mebby you kin guess who set him on. And the feller that set him up -to it won't quit till he's done you up. I ain't mentionin' no names, but -you licked him onct--and you're the fust man that ever done it. The next -time," he continued slowly, "don't you quit till you've finished the -job--cold." - -"Much obliged, Barney," said David. "I'll remember." - -The next day, after Axel had left with Cameron for Tramworth, the -partners had an interesting session. Ross was to go to Boston and bring -a mining expert back with him,--but not till spring had swept an easier -footway to the mountain and laid bare the ledges for a more -comprehensive inspection. They wanted to find out what the asbestos was -really worth, and then, if it promised well, to mine it themselves. - -"It will take time and money," said David. "These things always move -slowly, and it takes money to interest capital." - -"Wal," replied Avery, "you got the time,--next spring,--and mebby I kin -rake t'gither a leetle dough. How much do you reckon it'll take to git -started?" - -"Oh, a thousand or two for initial expenses; perhaps more." - -"Smotherin' cats! But I reckon you know somethin' 'bout sech -things--havin' a law eddication." - -"You could mortgage the land and operate with the money," said David, -"but it's risky." - -"Say, Dave, ain't me and you done purty fair so fur?" - -"Yes," replied David, smiling, "we have. But my interest in the trapping -lets me out. It's your land and your asbestos." - -"Ya-a-s," drawled Avery whimsically, studying the other's face. "It's my -land, and my asbestos, and you're my partner, and Swickey's my gal, and -I reckon I kin pay the man what's eddicatin' her as much as I dum' -please." - -"If the man is willing," replied David. - -"If he ain't, it won't be for because ole Hoss Avery don't pay him -enough. We're goin' halves on this here deal the same as the trappin' -and the eddicatin' and sech." He put his hand on David's shoulder and -whispered, "Listen to thet!" - -It was Swickey, perched in Avery's armchair, spelling out letter by -letter the first page of her "Robinson Crusoe," to Smoke, who sat on his -haunches before her, well aware that she demanded his individual -attention to the story, yet his inner consciousness told him that it was -a good half-hour past supper-time. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--"US AS DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'" - - -With the June rains came the drive, thousand after thousand of -glistening logs that weltered in the slow rise and fall of the lake, -crowding, rolling, blundering against each other, pounding along shore -on the rocks, and shouldering incessantly at the chain-linked booms that -sagged across the upper end of the conglomeration of timbers. -Rain-dappled spaces appeared here and there in that undulating floor of -uneasy logs, round which two floating windlasses were slowly worming -another boom from shore to shore. Round and round the capstans stepped -red-shirt, blue-shirt, gray-shirt, their calked boots gnawing a -splintered, circular path on the windlass rafts. - -Below the three cabins, and close to the river, stood the smoking wangan -of weathered tents, flopping in the wind that whipped the open fireplace -smoke across the swinging pots, and on down the gorge, where it hung -eddying in the lee of rain-blackened cliffs. - -Peaveys stood like patient sentinels, their square steel points thrust -in stranded logs. Pike-poles lay here and there, their sharp screw-ends -rusting in the rain. They seemed slight and ineffectual compared with -the stout peaveys, whose dangling steel fingers hung suggestively ready -to grasp with biting spur the slippery timber; and _Y-hey!_ from the -men, and the log would grumble over the shingle and plunge in the lake -with a surly rolling from side to side. But the peavey's attenuated -brother, the pike-pole, was a worker of miracles in the hands of his -master, the driver. - -Ross, who had been watching with keen interest the manoeuvres of the -rivermen, stood with his shoulders against a buttress of the dam, -muffled in sou'wester and oilskins. Logs were shooting from the apron of -the sluiceway and leaping to the lift of the foaming back-water, like -lean hunters taking the billowy top of a wind-tossed hedge. A figure -came toward where he stood and called to him, but the roar of the water -through the sluiceway drowned his voice. Then Harrigan, brushing the -rain from his face, stood before him. - -"Here you! get a roll on that log there, or--" - -He pointed to where two of the crew were standing, knee-deep in the -backwash of the stream, tugging at a balky timber that threatened to -hang up the logs that charged at it and swung off in the current again. - -"No, you won't," said David, turning his face to Harrigan. "Thought I -was one of the crew loafing?" A faint twinkle shone beneath his -half-closed lids. It vanished as he leveled his clear gray eyes on -Harrigan's. "That's the fourth mistake you've made regarding me. Aren't -you getting tired of it? I am." - -Harrigan had not seen Ross since the shooting, and, taken aback by -suddenly coming upon him, he stared at David a little longer than the -occasion seemed to warrant. - -Coolly the younger man lifted his sou'wester and ran his fingers through -his hair. "It's on this side," he said, disclosing a red seam above his -ear, "if that's what you are looking for. Shot any deer lately?" - -"You go to hell!" - -Ross stepped up to him and pointed across the opposite hill to where the -dim crest of Timberland Mountain loomed in the rain. - -"Bascomb & Company haven't bid high enough for the raw material, -including you. That's all." - -Harrigan's loose, heavy features hardened to a cold mask of hate as the -full meaning of David's words struck home. Then the sluggish blood -leaped to his face and he stooped for the peavey at his feet, but -David's foot was on it like a flash. "None of that!" - -They faced each other, shoulder to shoulder, David's eyes measuring the -distance to Harrigan's jaw. In the intense silence the patter of rain on -their oilskins sounded like the roll of kettledrums. - -"Hey, Denny!" Up on the dam a dripping figure waved its arms. - -"I'll git you yit, you--" - -"Swallow it!" David's voice rang out imperiously. The wound above his -ear tingled with the heat of blood that swept his face. - -Harrigan drew back and turned toward the beckoning figure. - -"Go ahead," said David; "I don't carry a gun." - -As Fisty swung heavily along the shore, Avery came from down river with -one of the men. - -"They're pilin' up at the 'Elbow,'" he said, as he approached. "They's a -full head of water comin' through the gates, but she's a-goin' to tie -up." - -"That means the outfit will be here indefinitely," said David. - -"Reckon it do. Comin' up to the house?" - -"No; I think I'll go over and see if Smoke is all right." - -"Thet's right: I'll send Swickey over with some grub fur him," said -Avery, as he moved on up the slope. - -"Well, it's pretty tough on old Smoke, chained up and worrying himself -out of appetite, because he can't understand it all," thought David, as -he climbed the easy slope to the stable. - -The clink and rustle of a chain in the straw came to him as he unlocked -the rusty padlock and opened the door. Smoke stood blinking and -sniffling. Then on his hind legs, chain taut from collar to manger, he -strained toward his master, whimpering and half strangled by his effort -to break loose. David drew an empty box to the stall and sat down. - -"Smoke," he said playfully, "we're going back to Boston pretty soon. -Then no more hikes down the trail; no more rabbits and squirrels to -chase; and no more Swickey to spoil you. Just Wallie and the horses and -maybe a cat or two to chase." - -The dog sat on his haunches, tongue lolling, but eyes fixed unwaveringly -on David's face. He whined when Swickey's name was mentioned, and while -David listlessly picked a straw to pieces, he turned and gnawed savagely -at his chain. Surely they had made a mistake to shut him away from the -good sun and the wind and the rain. The consciousness of unseen -presences stamping past his door, strange voices, new man-smells, the -rumbling of logs in the river, the scent of smoke from the wangan, all -combined to irritate him, redoubling his sense of impotency as a -champion and guardian of his adopted household. - -The door of the main camp opened and closed. With the slant of the rain -beating against her came Swickey, a quaint figure in her father's cap -and gay-colored mackinaw. She had a bowl of table scraps for Smoke, who -ceased whining and stood watching her approach. David took the basin -from her hands and gravely offered her a seat on the box; but she -declined with a quick smile and dropped on her knees beside Smoke, -caressing his short, pointed ears and muscular fore-shoulders. The dog -sniffed at his food disdainfully. What did meat and bones amount to -compared with prospective liberty? With many words and much crooning she -cajoled him into a pretense of eating, but his little red eyes sought -her face constantly as he crunched a bone or nosed out the more -appetizing morsels from the pan. - -"Dave," she said, addressing him with the innocent familiarity of the -backwoods, "you're goin' to take Smoke to his real home again, ain't -you?" - -"Yes, I'll have to, I think. But this is as much his real home as Boston -was." - -"Are you comin' back again?" - -"I think so, Swickey. Why?" - -"Are you goin' to bring Smoke back when you come?" - -"I'm afraid not. You see he belongs to Mr. Bascomb the surveyor. He was -coming up here to get Smoke and--and talk with me about certain things, -but he was called home by wire. Had to leave immediately." - -"What's it mean--'called home by wire'?" - -"By telegraph. You remember the telegraph wires in the station at -Tramworth?" - -"Yip. Hundreds of 'em." - -"Well, people call telegraphing, 'wiring,' and a telegram a 'wire.'" - -"Ain't telegraph its real name?" - -"Yes; but wire is shorter--easier to say." - -"Is thet why you said it?" - -"Not exactly. But why?" - -"Oh, nothin'; only when Pop had a cold and I said to you he could -sca'cely talk 'cause he had frost in his pipes, you said it was wrong to -say thet, and to say 'my father has a sore throat.' Ain't 'frost in your -pipes' quicker than sayin' 'my father has a sore throat'?" - -She looked up from Smoke as David laughed, her gravely smiling lips -vivid in contrast with the clear, healthy brown of her rounded young -cheek. - -He gazed at her a moment, and the pert, shabbily-clad Swickey of a year -ago returned his gaze for a fleeting instant. Then a new Swickey, with -full, brown eyes and the rich coloring of abundant health, pushed back -the frayed cap from her smooth, girlish forehead, and laughed, laughed -with the buoyant melody of youth and happiness. - -"You're actually pretty, Swickey." - -She grasped the import of his words with a slow realization of the -compliment, perhaps the first that had ever been paid her, and a sudden -consciousness of self overwhelmed her throat and cheek with rushing -color. She pulled her skirt, that Smoke had disarranged, closer about -her knees. - -"Pop says my mother was pretty--awful pretty. I never seen her, 'cept in -her picture. Pop's got it with all gold on the edges of the box and a -cover thet goes 'snap' when he shets it." - -"Yes," replied David absently. - -He was thinking of the pale beauty of another and older girl, a tall, -slender woman, whose every feature bespoke ancestral breeding. He could -not imagine her as a part of this picture, with its squalid setting, nor -even as a part of the splendid vista of glistening spring foliage -sprinkled upon the background of the hillside conifers that climbed the -height of land opposite. Palms and roses, the heavy warm air of the -conservatory, sensuous, soothing, enervating.... Wallie Bascomb's sister -... Elizabeth Bascomb. "Well, it had been a mistake." He shrugged his -shoulders. "Bascomb senior will sit up straight when I name our price," -he muttered. "Strange how this thing has worked out ... and Bessie won't -understand...." - -Smoke, nuzzling his hand, recalled him to his surroundings. He did not -realize that he had been speaking, but Swickey sat with eyes intently -fixed on his face. - -"I thought--" he began. - -"I unhitched the chain when you was talkin' to yourself like Pop does," -explained Swickey. - -David stooped and patted the dog, who jumped from him to Swickey and -back again, overjoyed and impartially affectionate. - -"Be careful not to let him out alone," said David. "Smoke isn't popular -with the men." - -"Pop says they'll be"--("There'll be," corrected David)--"there'll be -suthin' doin' if any of the crew tetches Smoke!" - -"Well, you and I will look after him for a while, Swickey. Then no one -will touch him." - -Together they walked leisurely toward the cabin, hand in hand, Swickey -swinging the empty bowl, all unconscious of Smoke's capering and rushing -in circles round his liberators. He quieted down and trotted silently -behind them when his first joy had evaporated. They didn't seem to enter -into the spirit of the thing. - -David, unlike his usual self in Swickey's presence, was silent to -taciturnity. Boston, of which he was thinking, seemed vague and unreal, -a place he once knew. His surroundings were the only realities, and now -that he was going away they seemed to hold him with a subtle force he -could not analyze. Was he really growing fonder of his life here, of -Swickey and her father, than he cared to acknowledge? - -"'Fraid Dave'd get lost in the long grass?" said Avery, who stood in the -doorway, grinning as they came up. - -David stopped and turned toward Swickey. She slowly withdrew her fingers -from his. - -"I reckon Dave's sick," she replied. - -"How sick?" queried her father, with undisguised solicitude. - -"Sick of us as don't know nothin'," she answered, her cheeks flaming. -And she pushed past the figure in the doorway and disappeared into her -room. - -"Wal, sweatin' catfish! What ails the gal? She was puffin' like a hen -drawin' rails when she went past me. Huh!" - -The old man fumbled in his pocket for tobacco, oblivious to Smoke's -appeal for notice. Then the dog trotted quietly after Swickey, who in -the sanctuary of her own tiny bedroom was crying her heart out. Smoke -was sympathetic from his cold, friendly nose to the tip of his querulous -tail, which wagged in an embarrassed way; and he licked her chin at -intervals when it was visible, with dumb solicitude for the sorrow of -his idol, a sorrow wholly incomprehensible to him, and vague even to -Swickey, but more emotionally potent, perhaps, for that very reason. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--DAVID'S "REAL GOOD-BYE" - - -Dear Davy:--Only a line to say how d'do, and tell you that things are -booming here, especially in the office. The pater asks me to say that -he, as chairman of a certain committee of inflated gold-bugs, will -accept your figure for the entire Lost Farm tract (survey inclosed), -provided the figure is anywhere within reason, whatever that means. This -is with the understanding that the present tenants vacate on or before -June 1st, 19--. - -The N. M. & Q. will have their iron laid as far as Tramworth by that -time. - -I suppose you have become quite a woodsman by this time, but I can't for -the life of me see how you can stand it up there in winter; summer is -bad enough. - -By the way, if it is not too much trouble, you might bring Smoke along -when you come out, if you ever do. I've given up hoping you will. Bess -seems to think she wants Smoke, although she didn't see him once a month -when he was at home. - -My illustrious father has cooked up a new job for me--I'm a promoter -now. Shake. - -Davy, I have a surprise for you when you come; something that will make -you sit up and take notice, I'll bet. In the mean time, beware the -seductions of Tramworth, and dressmakers in particular. Speaking of -Tramworth reminds me of the account I saw of your accident. Congrats, -old man, on your ability to dodge bullets. I intended to write sooner, -but have been on the jump every minute. Smoke did the Indian up for -fair, bless his little heart (I mean Smoke's). But we can talk it over -when you arrive. Regards to old Cyclops and the siren child. - -Sincerely, - ---WALTER E. BASCOMB. - -David tucked the letter into his pocket, and closing the door of his -cabin walked over to Avery's camp. - -"Pop's down on the dam talkin' to Jim," said Swickey from the doorway. - -"All right. I'll jog down and see him." He turned back after a step or -two. "Did Jim say he was going back this afternoon?" - -"I dunno," replied Swickey listlessly. - -He looked at her. She seemed older, more serious than usual. Slowly he -realized that she was no longer the child of yesterday, but a girl -budding rapidly into womanhood, which seemed natural enough when he -remembered what her life had been up to the time he had first met her. -She was virtually doing a woman's work at the camp; had been for a -number of years. Then she was of the type that matures rapidly. Outdoor -air and exercise had developed her physically, and she had always been -of full proportions for her age. The color glowed in her cheeks as he -gazed at her. - -"Swickey, what's the matter? Have I offended you in any way? You haven't -spoken to me since yesterday." - -"Nothin'," she replied. "You ain't done nothin'." - -"Don't you mean: 'You haven't done anything?'" he asked kindly. - -"Nope." She offended deliberately. - -"Swickey!" His tone of gentle reproof was new to her. Self-accusation, -laboring in her heart, sent a full tide of color to her brows, but she -did not speak. - -"Is it Smoke?" he asked. - -She nodded. Yesterday that answer would have sufficed her conscience, -but to-day.... - -"I'm sorry," he said, stepping across the porch and to the path. He had -gone as far as the end of the camp when she called. - -"D--Dave!" - -He came back to her, an amused light in his eyes. - -"I lied, I did. 'Tain't Smoke--it's you, too," she cried, the tears -welling to her eyes. - -"Me?" he exclaimed. Then he understood. "You poor youngster. There, -don't cry. I'm coming back and, by crickey! I'll bring Smoke, too, if -it's possible." He drew nearer to her and put his hand on her shoulder. -"You've got your father, and there isn't a finer man on earth than he. -Besides, I won't be away so very long if I can help it." - -But David's words failed to comfort her. - -"'Tain't Pop I want," she sobbed, "like I want you." - -"But, Swickey--" - -She came close, pressing her face against him. Suddenly she flung her -arms about his neck, her tempestuous affection striking a thrill through -his body as her warmth crept to him. Despite the many interests of his -new life, he had been lonely and she brought it home to him in her own -abrupt way. - -"Why, Swickey, I didn't know you cared so much. Come! I'll promise to -come back just as soon as I can, and we'll have some new books, and -glorious winter evenings together to read and talk and study." - -He drew her hands from his shoulders, and as he did so she threw back -her head and half affectionately, half defiantly whispered, "Ain't you -goin' to kiss me--jest once--afore you go?" - -The appeal of her tearful eyes and upturned, trembling lips, half -pouting with a thirst inexplicable to her, found answer as he stooped -and kissed her with grave tenderness. - -"Good-bye, Swickey. I'm going to-night, if Cameron will take me through -to Tramworth. The letter he brought has changed my plans. Of course I'll -see you again, but this is our real good-bye, little girl." - -"I'm fifteen anyway," she replied, smiling through her tears. - -"I'll send you a birthday present when I get home. How would you like a -nice, woolly, white mackinaw coat, with little blue squares round the -edges? I know where I can get one." - -"Oh, heaps!" she exclaimed rapturously. "Will you?" - -"As sure as you're Swickey!" - -She watched him as he hurried toward the dam where her father and -Curious Jim were vehemently discussing the new railroad. Something white -lay on the floor at her feet. She picked it up and studied the address -on the envelope. It was Bascomb's letter to David. Intending to return -it to him when he came back, she placed it on the clock-shelf and busied -herself with the daily routine of housekeeping. - -Cameron's fist was in the air as David came to where Avery and he stood. - -"I seen 'em as plain as I see Dave Ross a-comin'," he asserted. - -Avery seemed doubtful. - -"A whole line of 'em strung along the river. Then they stopped. Seein' -they was plenty of logs stranded, I clumb across, and sure as shootin', -on the other side they commenced ag'in with N. M. & Q. stamped on every -ding one of 'em." - -"Jim's a-tellin' me them surveyor fellers marked out a new line fur the -railrud, crossin' the Branch about five mile below here tow'ds the -Knoll!" - -David contained his surprise. "Is that so?" he answered easily. - -"Sure as hens 'll squawk," said Cameron. - -"You're sure it isn't an old survey?" - -"They're fresher than them," he replied, kicking a survey stake at his -feet. - -Ross glanced at Avery, but the old man's gaze was fixed on Cameron's -face. - -"Why'd you tell me about it, Jim?" he asked abruptly. - -Cameron shuffled his feet in the shingle, and pensively bit a chew from -his plug. He busied himself adjusting the tobacco satisfactorily, -evidently preparing for a long siege. - -"M-m-um, well," he began, "thought it might int'rest you if the road was -to cross the Branch there, instid of here," emphasizing the location by -again kicking the stake. "Probably you know why better than I do. I was -jest spec'latin' on that." - -"Jim," said Avery, fixing him with a shrewd eye, "whar you been pokin' -round lately?" - -Curious Jim shifted from one foot to the other. - -"I can smell somethin' comin' plain as burnin' grevvy--" - -Cameron grinned in anticipation of his hearers' astonishment when he -should tell them what _he_ knew. - -"When the drive went through last week, I was to Tramworth. You know the -back room in Bill Smeaton's harness-shop. Well, I was settin' there, -pickin' over some findin's to mend my harness,--Bill havin' gone out on -a personal errand,--and somebody comes in, follered by another feller. -One of 'em says, 'Hey, Bill!' Seein' as my name's Jim, I jest said -nothin'"--a smile twitched Avery's beard--"but set there. Pretty soon -the feller what follered the first feller in, says, 'Guess he's gone out -fur a drink,' which was c'rrect. Then they sorter hung around fur a -minute or two, talkin' about the drive and this here new railroad, and -some folks as ain't more'n a mile from here; and then Fisty says, 'Well, -Red, Barney's done us on the asbestos and that one-eyed ole'--" - -"Go ahead," interrupted Avery, "I been called thet afore now." - -"'Has got it comin' his way so fur,'" continued Cameron, "'but the game -ain't all played out yet.'" - -Curious Jim drew himself up and looked from one to the other of the -partners. "That's all--'cept they went out, Fisty and Jim Smeaton, and I -climb out of the back window after a spell and waited till Bill Smeaton -come back. Then I went in the front ag'in and got what I was after." - -"Wal, is thet all?" said Avery. - -"All of that," replied Cameron. "Later on I was in the hotel, and when I -went out to the stable to hitch up, they was a couple of fellers talkin' -kind of loud in the alley back of the stable. They had liquor in 'em, I -reckon. One of 'em says to the other, 'What good is it goin' to do 'em -if the railroad don't cross on their land?' Now, that's what set me -thinkin' they might be some manoeuvrin' goin' on what might int'rest -you." - -"Jim," said Avery, "if what you say is true, you never done a better -day's work in your life. We're goin' to need a fust-class man with a -team when the--when things gits to runnin' right. It'll be stiddy work -and good pay. Dave here is goin' to Boston to-morrow to see about it and -he'll be wantin' you to take him to the train, I reckon." - -"I was," said David, "but all this has changed my plans. I want to go -just as quick as I can. Can you take me down to-night?" - -"Guess I can make her," replied Curious Jim. "It's goin' to rain afore -long," he added, looking at the sky. - -"Never mind the rain, Jim. I'll be ready in five minutes," and David -hastened toward his cabin. - -An hour later they were jolting down the trail in the big wagon. As they -entered the woods, David turned and waved his hat. A hand flickered up -and down on the distant cabin porch. He could not see the figures -distinctly, Avery shading his eyes with a great hairy hand, as he gazed -at the retreating wagon, and Swickey, standing beside him, eyes fixed on -the edge of the forest, and the memory of David's real good-bye still -warm in her heart and tingling on her lips. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE FLIGHT OF SMOKE - - -They passed Cameron's place without stopping, much to the disappointment -of the good woman of that establishment, whose real fondness for David -was hidden beneath the rough bark of bucolic assertiveness with which -she chose to mask her natural kindness of heart. - -"There goes Jim and that man Ross, tearin' past here like as if wagons -and hosses didn't cost nothin'," she remarked. "And they're drivin' into -what's like to be the biggest drenchin' of their lives, if I'm any -jedge." - -She snatched the meagre array of stockings, sheets, and underwear from -the clothes-line, bundling them hurriedly in her long, muscular arms, -and disappeared into the house, followed by the first scattering -harbingers of a heavy June downpour that presently came, spreading black -spots on the soft gray of the sun-bleached door. - -Racketing over the road at a brisk trot, a quarter of a mile below, went -the team, David clinging to the seat and wondering how Cameron managed -to maintain his swaying poise with both hands on the reins and his mind -engrossed with nothing more serious than asking stuttering questions as -to what his companion thought the new road--_Bump! Judas!_--was up to -now? - -"She's a-goin' to break loose in a minute,' yelled Cameron, as a gust of -wind flapped his hat-brim over his eyes. With one hand he reached -beneath the seat and drew out a grain sack, which he flung round his -shoulders, tucking the ends beneath his suspenders. - -"C-c-cant, he-he-lp it now," replied David. "I want to make that -ten-thirty train." - -He cast a glance over his shoulder to where Smoke stood, legs spread to -the lurch of the wagon, and a canine grin of fixed intensity gripped -between his set jaws. - -With the quick chill of air that blew in their faces came the roar of -the rain through the leaves. - -The broad, round flanks of the horses worked rhythmically, and each huge -forefoot rose and fell with trip-hammer precision. A sharp drive of wind -bent the tops of the young wayside firs groundward. The wagon pitched -over a knoll and took the rutted grade below it at a speed that kept the -horses' flanks quivering with the anticipated shock of the clacking -whiffletrees, as the traces slackened and then snapped taut again with a -jerk. Then somewhere in the southern sky a long, fiery seam sprang open -and winked shut again, followed by a hush in which the battering of the -horses' feet on the shale was like mimic thunder. - -A dull grumbling rolled out of nowhere and boomed lazily across the -crouching hills, dying away in the distant valleys. - -"'Fraid of lightnin'?" asked Cameron, pulling up the horses as they -descended a steep pitch in the road. - -"No, but I don't like it." - -"I be," said Cameron. - -David glanced at his dripping face, which seemed strangely white in the -gathering dusk. - -"Had a hoss struck onct--when I was drivin' him. That's as close as I--" - -A whirl of flame spurted from the trees on the roadside. A rush of -shattering noises tore the false truce of silence to a million shreds, -and the top of a giant hemlock fell crashing through the trees below it -and lunged across the road. The team plunged backward, and David saved -himself from a headlong dive between the rearing animals by the sheer -force of his grip on the seat. The roar of the rain, as it pounded on -the corduroy of the "swamp-stretch," drowned Cameron's voice as he -called to the horses. Curious Jim's fear of lightning was not altogether -a selfish one. He treated his horses like human beings in so far as he -could, and they shuddered uneasily in the slack harness as they stood in -front of the wrecked tree-top, but they did not run, as David feared -they would. - -Cameron handed the lines to David and went to their heads with a -reassuring familiarity of voice and touch that quieted them. - -"You go ahead a piece and look if they's room to get by." - -David dropped to the road and felt his way cautiously over the slippery -logs. A white flash lit the dripping leaves around him, disclosing an -impassable barrier of twisted limbs through which gleamed the riven top -of the hemlock. - -"We can't make it with the team," he shouted. - -"You jest hold the hosses a spell." David came back to him. "No--go back -and take the lines. I'll have a squint at things." - -The teamster crept forward in the gloom and peered at the obstruction. -Presently he came back and reached beneath the wagon. David heard him -loosen the chain and brake-shoe attached to the axle. Again Cameron -moved toward the fallen tree, the chain clanking behind him. "Now, I'll -onhitch and see if we can snake her to one side. Where in thunder's that -axe?" - -He found it and drove out the king-pin. The tongue of the wagon thudded -to the road as the horses stepped free. - -"They's jest one chanct in a hundred we kin make it," he called, as he -started toward the tree. - -Another flash burned through the cavernous gloom, and David saw his -companion stooping among the fallen branches. Then he heard the chain -jump taut with a snap, followed by myriad rustlings as the horses leaned -to the creaking collars. He could hear Cameron's voice urging them -easily as they stumbled on the slippery corduroy. With a groan the tree -swung parallel to the trail. The horses stopped. - -"She's a-comin'," called Jim. "If they'd only light up ag'in so I could -resk snakin' her a leetle--" - -With the flash that followed, Cameron called to the horses. Ross could -hear them shouldering through the underbrush at the edge of the swamp. - -"E-e-easy, thar!" Cameron backed the team and unhooked the chain. -"Reckon we kin jest about squeak by," he said, as he swung the -hard-breathing horses to the wagon again. "She's lettin' up some, but -that ain't sayin' much." After some delay he found the axe which he had -dropped after driving out the king-pin. He drove it in place again and -climbed to the seat. - -"When we git by this piece of corrugated cussedness, I calc'late we'll -make a noise like as if suthin's comin'," he remarked, wiping his -forehead with a dripping hand. "Kin you see what's the time?" - -"About nine-thirty. I looked when you were unhitching. I won't have time -to change my clothes at the hotel." - -"Reckon not," replied Jim, as he swung the horses round the crowding -branches that whipped their flanks and snapped along the side of the -wagon. In a few minutes they were on the natural roadbed again, swishing -through pools of muddy water, and clanking over the stony stretches at a -brisk trot. - -A tiny red glow appeared on the edge of the night. It crept higher and -higher as they jingled toward it. Presently it was a lamp, framed in the -cottage window of the first habitation on the outskirts of Tramworth. -Then more lights sprang out of the darkness, gleaming faintly through -rain-blurred panes. - -A dog ran out of a dooryard as they passed, barking raucously. Smoke -growled his disapproval. It was bad enough to get wet to the hide -without being insulted by an ill-bred animal whose valor was -proportionate, in adverse ratio, to the proximity of the front gate. -Smoke knew that kind. - -They turned a corner and trotted smoothly down the main street of the -town. On the right, at the foot of the street, shone the low red and -green switch-lights of the railroad. The station baggage-room was open, -and the lamplight spread out across the glistening, wet cinders of the -approach to the platform. Cameron whirled the team alongside and David -jumped out, Smoke at his heels. - -"Boston--single." - -The station agent stamped the ticket and shoved the change under the -wire screen. - -"Two bundles on this," he said, handing his ticket to the baggage-man, -and lifting his belongings to the platform. "I suppose the dog can come -in the smoker with me?" - -"'Gainst the rules. Have to buy a ticket for him. He goes in the -baggage." - -The air quavered with the rumble of the on-coming train. A long shaft of -light shot round a distant curve. - -"Here, Smoke!" David attached the red ticket to the dog's collar. -"You're live baggage this trip." - -"You'll have to have a chain or they won't take him," said the -baggage-man. - -"Got a piece of rope, Jim?" - -"Nope. They's some on your duffle." - -"Here you are." The baggage-man appeared with a cord which he hastily -knotted in the dog's collar. "I'll put him aboard with your stuff." - -"All right," answered David, as the train roared past and slowed down. -"Well, good-bye, Jim." - -"So-long, Dave. I'll keep an eye on Fisty." - -"Smoker? Three coaches forward," said a brass-buttoned official in -answer to David's question. - -David swung to the car steps as the train started, and stood for a -second waving to Cameron. As he turned to mount the steps he saw a -familiar shape shoot down the glistening platform and disappear in the -darkness, a red ticket fluttering at its throat. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--BOSTON - - -"Smoke! Smoke!" he called, as the white figure shot across the patch of -light from the station doorway and vanished up the Tramworth road. Then -he realized the futility of his recent action, and laughed. As the step -on which he stood glided smoothly past the end of the platform, his -attention was attracted to another figure, standing with mouth open and -eyes gazing with an absurdly wistful expression toward the place where -Smoke was last visible. It was the baggage-man, with a piece of broken -cord in his hand. - -"Cheer up, old man!" shouted David, as the train slipped past. Then he -turned and entered the car. "Might have known Smoke wouldn't lead just -like a little woolly lamb on wheels. Hang it, though, what will Wallie -say? Well, I've got the claim check for him, anyway." - -He found a seat near the end of the car, flung up the window and filled -his pipe. "Couldn't sleep if I tried, so I'll just have it out with -myself now. Then I'll try the sleeper." - -Settling comfortably in the corner of the seat, he glanced down the -aisle of the car through the smoky haze that blurred the lamps and -swirled through the ventilators. The man across the aisle lay huddled in -his seat, mouth open and head jogging as he slept. Near the middle of -the coach four men were playing cards. The muscular impetuosity of the -one who was leading his trumps with a flourish that suggested swinging a -pickaxe amused David more than it offended by its uncouthness. He -understood that type of man better than he had a year ago. - -Through the murk came the winking eye of the conductor's lantern. - -"That your dog that broke loose?" he asked. - -"Yes." David handed him his ticket. - -"Too bad. I saw him go. He just raised up and gave one jump. Shot out of -the baggage before they could grab him." - -"I'm glad they didn't try to grab him," said David. - -"From what I seen of him I guess that's right. North Station? -Eight-thirty." He leaned across the aisle and shook the sleeping man's -arm. "Belvidere next stop. Your station." - -Ahead in the night sprang the parallel silver ribbons, the glistening -rails that shot beneath the rocking Titan of steam and steel and wound -smoothly away to nothing as the train thundered on. David could hear the -humming wheels beneath him clack quickly over the switch-points of -infrequent freight sidings and then the reechoed roar as the train -whirled between the forest walls, driving the long shaft of its -head-light through the eerie gloom of the dripping woodlands. - -He rapped the ashes from his pipe and closed the window. The scar above -his temple throbbed and pained him. He passed his hand through his hair. -His head felt hot, despite the chill that ran through his limbs. His -hand trembled as he felt for his pipe again. "This won't do," he -muttered. "Wonder what the dickens is the matter with me? I never felt -this way before." - -Then he drew a memorandum book from his pocket and sat gazing into -space, frequently jotting down figures. Soon he was completely absorbed -in the intricacies of approximating roughly the cost of establishing a -plant to mine the asbestos on Lost Farm. "Now if the N. M. & Q. crosses -five miles below us, it's going to make quite a difference. I doubt that -a spur from Timberland would be practicable. Perhaps it's a bluff--this -new survey. Maybe the old survey was a bluff. Bascomb had it in his -power to do as he pleased about that. Anyway, the stuff's there and he -wants it. If they were going to cross at Lost Farm, we should have -received notice from their attorneys before this, that's certain. Right -of eminent domain would settle that. Well, we'll stick to our guns and -fight it out. It's bully!" he exclaimed aloud. "It's worth while; and if -we win out, well, Swickey will have to change her first name, that's -certain. She will go to school, of course." He tried to picture Swickey -as a gracefully gowned young woman like--no, not like Elizabeth Bascomb. -She could never be like Bessie; and yet--why should she be like any one -but herself. The memory of Swickey's last appeal came to him keenly; the -pleading eyes, the parted lips-- - -He arose, opened the car door, lurched across the platform to the next -car, where he dropped into a more comfortable seat, and pulling his -hat-brim over his eyes, fell asleep. - -Several hours later he awoke as the train rumbled over the reverberating -timbers of the approach to Boston. He gazed sleepily through the misty -window at the familiar environs of the city. He felt strangely -uncomfortable and out of place as he stepped to the station platform and -moved toward the gates with the shuffling crowd about him. The reek of -oil and steam from the pulsating engine was particularly disagreeable. -Several people glanced at him curiously as he came out on the street. - -He shook himself together, and boarding a car sat gazing moodily at the -opposite window. How flat and squalid the buildings appeared. How -insignificant and how generally alike the people. They seemed to lack -individuality and forcefulness, these pallid, serious-faced regulars of -the civilian army of wage-getters. His native city had never appealed to -him in this way before. It was vast, of course; but its vastness was a -conglomeration of little things that produced the impression of size. -The wide sweep of the hills about Lost Farm and the limitless horizon of -the free woodland spaces came to him in sharp contrast, as he turned his -thoughts to the present need that had brought him back to his home. - -"A bath and a good sleep will straighten me out," he thought. - -As the car stopped beyond a cross-street he got off and walked toward a -hotel. - -"My baggage is at the North Station," he told the clerk, as he -registered and handed his checks to him. "Send it to my room when it -comes." - -"That man's sick," said the clerk, as David disappeared in the ascending -elevator. "Writes a good hand," he remarked, turning the register toward -him. "David Ross, Boston. Hum-m. But you can't always judge by the -clothes." - -About three o'clock that afternoon, David appeared at the hotel desk -with a small parcel in his hand. "I shall be here a day or two, perhaps -longer. I'm going to have a few things sent. You may have them put in my -room." - -"Yes, sir," replied the clerk, somewhat impressed by David's manner. -"I'll send them right up." - -David strolled to the door and paused, gazing listlessly up and down the -street. Then he stepped out, crossed the Common, and walked down the -long hill toward his aunt's house. When he arrived there the maid -ushered him immediately to the cosy living-room. - -"Miss Ross is out, Master David, but she expects you, and your room is -ready." - -"I'll step up for a minute," he replied. - -When he returned, attired in a quiet-colored business suit and fresh -linen, he called the maid and told her he was going out for a few hours. -"Tell Miss Ross I'll be back to dinner if possible, but not to wait for -me." - -"Yes, sir. Excuse me, Master David, but you don't look fit to go out. -You're that pale I hardly knew you." - -"Oh, I'm all right. A little tired, that's all. Don't say anything of -the kind to Aunt Elizabeth, though." - -Half an hour later he entered the private offices of Walter Bascomb, -Sr., where he was received with a suave cordiality that left an -unpleasant impression. - -"Wallie is at the club," said Bascomb, motioning him to a seat and -offering him a cigar. Taking one himself, he leaned back in his ample -chair and smoked, regarding David with speculative eyes that were bright -but undeniably cold. - -"Well," he said, flicking the ash from his cigar, "how are you making it -up in the woods?" - -"Doing nicely, thank you." - -"Wallie has been telling me of your--er--occupation, your partnership -with a certain Mr. Avery of Lost Farm." - -"Yes." - -"Like that kind of thing?" - -"Better than I do this," he replied, with a comprehensive gesture which -might have been interpreted as embracing the city, the office, or -themselves in particular. - -"Yes?" The suavity of the tone did not disguise a shade of contempt. -Bascomb swung round to his desk and drew a paper from one of the -pigeon-holes. - -"I've a proposition to make you, Ross." He tossed his cigar away and -turned to David again. "I have been elected president of a stock -company, a concern interested in northern real estate. You understand -about the Lost Farm tract and the N. M. & Q. Also my personal offer of -twenty-five thousand for the land. Will you take it?" - -"No," replied David. "It's worth more." - -"Well, I have to differ with you. But what I want to know is, have you -any financial interest in that property, or are you simply acting as -legal adviser to the present owner? In the first instance, I'm ready to -make you a substantial offer in cash. In the second, I am ready to use -my influence in securing an appointment for you on our advisory board. -The position will carry a monthly compensation equal to that of our -regular attorneys. We have splendid prospects of doing a business that -will pay large and regular dividends. We are already capitalized for -five hundred thousand; so you see," he concluded, "we can handle the -deal without much fear of competition from--a rival company, for -instance." - -"May I ask what you intend to do with the land when you get it?" said -David. - -"Well, ahem! as to that--See here, Ross, I can trust you, as an old -friend of the family, can't I?" - -"If you put it that way, yes," replied David, "although I want you to -know first that I've decided about the Lost Farm tract." - -Bascomb folded the paper he held and tapped the arm of his chair -reflectively. "Well," he said finally, "what's your decision?" - -"To keep the land." - -Bascomb wondered if Ross was bluffing for a higher figure, or whether -his young friend knew the real value of the property. - -"Very well, David. Now as to your question as to what we would do with -the property if we purchased it. I don't see that that is immediately -relevant to my proposition. Of course Wallie has told you enough to make -it clear that the N. M. & Q. will have to have the right-of-way on Lost -Farm. My purchase of it has to do with that aspect of the situation." - -"Well, Mr. Bascomb, I'm afraid it's impossible to come to an -understanding." Ross shrugged his shoulders. - -"Now, don't misunderstand me," said Bascomb, bringing his palm down -smartly on the arm of his chair. "The Northern Improvement Company make -you the propositions I have outlined, through me, as president of that -concern. The company is connected in no way with the N. M. & Q. It's a -straight business deal from start to finish." - -"I won't contradict you there, Mr. Bascomb. You have no doubt legalized -any prospective manoeuvres of the Improvement Company. However, I can't -accept either of your offers. As to my financial interest in the -property, I have practically none. As Mr. Avery's partner, I have -assumed the responsibility of advising him. I thank you for your offer, -however." - -"How much do you want for the land?" Bascomb's eyes glittered behind his -gold-rimmed glasses, but he maintained his easy professional smile. - -"Not a cent. We're not going to sell." - -"Come, now, Ross. I can bluff also," replied Bascomb, forcing a laugh. -"Name your figure." - -"I'll do it if you'll tell me--prove to me conclusively--that the N. M. -& Q. is going through Lost Farm tract over the line of the first -survey." - -Bascomb laughed easily. "There's never anything absolutely certain about -railroads, my son, but we didn't spend twenty thousand on the first -survey for nothing." - -"Merely as a matter of curiosity," said David, "how much did the second -survey cost?" - -"The second survey? Oh, yes, I see," he replied in a tone intended to -emphasize the insignificance of that matter; "a little difference of -opinion among the directors as to the best route, you know. There is no -doubt in the world but that the Lost Farm approach to the bridge over -the gorge is the better one. As I recall it, it cost merely a few days' -extra work--about twelve hundred dollars, I believe." - -"Thank you," said David, rising and taking his hat. - -Bascomb stared at him. Exasperation and surprise commingled in his gaze. -Ross's indifference was puzzling. He recovered himself immediately, -however. "Oh, by the way, David, Walter said he wanted to see you. He's -probably at the club now; but if you don't find him there, drop in this -evening. We should all be glad to see you." - -"Thank you, but I'm not feeling quite up to it--a bit tired." He stared -stupidly at the elder man for a moment and a feverish flush burned in -his face as he fumbled with the pocket of his coat. He drew out a small -box and laid it on the office table. "It's too heavy," he muttered. -"Can't carry it." - -"What's the matter, David?" - -"Nothing at all, only I wish you would sit still and not keep waving -your arms that way--it's annoying." - -"You're not well, David. Sit down a minute." - -"No, I want to get to Tramworth before night. It's getting dark and it's -a devil of a road." - -Ross made no effort to go, but sat turning his hat round and round in -his hands. - -"I'll call a carriage--" - -Bascomb's voice sounded like thunder in David's ears and his figure -seemed to dwindle to a pin-point, then tower to the ceiling. - -"No!" shouted David, springing to his feet, "I'll walk." He started for -the door, staggering against a chair which he flung out of his way, "No! -I'll walk." Then he swung the door open and faced Bascomb. He flung out -a trembling hand and pointed across the room. "No--but your man is a -damned poor shot--and he's dead--up there." - -Before Bascomb could recover from his astonishment, David turned and -strode down the corridor. He stepped into the elevator, the door clanged -shut, and before Bascomb's ring was answered by the appearance of the -ascending carriage, David was in the street, hurrying round corners in a -vain attempt to flee from the blinding pain that he felt would become -unbearable if he ceased walking. - -Bascomb returned to his office. "He's crazy--gone all to pieces. I -thought he seemed queer when he came in. Well--" The little box on the -table caught his eye. He picked it up, untied the string and opened it. -"Aha!" - -There were several samples of asbestos in the box. - -He examined them, then replaced them carefully and tied up the box -again. He pressed a button on his desk. - -"William," he said, as his office-boy appeared, "if a Mr. Ross should -call when I am out, give him this box." - -Then Bascomb went to his desk and pulled the telephone toward him. -"Livingstone," he said, as he got his number, "this is Bascomb.... Yes, -about the asbestos on Lost Farm. No, better come over here. I've got -some new samples ... five-inch fibre.... Just wanted you to look at -them.... Good-bye." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--THE MAN IN THE STREET - - -Shortly after David had left the offices of Bernard, White & Bascomb, -Wallie Bascomb came down the broad steps of the Saturn Club, and stepped -briskly into his big slate-colored machine. "Jimmy," he said, addressing -the boyish-looking chauffeur, "what's the speed limit between here and -home?" - -"Eight miles, sir," said the other, as he reached forward for the -starting-lever. He had answered that question frequently and thoroughly -understood its import. - -"I want to be back here in fifteen minutes." - -"Yes, sir." - -The lever shot forward. Slowly the car swung in a half-circle, was -reversed and backed across the street. It lunged forward again as the -clash and groan of the whirring gears gave place to the multiple -throbbing of the sixty-horse-power cylinders. - -"If you happen to get the cramp in your leg, Jimmy, just push on the -accelerator pedal. That'll help some." - -The chauffeur nodded, and the throbbing of the engine grew to a sonorous -hum as the car shot down the street. - -Bascomb leaned back in the comfortable tonneau and glanced at his watch. -"Half-past five. Let me see--allow fifteen minutes to dress--ten back to -the club--five to see old Tillinghast, confound the punctual old -pirate--that's six o'clock. Then ten back to the house (I hope Bessie -won't keep me waiting) and dinner at seven. Miss Ross is another -stickler for 'on time or bust.' Well, it won't be Jimmy's fault if we -don't do either. Now, I wonder what's up? Bessie has been thicker than -bees with Miss Ross ever since Davy flew away. And now I'm haled from a -nice comfy corner in the club to have dinner with that estimable -Scotchwoman. Bet she'll talk Davy from consomme to coffee." - -The car slowed down as they hurtled over a cross-street where a blue -helmet and a warning hand appeared and vanished. Bascomb grinned as they -swung to the curb a block farther down the street. - -"You're two minutes ahead of schedule, James. How's your leg?" - -"Much easier, sir," replied that youth, working his foot on the -brake-pedal tentatively. - -Bascomb ran up the steps and entered the wide hallway, so similar, in -its general characteristics of ponderous ornamentation, to a hundred -others on the street, and rushed up the soft carpeted stairs. - -"Hello, Bess!" - -"Hello, Wallie. No, you can't come in, but I'll be down in--five -minutes." - -"Well, if you're at the 'can't-come-in' stage I can see five minutes do -a glide from six-thirty to seven and not shed a hair. Little brother -Wallie is in for a quick change from 'sads' to 'glads.' I'll be back for -you at half-past six exactly." - -"You'll be _back?_ Walter Bascomb, where are you going? I'm nearly -ready." - -Wallie thrummed on the closed bedroom door. - -"Down town--important. Asbestos gentleman with large check-book. Must -dress. Ta ta, sis." - -He hurried to his room and reappeared in a few minutes in evening -clothes. He stepped softly past his sister's door and down the stair, a -sleek, full-bodied figure, with much in the erect carriage of the head -and breadth of shoulder suggesting the elder Bascomb. At that moment his -sister swept from her room and came to the head of the stairs. He saw -her as he swung into his coat. - -"Don't detain me, Bessie dear," he said, anticipating her. "I'll be back -quicker than--Jimmy made it in five minutes coming up." - -"Walter, you'll kill some one some day. It's a shame, the way you make -James drive. I know he's not a bit reckless, but you just, just--" - -"Bye-bye, sis. I'll be back at six-thirty." - -"No, James isn't reckless--not a bit," he muttered, as he ran down the -steps; "are you, Jimmy?" - -"Are I what, sir?" - -"Are you able to make the club again in five minutes?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"I knew Bessie was wrong," he said mysteriously, as he entered the -machine. - -James, inferring that his ability to "make time" had been questioned by -Miss Bascomb,--although not a little surprised, as she had always -cautioned him to drive reasonably,--made the trip in four minutes, -despite the increased traffic of the hour. - -Punctually at half-past six they were at Bascomb's home again. - -Elizabeth Bascomb, gowned in soft gray, with here and there a touch of -silver which accentuated the delicate coloring of her cheeks and lent -her a certain aristocratic hauteur, came down the steps and stepped -lightly into the car. Her brother drew her cloak about her shoulders. - -"You look just like Ophelia--in the second act, you know, Bess." - -She accepted his somewhat over-picturesque compliment with a tolerant -smile. - -"I say, Bess, don't pay any attention to me. I'm only one of the -accessories,--Miss Ross's place, James,--but you might let me look at -you once in a while. I haven't seen much of you lately." - -She turned her full blue eyes toward him and gazed thoughtfully at his -eager face, as they sped easily up the long slope of the hill. - -"Father told me that Mr. Ross was in town--had been at the office," she -said presently, smoothing the back of her gloved hand pensively. "He -said David left the office in a rather peculiar manner." - -"Didn't know the pater was home. So Davy's back in civilization again. -Well, I'm not surprised. Davy is a stiff-necked beastie at times. Wonder -whether he brought Smoke or not? I asked him to in my last letter." - -"I don't know," replied his sister. "Papa said he asked for you." - -"Well, he'll probably show up to-morrow. By Jove, perhaps he's at his -aunt's now!" - -"I had thought of that," said Miss Bascomb quietly. - -"You don't seem enthusiastic about it, sis." - -"Why should I be?" she replied indifferently. - -"That's so; but, Bessie,"--and he took her hand and patted it -playfully,--"why shouldn't you be?" - -"Little brothers shouldn't ask too many questions," she replied, -assuming his manner playfully. - -"Of course not. But seriously, Bess,--I never believed in trying to do -the 'bless you, my children' business, you know that,--what is wrong -between Davy and you? Great Scott!" he exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm, -"Davy Ross is worth a whole regiment of--my kind. Honest Injun, Bess, -he's going to _do_ something one of these days. It's in his eye." - -The car swung round a corner and gathered speed as they slipped down a -quiet side street. - -"What is the trouble, Bess?" - -"Nothing," she replied indifferently. - -"That settles it. When 'nothing's' the matter, the bun is off the stove. -A girl can overlook larceny, bigamy, arson, robbery, contempt of court, -and murder, but 'nothing,'"--he sighed ponderously. - -"Walter!" - -"Beg your pardon--whatever it was--yes?" - -"You're getting dreadfully--slangy, Walter." - -"Getting? Since when?" - -"It's growing on you." - -They glided down the smooth asphalt silently. Presently she turned to -him, placing both hands on his knee. - -"Papa said he had asked David to call. Now, papa knows that David and I -have had a misunderstanding. Why should he deliberately ignore me and -invite David to the house? I know he won't accept." - -"Don't be too certain, Bess. There may be reasons." - -"What reasons?" - -"Oh, business. Davy's crossed the pater's trail up in the woods--and -happens to have stumbled on to a rather good thing--if he only knows -it." - -"Does papa want him to know it?" - -"Why, how serious you are, Bessie. How should I know what the pater's up -to?" - -"If you're going to prevaricate, Wallie, I'll not ask any more -questions." - -"Oh, come, now, Bess, business is business--" - -"I didn't regard our chat as just business," she replied. - -"Of course it isn't. I meant between Davy and the governor. Anyway, I -don't see why you shouldn't know--if you'll promise not to say a word to -any one." - -"Do you need to ask me that?" - -"No," he answered hesitatingly. He glanced at his sister, noting the -faint pallor of her delicate features. "Poor Bess," he thought, "she's -hit harder than I imagined." - -"Well, I'll tell you, Bessie. Things haven't been running smoothly in -the office. The pater's really in bad shape financially. We had a chance -to make good on a land deal up North till Davy blundered on to the same -thing, and he's got the whip-hand. If we can interest Davy--" - -"You needn't say any more, Walter. I understand--" - -"I'll tell you all about it when we have more time, Bess, but we're too -near--" He grasped her arm and threw himself in front of her as the car -slid sideways, the rear wheels skidding across the pavement as the -chauffeur jammed the brake-pedal down and swung the steering-wheel over -at the same instant. - -"What is it?" she gasped. - -"It's all right, sis," he assured her, as he jumped to the pavement and -ran round to the front of the car where James was stooping over a -huddled figure. - -"My God, Jimmy! Did you hit him?" - -"Missed him by a hair," said the trembling chauffeur, as he knelt beside -the prostrate figure. "Saw him laying there when I was right on top of -him. Guess he's had a fit or something." - -Bascomb lifted the shoulders of the prostrate man to a level with the -headlights of the car. As the white light streamed over their faces he -stifled an exclamation. The chauffeur stepped back. - -"S-s-sh! It's Mr. Ross, a friend of mine. Tell Miss Bascomb it's all -right." - -But his sister had followed him and stood gazing at the upturned ghastly -face. - -"Wallie!" she cried, "it's David. Oh, Wallie--" - -James sprang to her as she swayed, and drooped to a passive weight in -his arms. - -Together they carried her up the steps and into the house. Miss Ross -directed them to an upper room, where with quiet directness she -administered restoratives to the unconscious girl. - -Bascomb motioned to James, who descended the stairs, and crossing the -walk, stooped over the inert figure. He tried to lift the man to the -car, but was unable to more than partially drag him along the pavement. - -"Miss Bascomb is all right now. She fainted, and no wonder," said -Bascomb, as he joined the chauffeur. Together they placed David in the -car. "Just a minute, Jimmy." He dashed upstairs and to the bedroom. - -"What was it, dearie?" Miss Ross was smoothing the girl's forehead with -a soothing hand. - -"A man--in the street--we nearly ran over him." - -Her brother signaled his approval with his eyes and turned toward Miss -Ross. "You'll excuse me, but I'll have to run up to the hospital with -him. He seems to have had a fit of some kind. I'll be back soon." - -"It's Miss Ross's nephew. I didn't tell her," he said, as he climbed -into the chauffeur's seat. "You make him as comfortable as you can, -Jimmy. The hospital's the place for him. It's quicker if he's -hurt--besides, I didn't have the heart to tell her, but I'll have to -when I come back." - -The car jumped forward as he spoke, and Jimmy, half supporting the sick -man, remembered nothing distinctly except the hum of the engines and two -long streaks of light on each side of the roadway until they slowed down -at the doors of the hospital. - -They waited in an anteroom while David was being examined by a corpulent -and apparently disinterested individual, who finally called an attendant -and gave a few brief directions. - -"No fractures and apparently no internal injuries, but he's had a close -call sometime or other," he concluded, running his fingers over the scar -above David's temple. "I'll step out and see his friends." - -"Why, hello, Bascomb. Didn't recognize you at first. Who is the chap?" - -"Davy Ross, Miss Ross's nephew. I think you know her, Doctor Leighton." - -"To be sure. So that's her nephew. I'd forgotten him." - -"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" - -"Can't say yet. I'll telephone Miss Ross right away that there's no -immediate danger. Fine woman, Miss Ross." - -"I'm going back there myself, Doctor, so if there is any message--?" - -"Can't say yet, but you might tell her that I will look after him. Knew -his father," said the surgeon, cleaning his glasses and replacing them. -"May have to operate. That wound above his ear, you know." - -"That was a rifle bullet. He got shot up North last year." - -"H-u-m-m. Well, we'll see." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--NEWS FROM LOST FARM - - -"I think I shall come in the evening. It will be much cooler and more -pleasant for him, Doctor. Yes, if you will, please. It's two o'clock -now. About six o'clock. Thank you." - -Miss Ross hung up the telephone receiver and sat for a moment at the -alcove desk in her living-room. She reached forward and taking a number -of letters and papers from a pigeon-hole, ran them over carefully, and -tremblingly replaced them. Then she called her maid and told her to -order the carriage for half-past five. "Master David is coming home this -evening," she explained. "We will have dinner at seven, as usual." - -After the maid had gone, Elizabeth Ross sat for a long time with her -hands folded on her lap and her eyes fixed on the darkened window where -a keen ray of August sunshine pierced a chink in the shutters and ran -slanting across the interior twilight to the opposite wall. She was -thinking of her nephew's accident and the consequences which had so -unexpectedly overwhelmed him. The operation had been successful and -there would be no recurrence of the disastrous effects due to the -original unskilled treatment of the wound. - -The doctor had advised rest and freedom from excitement and worry. She -wondered, now that David was coming back home, how long he would be -satisfied with such a regimen, especially as he had of late expressed -annoyance at his detention in the hospital, assuring his aunt that he -was not only in fine fettle, but also there were business matters that -required his immediate attention. It fretted him to think of the idle -weeks that had slipped past since that June evening when he had stepped -from the curb to cross the street to his aunt's house, had almost -reached the opposite curb when he grew blind in the dusk.... - -She sighed as she recalled her first visit to the hospital, where that -unnatural face had lain so expressionless, so dully indifferent and -white, looking up at her but seeing nothing. He was all she had in the -world--had been virtually her son since his childhood. Never had his -nearness to her heart, his large share in all that she thought or did, -been so forcibly apparent to her. Her affection for him had no subtlety. -It was as sterling, as unbending as her love for truth, and the name of -Ross. She realized a lack in herself of certain superficial qualities of -grace and subtlety, and immediately prepared herself to anticipate his -slightest wish, as though she had not been unconsciously doing that -since he was a youngster in knickerbockers. - -The sun-ray through the shutters swung higher in the room. It touched a -brass ornament and wavered in a tangent to the ceiling, where it -shimmered and changed like moving water. She gazed dreamily toward the -window, then nodded, recovered herself as a carriage rolled easily past, -the hoof-beats of the horses muffled by the over-heated asphalt -pavement. She nodded again, and finally her eyes closed in sleep. - -The maid's tap at the door awakened her suddenly. "The carriage is here, -Miss Ross." - -"Gracious me! I had no idea it was so late." - -A half-hour later David was in the carriage with her, as they drove -homeward. - -"Why, Davy, you act as though I hadn't seen you for a fortnight," she -exclaimed, as he kissed her. "The idea of kissing me right on the street -with those two nurses and the doctor grinning on the steps." - -"Well, auntie, they can't see us now," he exclaimed, as he kissed her -again. "Tell William to drive as slowly as he likes. I don't want to see -a bed again for ages." - -She flushed happily and patted his hand. "So you are really going to -stay with your old aunt for a while and not run off to the woods again -and get--have something horrible happen to you?" - -"No. I have too much to do here," he replied. "I wonder--did you see any -letters for me--?" - -"Only three, Davy. Two of them are apparently from your Mr. Avery, -judging by the post-mark--Tramworth--and the handwriting on the -envelopes. The other had Bernard, White & Bascomb's return address on -it. I called up Walter Bascomb and told him the doctor had forbidden you -any excitement or business. He said the letter was of no particular -importance." - -"Yes," said David, gazing at the familiar buildings as they drove along -in the cool of the evening. "By the way, Aunt Bess, did you happen to -find a little brown box among my things?" - -"No, Davy. I looked over everything carefully. I don't remember having -seen it. There were some things came from a hotel downtown. They -telephoned to me. I told them to send the things, and your bill." - -"That's so. I'd forgotten about that hotel." - -He was silent until they reached the house, where he politely refused -William's proffered assistance up the steps. He took his aunt's arm -playfully; "Just as though I needed to," he said. "I'll keep you busy -enough, William, for I'll need the carriage every day now." - -After dinner, while they were sitting in the unlighted drawing-room, he -asked for his letters. "I'll get them," he said, springing up, but his -aunt restrained him with gentle insistence. - -"Davy, you mustn't jump up like that till you're stronger." - -She brought the letters and turned on the lights, coming to him -anxiously as she noted the accentuated pallor caused by his attempt to -forestall her courtesy. - -"Thank you. You'll excuse me, won't you, but I'm anxious about Avery and -Smoke." - -"Smoke?" - -"Yes. Wallie's bull-terrier." - -"Oh, yes, I remember." - -He opened one of the letters and read slowly, his brows drawn together -in an effort to decipher his partner's chirography. "Listen to this, -Aunt Bess. Talk about dogs remembering things." - -He turned back to the first page of the letter and began:-- - - Lost Farm Camp, June 18. - - Dave Ross dear sir, Jim Cameron come Up nex day after you went - bein curious to find what becom of Smoke. I thought he would - never Git his tong back in his hed he was pantin from runnin - Clean from Tramworth I guess, and a piece of rope on his coler. - Jim says he drov from the Station and was Jest passin hikes - house What owns the Dog what barks at everything includin - hisself And Smoke was jest Finishin off the dog when Jim - Hollered Smoke and he quit. Jim says he knowed it was Smoke by - the Red ticket tied to him but Smoke lit out fur here and me and - Swickey was Sleepin when she hearn Smoke scratchin the Door. - Hikes Dog chawed Some of the Ticket but I reckon it is good yit. - and Swickey grabbed Smoke Around the neck and Took him To bed - cryin and laffin. We got Smoke alright And if the Surveior wants - him I kin ship him but I Thought you would Rite and say so. - Swickey is kind of quiet like mostly sense you went. Hoping this - Finds you in Good health as it leaves me yours truly - - ---- JOHN AVERY. - -"My goodness! And that's your friend at Lost Farm. No wonder he wants -you to teach his daughter, David. Do you really enjoy living with such -people?" - -"It isn't just the people, Aunt Bess. It's the place, the surroundings, -the simplicity of everything--and it's big. Boston isn't big, it's just -complex." - -Miss Ross sighed, endeavoring to understand her nephew's rather -unintelligible distinction. - -"I know I can't explain it, Aunt Elizabeth. One can feel the difference, -though. There's room to breathe in up there." - -She smiled at his enthusiasm for the North Country, with a sincere -gratitude that he was able to feel enthusiasm for anything after his -prolonged sickness. - -"This is not so long," he said, turning the page of another letter from -Avery. "Mostly business." He frowned and re-read the sheet. "Pshaw! I -don't like that. It's too much like trickery. By the way, auntie, do you -happen to know where Wallie Bascomb has been this summer?" - -"Bessie told me he had gone into the woods again. She mentioned it when -she brought the roses." - -"Oh, those were Bessie's roses then? You didn't tell me, you know." - -"She asked me to say nothing about it. It quite slipped out, David. I'm -sorry." - -He gazed at his aunt curiously for a moment. "It was nice of Bessie. I -didn't think she cared enough--" - -"That's because young people are so self-centred and blind, -David;--especially young men who are apt to be a trifle masterly, in -some ways." - -"I suppose you mean me?" he replied, laughing. - -"Davy lad," she said, her wrinkled face alight with an old hope revived, -"David, do you really care for Bessie?" - -"Of course I do," he answered promptly. "She's a jolly good girl. I -admire her lots." - -His aunt smiled again. "I didn't mean that way, David." - -He crumpled the letter in his hand and thrust it in his pocket. "Well, I -did care--once." - -"Don't you now?" - -He hesitated, staring at his white fingers. "I don't know exactly. I -think not. You see Wallie and his father know enough about my plans, and -I about theirs, to make it difficult for anything of that kind. Frankly, -I'm fighting them for a fortune. It's up there," he continued, gesturing -toward the north. "They want it and we've got it. They're going to make -trouble for us if they can. They'll do it politely enough, of course, -but--wait a minute--" He tore the third letter open and glanced at it -hastily. - -"I thought so. I left that box of asbestos samples in Bascomb's office -that day...." - -He took Avery's second letter from his pocket again and smoothed it on -his knee. - - "... so not hearin' from you I sot still and waited. Long Come - young Glass-eyes perlite as axel-greas and said the railrud were - goin to cross five mile below Lost Farm. I tole him I knowed - that fur a considable spell. He looked Supprised a minit and - then said he was willin to stick by the fust deal and pay me my - figer fur the land I tole him You was Boss on that shift and he - said you was sick. I reckoned he was talkin strait seein I aint - heard from you he giggered His feet around a spell and said all - right and I will take Smoke Back to Tramworth. Reckon he Must a - tried tien him in the baggage-car same as you done For Smoke was - back here nex mornin Smilin al over. Smoke did not bring No - Ticket back This trip so mebby he did not git as fur as the - Station. Sense you ben gone Swickey she is took with the idea of - goin to Tramworth to scule nex fall.... Hopin this finds you in - good health as it leaves me yours truly - - ---- JOHN AVERY." - -David folded the letter slowly. "It's the asbestos, Aunt Elizabeth. A -chap named Harrigan found it while cruising a strip of Avery's land. -Somehow or other he told Wallie about it. It's a find all right--there's -miles of it in the creekbed, right on the surface. We're going to take -an expert up there and inspect it--it's five-inch fibre and worth a -fortune. We expect to mine and sell it. Heavens, I wish this confounded -head of mine hadn't acted up at the wrong time." - -"But you're going to get well, David. The doctor says you will have to -rest and be quiet for a few months--" - -"A few months? Why, that's all I have been doing since I came back." - -"Yes, I know. Now, tell me all about this asbestos and your work. Just -lie back and be comfortable and I'll listen." - -For perhaps half an hour David talked Lost Farm tract and right-of-way -while his aunt tried patiently to follow his explanations. She disliked -to tell him that his plans might be delayed on account of the length of -time necessary for a complete recovery, but an opportunity offered and -she seized it. - -"So that is why you want to get well in such a hurry, David? I don't -like to discourage you, but Doctor Leighton says you won't be able to do -anything but get well for at least a year. He's coming to talk with you -about it in a day or two." - -"A year! Why, Great Scott! Aunt Bess, I simply must get things moving -right away. Avery expects me to." - -"Why right away?" - -"Why, because--because--don't you see Bascomb is working day and night -for possession?" - -"But he hasn't got it, David." - -"No." - -"Well, don't worry. Promise me that you won't do anything more than -write letters until you see the doctor, won't you?" - -"I--I--of course I will, Aunt Elizabeth, if you ask it. You've been -awfully kind--and I've been no end of trouble to you." - -"Davy!" - -"I know--but it's a shame, hang it all. I'm all right now." - -But the trembling of his hand which rested on the arm of the chair -belied his statement. - -"Come, Davy, you're tired. I'll see you to your room as I used to." - -Together they mounted the stairway, her arm in his. - -"Good-night, laddie. If you want anything, call me. I shall hear you." -She kissed his forehead, and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "It will -all come right in the end, David. Just have patience with yourself--and -me." - -"You! Why, Aunt Bess, if--you weren't my aunt, I'd--I'd marry you -to-morrow!" he exclaimed. "You're the only woman that ever did amount to -shucks, anyway." - -"I ken weel what you mean, Davy Ross," she replied teasingly, as he -turned toward his door. "And I ken wha you be thinkin' aboot the noo." - -Laughing, he turned toward her again. "Bet you don't!" he said, assuming -her tone of raillery. - -"It mon begin wi' a 'B'?" - -"You're wrong, auntie. It happens to be an 'S,' and I'm going to buy her -a birthday present to-morrow." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--A CONSULTATION - - -It was several days afterward, however, before David was able to go out. -The reaction from the excitement of his home-coming left him contented -with the quiet of the cool living-room, where he wrote to Avery, and -eventually called up Bascomb Senior, with whom he had a brief talk -regarding the progress of the N. M. & Q. He acknowledged Bascomb's note -in regard to the asbestos samples, stating that he would call for them, -which was thoroughly agreeable to the engineer, who wanted to see him. - -That afternoon, about four o'clock, Dr. Leighton called. Miss Ross was -out, for which both he and David were thankful, as it gave them an -opportunity "to get down to bed-rock," as David expressed it. - -The doctor smiled at David's assertion that he had completely recovered -and wanted to do something beside rest. - -"I'm tired of resting," said David. - -"Yes, I know. You're all right now and you'll be all right later on if -you take care of yourself. Keep out of the sun and loaf; just loaf and -invite your--friends. I know it's the hardest kind of work for you. It -isn't the wound--the outside of your head that needs humoring. You've -had a shock that has upset things and you can thank your stars that -you're not up there--permanently." - -Dr. Leighton chuckled and ran his handkerchief round his perspiring -face. - -"I didn't think it was quite so serious," replied David. - -"It isn't now, and won't be, if you give yourself half a chance. Do you -know what spinal meningitis is?" - -"I have an idea." - -"Well, just satisfy yourself with the idea. Don't offer yourself as a -subject for clinical investigation, that's all." - -David was silent for a few minutes. - -"I want to thank you for your personal attention to my case, Doctor--" - -"Don't mention it. I don't know just what your plans are, but I -understand that you have some interest in connection with the N. M. & Q. -that's worrying you. You talked about it in the hospital--when you -weren't exactly yourself, you know. You had a favorite theme, something -about Bascomb, Smoke, and asbestos that you kept up pretty -continuously." - -"I don't doubt it," said David, smiling. "You don't know how I felt when -I realized that I was losing my grip on things. 'Smoke' is a dog; Wallie -Bascomb's bull-terrier. I think I chased that dog a thousand miles the -first few days I was in the hospital." - -"Don't doubt it. Well, I must go." The Doctor slid a plump hand down his -watch-chain and glanced at his watch. "Well, Ross, you know what to do. -I can't do any more for you than I have. You must work out, or rather -rest out, your own salvation now, and it ought to be rather an agreeable -task. I haven't had a rest for three years. Now, about this N. M. & Q. -business. From the reports recently circulated among the stockholders, -this lumber road won't be in operation for a year or two yet, if that is -any satisfaction." - -"It isn't the road entirely," said David. "There are some matters in -connection with the proposed right-of-way--" - -"Yes," interrupted the Doctor, "I heard that matter discussed at the -last meeting. I happen to have a little money invested in that project -myself. Bascomb talked me into it. In fact, there are a number of -physicians interested." - -"Is that so? Well, that's interesting. I'd like to meet you when you -have more time, and talk it over." - -"See here, young man, you're talking business, and that's what I advised -you not to do." - -"Yes, but with my physician in attendance--that makes some difference. -Won't you extend your charity and spare me a few minutes more. Can't you -'phone to the hospital? I have something that will interest you, now -that I know you have stock in the N. M. & Q." - -"Well, Ross, as a physician I ought to say no, but as your friend, well, -I'll listen, say ten minutes." - -"Good!" exclaimed David, taking a piece of paper from the desk. "Now I'm -going to swear you to secrecy." - -"I'm sworn," said the Doctor. "Go ahead." - -David made a hasty sketch of the Lost Farm tract and the first survey. -"Now here we are," he said. "First survey crosses the river here; second -survey about five miles below. Up here," he continued, "is Timberland -Mountain, and here is the creek crossing the line of the first survey." -He paused and glanced at the Doctor's face. "In that creekbed is a -fortune in asbestos--miles of it. Now the original intention of the -directors was to run the road round the base of the mountain and cross -the creek here. You can see that the second survey would take the road -through five miles below the mountain." - -"Yes, I see," said the Doctor; "but why do they want to go away off -there?" - -"Well, Bascomb knows that the mineral is on Lost Farm. He has tried to -purchase the land, but it is not for sale. It belongs to my partner, a -Mr. Avery." - -"Right of eminent domain?" queried the Doctor. - -"Of course, so far as the right-of-way is concerned, but that doesn't -touch the asbestos. What I'm getting at is this. Bascomb apparently -controls the directors. He's an engineer and they leave the fine points -to him. Now he can easily swing the road to the second survey -and--_bang!_ There goes the market for the asbestos. It won't pay to -cart it five miles to the road." - -"Does the second survey cover accessible territory for road building?" -asked the Doctor. - -"No," replied David. "It's one of the worst pieces of swamp-land I ever -saw." - -"I see. So Bascomb is using that to bluff you into selling?" - -"That's about it." - -"And the stockholders pay for his little idiosyncrasies, hey?" - -"They will if he has his way." - -The Doctor studied the sketch closely for a moment. "You've got this -thing correct?" he asked finally. - -"Not to a scale--but approximately correct," replied David. - -"Hu-m-m!" The Doctor leaned back and looked at his companion, but there -was no gleam of recognition in his expression. Presently he arose. "Will -you let me have this sketch for a few days?" - -"Certainly," replied David. - -"Of course, I'm not a practical railroad man," said the Doctor, as he -folded the paper and slipped it in his memorandum book, "but I don't see -why the N. M. & Q. shouldn't have the asbestos tonnage. Do you?" - -"No, I don't;--that is, if the directors are made alive to the fact that -the stockholders know what they want and intend to have it." - -"That's it. I won't promise anything, but you might drop a line to your -partner and tell him to sit tight till he hears from you. Now you've had -enough business for a month. Take a drive this evening and keep away -from downtown till you hear from me. I'm going to produce this paper at -the next meeting and get my name in print as a practical railroad man, -which isn't so, but I'm not averse to a little advertising." - -"I didn't know men of your--your profession did that kind of -advertising," said David. - -"My son, if you knew some of the stunts physicians do to keep themselves -before the public, you'd--well, you might smile and then again, you -might not." - -Dr. Leighton drew on his gloves, settled his coat-collar with a shrug of -his corpulent shoulders, and departed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--PIRACY - - -Not until nearing the middle of September did the intense heat wavering -over the hoof-marked asphalt of the streets give way to the refreshing -coolness of the light breezes that preceded the infrequent and gentle -rains of early autumn. - -David chafed at his monotonous routine of morning walks, afternoon -drives, and "Evening Transcripts." The tang of the air, coming briskly -round a corner, set his pulses throbbing with a desire "to pack his kit -and trek," anywhere, so long as it would take him away from the -tunnel-like walls of brick and brownstone and the geometrical accuracy -of grass-plot, curb, and sidewalk. At times this desire to flee from the -questionable "advantages" of civilization to the unquestionable sanity -and freedom of the forest became unendurable, especially when October's -crisp, invigorating mornings wakened him to gaze across the clustered -chimney-pots to where the river rippled, bronze-cold, in the early sun. - -"If it were not for Aunt Elizabeth, I'd go to-morrow," he said, as he -returned from his shower one morning, ruddy from head to foot with -vigorous toweling. "By Jove, I know what I'll do. I'll get hold of -Wallie and have it out with him. That ought to be exciting enough to -satisfy me for a day or two at least. I'm getting altogether too healthy -to stand this sort of life. I need room to move round in--town's too -small for me." - -As he dressed, he noticed his rifle standing in the corner. Its soiled -and worn canvas case looked grim and businesslike, contrasted with its -quiet-colored and orderly surroundings. As he knotted his tie carefully, -he caught the reflection of the rifle in the glass. Without waiting to -put on vest or coat, he strode to the corner, stripped the case from the -gun, and eyed it enthusiastically. A faint smell of wood-smoke came to -him. He balanced the rifle in his hands and then raised it to his -shoulder abruptly, sighting at a particularly ghoulish looking -chimney-pot. He cocked the Winchester, centred the bead on the -unoffending chimney-pot, and without dreaming that the rifle was loaded, -pulled the trigger. - -The prisoned roar of the explosion of the heavy .45 stunned him for a -moment. "Great Caesar! And that thing's been loaded ever since--ever -since--well, I guess I was a bit off to leave a cartridge in that gun. -Heavens! I hope Aunt Bess isn't frightened." - -But his aunt's white face in the doorway was a silent accusation that -brought him to her as shamefaced as a reprimanded schoolboy. - -"Davy! Davy! what did you do?" - -"I'm awfully sorry. It was stupid and foolish of me, but I couldn't -resist the temptation to sight at one of those chimney-pots--and I had -no idea the rifle was loaded." - -"I didn't know what had happened, David." - -Her tone implied more than she was aware of, as his countenance showed. -He flushed and looked away from her, as the full meaning of her remark -came to him. - -"Don't worry, Aunt Bess. It's nothing like that; simply a superabundance -of October air. Please go to your room. It's drafty here." - -He finished dressing, glancing at intervals, toward the rifle, which he -finally slid into the case and stood in the corner. Before going -downstairs he went to the window and looked out, withdrawing his head -with a boyish grin as he saw the shattered top of the chimney-pot. - -"Hit it anyway," he said, as he came down to the dining-room. - -After breakfast he went out, walking briskly toward town, unconscious, -as he enjoyed the keen edge of the morning, that a troubled face had -watched him from the drawing-room window until the intervening houses -hid him from view. - -When he arrived at Bascomb's office he found that both Wallie and his -father were out. Leaving a note he betook himself to a bookstore and -made several purchases, which he addressed and carried to an express -office. - -Then he idled along the street, gazing casually at the store windows. -Finally he stopped at a display of sportsmen's supplies and entered the -shop. After an overhauling of the many-colored coats submitted to his -exacting inspection, he selected a heavy fine-textured garment, -fawn-colored, and with an edging of tiny blue squares. He again entered -the express office, where an obliging but mystified clerk waited upon -him, asking his companion at the desk if "Swickey" was a Polish name or -what? David overheard the question and said quite seriously, "No, young -man, it's Andalusian for gypsy." - -On his way to Bernard, White & Bascomb's offices, he paused frequently, -engrossed with the plan he was formulating, which was to make Wallie a -point-blank offer to join him, eliminate the elder Bascomb from the -Northern Improvement Company, and work the proposed plant together with -the capital already subscribed. "It looks like piracy, but from what Dr. -Leighton tells me, old man Bascomb is on his last legs financially, and -that means--well, Bessie is used to luxury; besides, Wallie's not half -bad if he would only brace up and dig in. Perhaps the old man will be -glad to sit back and let Wallie go ahead when he finds that he can't -swing it himself. I'll do it for Bess, anyway, and probably get sat upon -for offering." - -"Well, here goes," he said, as he entered the corridor of the office -building. "It smells like bribery and looks like corruption, but I'll -risk it." - -As he waited for the descending elevator, Wallie Bascomb entered the -street door. - -"Well, Davy, but you're looking fit and sleek enough to worry the -duennas. How are you making it?" - -"Making what, Walt?" - -"Everything, anything, trouble, feminine anxiety--Say, Davy, I'm right -glad to see you around again. You know that little Flossie faithful at -the hospital wouldn't let me see you. Doctor's orders, you know." - -"Which one?" asked David, stepping to one side as a worried-looking -individual dashed into the elevator. - -"Insulting attorney," said Bascomb, with a gesture toward the rapidly -ascending car. "He has his troubles, too.--Which one? Oh, yes; the -little one with the complexion and the starry orbs that make you want to -say things to her. I called several times. Got used to being refused -admittance to the repair shop. She was all to the lovely, though." - -David noticed Bascomb's healthy color and remarked upon it. - -"Yes. Been up among the fuzzies again. N. M. & Q. Were you going up to -see the pater?" - -"Don't intend to, now I have seen you. Can you spare a little of your -valuable time, Walt?" - -"Sure! Glad to cut off a slice for you. How'll you have it, hot or -cold?" - -"It will be--cold, I think," replied David. - -The Saturn was all but deserted, and they found a secluded corner where -Bascomb, after giving an order, sank comfortably into one of the wide -leather chairs. - -"Sizz, Davy?" he asked, as a squat, emblazoned bottle and its -accompanying siphon were placed at his elbow. - -"Thank you--but it's a trifle too early for me." - -Ross watched Bascomb as he manipulated the bottles with a practiced -hand. Wallie's genial countenance expressed such unruffled satisfaction -and good-will that David found it difficult to begin. He accepted a -proffered cigar, bit it tentatively, turned it in his fingers, and -without lighting it, began abruptly. - -"Wallie, about that asbestos--" He paused as Bascomb looked up quickly -from the glass he held. "Do you know of any reason why we should -continue to fight this thing out in the dark?" - -Bascomb tapped the glass with his finger-nails. "Not now," he replied -coolly. - -"Was there ever any good reason for it?" - -Bascomb shifted his position, turning toward the window with an absent -stare. "Yes, I think there was." - -"Of course, it was practically your find, or Harrigan's," said David; -"but don't you think your last trip to Lost Farm was playing it a trifle -raw, under the circumstances?" - -"Of your being in the hospital?" - -"Yes." - -Bascomb colored slightly, smiled as he recalled his use of a similar -expression in speaking to Ross once, and replied,-- - -"Governor's orders, Davy." - -David ignored his companion's quibble. "You said there was a reason--?" - -"There was--and is." He faced David squarely. "Maybe you have heard -rumors of it, Davy, and you're the first and last man that I'll ever -tell this to--and it's as straight as--you are." - -"Thanks," said David, a bit briefly. - -"The pater's dipped. Every cent he has is tied up in the N. M. & Q., and -the road's costing more to build than he figured on. Bernard, White & -Bascomb are stung, and that's all there is to it. It isn't the first -time either. The Interurban contract, two years ago, panned out bad. The -pater tried to recoup on the market. You can guess the rest. His -personal account wouldn't pay my laundry bill. When I wrote to him about -the asbestos on Lost Farm, he jumped at the chance to float that scheme -and organized the Northern Improvement Company, on his nerve and a -little business prestige. To come down to the ghastly, Davy, Northern -Improvement capital has been paying our current expenses. If that deal -falls through,"--Bascomb's lips curled sarcastically,--"it's the front -page in the Yellow Horrors for us, and God knows what they'll do to the -pater. Of course I can dig up something out of the wreck, but Bessie--" - -"I'm glad you told me," interrupted David. "Now I appreciate your -position--and my own. It makes it less difficult for me to go ahead with -my scheme." - -"I knew you would," replied Bascomb, misunderstanding him. "In fact, I -told the pater that nothing this side of flowers and little Davy in the -front carriage would stop you. So you're going to put your deal -through?" - -"Yes, if I can swing it, but that depends on you and your father." - -"Correct, my jewel. Of course it's a big thing for you. To buck the -pater and his illustrious son takes nerve, doesn't it, Davy?" - -"More than that. But see here, Walt, my partnership with Avery means -nothing more than a working interest. I don't own a foot of the land. -I'm here to interest capital, though. Then mine the stuff and market it. -Of course I expect to make something, and I'm willing to risk what -little capital I have." - -"I have told Bessie about all there is to tell," said Bascomb, watching -David's face closely. "She said she knows you won't give it up, even if -it indirectly sends us to the bread-line." - -"That doesn't sound just like you, Walt. Besides, I just don't like -Bessie's name mentioned in this connection." - -"Of course not. I appreciate that, Davy, and I'll be good." - -"Well, you needn't be sarcastic, Walt. It's not your most becoming -style." - -"If I had anything to bet," replied Bascomb, "I'd lay three to one -you'll win out,--marry the siren child,--suppress the Cyclops, and -become one of our 'most influential,' etc." - -"You would probably lose. Especially on the siren child, as you call -her. By the way, where's Smoke?" - -"Reasonable question, my son, but unanswerable. We parted company -somewhere near Tramworth, without explanations or regrets, on Smoke's -part anyway. That dog's cut out for a bushwhacker. Boston's too tame for -him after that 'Indian Pete' affair. Wonder whom he'll massacre next? I -was beginning to get a bit shy of him myself." - -"He probably felt it, and vamoosed," said David. - -"He probably felt hungry," replied Bascomb, with an unpleasant laugh. "A -man's in a bad way when his dog won't stick to him. Perhaps he smelt the -wolf at the door of the house of Bascomb." - -"You're drawing it pretty fine, Wallie." - -"Oh, damn the dog, and you, too." - -"See here, Walt,"--David stood up and straightened his shoulders. "I'll -take that from you, but you'd better retract about the dog. And that -reminds me, now you're stripped for action, how much did you give -Harrigan for his find--the asbestos?" - -"That, Mr. Claymore-and-Kilts, is none of your damned business." - -"Good!" exclaimed David. "Now, you're more like your real self than I've -seen you yet. The Saturn is a hospitable club. I think I'll put up my -name some day." - -"Speaking of sarcasm," began Bascomb, but the expression of David's face -checked him. "My God, Davy, you don't realize what it means to tell a -chap what I've told you and get turned down as--" - -"I think I do, Walt," interrupted David. "I'm not going to insult either -of us by saying I'm sorry, but if you want to come into this thing--help -me organize a company independent of the N. M. & Q., you understand, I -have a few friends who are willing to go in with me, and I'd like to -make you one of them." - -Bascomb's astonishment held him speechless for a moment. - -"But my father!" he exclaimed. - -"That's for you to decide." - -"Hang it, you old pirate, I'd like to at that if I can get the governor -to see it. I'll put it up to him to-night. But, Great Scott, man, it's -charity!" - -"Not a bit of it. It may look that way to you, but I came here with the -intention of making some such proposition. Don't you see it will mean -less work for me in the end? The Northern Improvement money is as good -as any. I'll take over your father's stock till he gets on his feet, or -you can take it, and we'll cover any deficits with my money, and no one -will be the wiser. The asbestos will be a paying thing in a year or two. -In the mean time we'll manage to get along." - -"Well, for cool, canny head-work, Davy, you've got a Boston lawyer faded -to a whisper. And for unadulterated decency you've got a vestal -virgin--" - -"Tush," said David, as they walked toward the vestibule. "It's one -o'clock, and I promised Aunt Elizabeth I'd be home at twelve." - - ---- - -That afternoon, some hours later, Bascomb was in his father's office, -where they talked over Ross's proposition. Finally, the elder man, who -had been gazing out of the window, turned in his chair and faced his -son. - -"All right, Walter. Go ahead. I'll have the stock transferred. Ross will -make a go of it if any one will. I didn't expect this of him, though. It -took more moral courage for him to do it than most men have. I didn't -know he thought so much of you." - -"Oh, it isn't altogether on my account, Dad. You might know that; and as -for moral courage, I think it was a pretty classy piece of -Morganeering." - -"Which one?" queried the elder Bascomb, smiling. - -"Does that make any difference?" asked Wallie. "But, say, Dad, you don't -think I'm a deserter, do you? My going over to the enemy seems to be -about the only way out of our trouble; besides, your stock will be in my -name, and really, it's only Davy's way of being a friend. Bess, you -know--" - -"Yes," interrupted the elder man wearily, "I understand. I've worked for -thirty years, and here I am practically accepting charity from a young -fellow who wanted to marry my daughter and didn't because I objected to -his sentimental idea about going into the woods to make his mark. Well, -I've arranged to go away--for a rest. You go ahead and do what you can." - -"What's the matter, Dad?" Bascomb came to his father and laid his hand -affectionately on his shoulder. - -"The doctor says--" - -"Doctor! Why, I didn't know there was anything wrong with you that way." - -"The doctor says I need a rest," continued the elder man. "I'm going to -Florida for the winter, with Bessie. Sorry you can't come, Wallie, but -when things get straightened out--" He hesitated and glanced at his son. - -"We'll straighten 'em," replied Wallie cheerfully. "But about that -second survey?" - -"That has been abandoned. It wasn't--practical, you know." - -"Hum! Yes, I know. Well, I'm off to get Livingstone. See you at dinner, -Dad." - -As the younger man waited for the elevator, he muttered, "Poor old -pater--down and out completely. Well, it's up to me to make good." - - - - -CHAPTER XX--HOME FOR CHRISTMAS - - -"Yes, mam, I come fur Swickey." - -Avery, muffled in winter clothing, his white beard powdered with snow, -seemed to Miss Wilkins to embody in his huge proportions the spirit of -the December storm that swept hissing by her door, striking fantastic -forest silhouettes on the shop windows behind which stood a -dejected-looking array of plumes and bonnets, only dimly visible to the -passer-by. - -"Oh, Mr. Avery, I didn't know you at first. Come right in and sit down. -Nanette has gone over to the store for me. She'll be back right away." - -The old man moved cautiously through the narrow doorway, to the -sewing-room of the shop, allowing generous margins as he passed tables -and chairs, for his natural respect for "wimmen-folks" was augmented to -a nervous self-consciousness, surrounded as he was by so many outward -and visible signs of femininity in various stages of completion. - -"You just make yourself to home. Take off your coat and scarf. -Here,"--she pushed a big rocking-chair toward him,--"draw right up to -the stove and get warm." - -"Thanks, Miss Wilkins, but I be tol'able warm. You said Swickey was -comin' right back?" - -"Yes; she just went over to the dry-goods store for me. You'll be -surprised to see how much Nanette has grown." - -"Do all the folks call her Nanette now?" asked Avery. - -"I think so. You see 'Nanette' is so much prettier than 'Swickey.' I -have always called her Nanette. She is getting used to it, and so are -her friends. Of course; Jessie Cameron--" Miss Wilkins hesitated. - -"Yes, of course. Thet's diff'runt. Jessie knowed her when she was -Swickey and nothin' else." - -Avery rocked slowly, working the chair away from the stove by -gradations. Despite his long, cold ride from the Knoll, little beads of -sweat glistened on his forehead. Anticipation and Miss Wilkins kept him -warm. - -"Nanette is doing well at school," said the little dressmaker, as she -snipped busily with her scissors. "She is naturally bright. All she -needed was other young girls about her as an incentive to study." - -"Thet's right," Avery agreed promptly. "I allus said so. Swickey was -allus incensive to studyin' if it was brung out. I sweat consid'able -tryin' to bring it out, but Dave Ross was the man what got her started. -He was thet patient and pa'tic'lar, never gettin' riled, but settin' -thar learnin' her in the evenin's and she askin' questions as would -swamp a goat. Them kind of questions as would jest nachally set me to -argifyin' and fergittin' 'bout learnin' her. But he kep' on, -pleasant-like, until she got curious to learn, jest to spite herself, I -reckon. When he went to Boston, she jest couldn't keep still,--frettin' -and frettin' but sayin' nothin'. I seed they was suthin' comin', and -when she said she wanted to come to Tramworth to school, I pertended to -be supprised, but I wa'n't." - -"Is Mr. Ross coming to Lost Farm again? You said you expected him last -fall." - -"I were. But things in Boston kep' him flyin' round thar. He's been -organizin' and consolidatin', and he were a'most ready to come up last -year when the snow come and it wa'n't no sense of his comin' til spring. -And he were a mighty sick man likewise. His aunt she writ me a letter -sayin' how clust he come to passin' on beyant, and fur me to go slow -when I writ to him, account of stirrin' him up. But he's all right now, -and he says he's a-comin' in the spring, sure as eggs. Reckon Swickey'll -be glad. She sot a lot of store by her Dave. I reckon I done so, too, -fur I was thet lonesome-like m'self. He was good comp'ny of the quiet -kind, suthin' like a tree in the front yard what ain't attractin' much -attention til it's gone. Of course Jim Cameron come up. But Jim he jest -sets me itchin' all over--sorter feelin' like as if he was dyin' to see -inside of everything in the house, includin' yourself. Mebby you have -noticed thet about Jim. Howcome he's a good friend. Beats all how he -took to Dave; always talkin' 'bout him and askin' when he's comin' back, -and Jim don't hanker after most city-folks nuther. Thet's a pow'ful good -stove you got." - -"Is it too warm? I'll just check it." Which Miss Wilkins did with a deft -hand wrapped in the corner of her apron. - -"'Bout her board," said Avery, drawing a shiny wallet from his pocket. -"I reckon as it's comin' nigh on to Christmas I'll pay you fur the rest -of the year and up to nex' spring." He counted out the sum and handed it -to her. "Thet sets me thinkin'." He arose and successfully navigated the -perils of the sewing-room and presently returned with a bundle. "Left -this in the front when I come in, and a'most forgot it." - -He untied the string and out rolled what seemed to be several glossy -otter pelts. - -"Goodness!" exclaimed Miss Wilkins, a trifle surprised. - -"These here," continued Avery, "is me and Swickey's present to Miss Jane -Wilkins fur Christmas, and takin' care of his gal. Thought mebby you'd -like 'em. I sent 'em to Dave Ross in Boston and he had 'em made up in -the latest style of fashion, howcome the muff are big 'nough most fur a -whole fambly--kind of small-sized sleepin'-bag, eh?" - -"Oh, they're beautiful, Mr. Avery!" said Miss Wilkins, smoothing the -silvery-brown fur and tucking her chin in its soft depth. "I just love -them, but what will Nanette say?" - -"Jest what I do, Miss Wilkins,--thet you took care of her, and made her -dresses and showed her how to wear 'em, and learned her sewin', and -mebby done more fur her than any pusson,--even Dave Ross,--and they's -nothin' this side of murder Hoss Avery ain't willin' to do fur you!" - -"Well," replied the dressmaker, smiling at her guest's enthusiasm, "I -can never thank you enough, and Nanette has been a great help to me." - -Avery felt for his tobacco, then changed his mind abruptly as he -realized where he was. Conversation with Miss Wilkins was becoming -embarrassing. He was afraid of doing what his daughter called simply -"saying things" under stress of the emotion which was rapidly filling -the void left by his late unburdening of his heart to the little -dressmaker. The soothing influence of tobacco would have steadied him. -She noticed his uneasiness and promptly invited him to smoke "all he -wanted to." - -Avery's appreciation of her courtesy was soon filling the room with -curls and shreds of smoke, and, in keeping with his nature, it was a -strong appreciation. - -"There was one thing I wanted to speak about, Mr. Avery." Miss Wilkins's -tone became more serious than heretofore. "Nanette is an attractive -girl, and she's seventeen." - -Avery nodded. - -"And one or two of the young men have been seeing her home from school -lately. I don't mind that, of course,--Nanette is sensible,--but I -thought I would speak about it. Young Andy Slocum seems quite interested -in Nanette, and he's wild at times, although he's nice enough when he -wants to be." - -"He's a pow'ful good man on the drive--fur a young one," replied Avery. -"Got a heap of nerve, and cool fur a kid. Last spring he was hangin' -round my camp consid'able, makin' hisself pleasant-like when the drive -went through. Thought it was kind of queer that he should be int'rested -in ole Hoss Avery. So it was Swickey he was thinkin' of?" - -"Oh, I don't know how serious he is about it. You know young -men--There's Nanette now!" - -Avery stood up as the shop doorbell clinked and jangled, and Swickey, -breathless from her run across the street, cheeks rosy and brown eyes -glowing, rushed to her father and flung her arms about him, kissing him -again and again. - -"Oh, Pop, I'm so glad you came to take me home. I couldn't bear to think -of you up there alone at Christmas-time." - -She stood looking up into his face, her hands on his shoulders, and her -neat, blue-gowned figure tense with happiness. - -"My! but you're growing every day--and you ain't growin' thin nuther. -Your ma was jest such a gal when I married her. Wal, I reckon we'll have -to git started. It gits dark purty quick nowadays, and Jim's waitin'--" - -"What beautiful furs. Oh, Pop, they're for--" - -"Miss Wilkins's Christmas present from Swickey and her Pa. They's a -bundle in the sleigh fur you, too. Jim says it's from Boston,--like -'nuff he knows,--seein' he called at the station fur it,--and mebby you -kin guess who sent it." - -Swickey's face flushed slightly, but she said nothing. - -"If you git ready now, Swickey, we kin go." - -"All right, Pop. Shall I bring my snowshoes?" - -"You might fetch 'em. No tellin' how things'll be gettin' home to-night. -Bundle up good--it's nippy." - -"Nippy? Huh!" exclaimed Swickey, as she hurried to her little bedroom -upstairs. "It's just grand and I love it." - -She took off her shoes, drew on an extra pair of heavy stockings, and -going to her trunk brought out her small moosehide moccasins which she -laced up snugly about her trim ankles. Then she bowed to herself in the -small mirror, and, gathering up her skirts, danced to and fro across the -room with girlish exuberance and happiness. Panting, she dropped to her -knees before her trunk and found her "best" fur cap and gloves. - -"Going home with Pop!" she kept repeating. "Going to see Smoke and -Beelzebub and--Pop and I'll go hunting and get that moose." - -"That moose" was a huge bull that had been haunting the outskirts of -Lost Farm, seen by Avery on his rounds to and from the traps, and -mentioned to Swickey in the letter which had preceded his arrival in -Tramworth to take her home for Christmas. - -With snowshoes slung over her shoulder, she reappeared in the -sewing-room, laughing happily at Miss Wilkins's expression of pleased -surprise. - -"You look like a regular--exploress, Nanette." - -"I'm Swickey, now, till I come back," she replied. "And I'm ready, Pop." - -Avery donned his coat and muffler and shook hands with Miss Wilkins. She -followed them to the door, beaming with the reflection of their -happiness. - -"Good-bye. Don't catch cold. And do be careful, dear." - -Cameron drove over from the hotel and they climbed into the sleigh, -Avery on the seat with the teamster, and Swickey, bundled in blankets, -sitting back to them in the rustling straw. The horses plunged through -the roadside drift and paced slowly down the main street of Tramworth. -Swickey reached under the seat and found the parcel her father had -spoken of. "It's from Dave, but I wonder what's in it?" She drew off her -glove and picked a small hole in the paper. Another layer of paper was -beneath it. She broke a hole in this and disclosed a wooden box. It was -long and narrow and its weight suggested metal. "I know!" she exclaimed. -"It's the rifle Dave wrote about." She hugged the package childishly, -whispering, "My Dave! and just for my own self." - -Through the silent outskirts they went, the team trotting at times, then -walking as the town road merged imperceptibly into the forest trail. The -big horses arched their necks and threw their shoulders into the harness -as the deep snow clogged the runners of the sleigh. Sometimes the -momentum of the load carried them down a short pitch, the sleigh close -on the horses' heels. Cameron talked almost constantly to his team, -helping them with his voice, and at each "spell" he would jump down, -lift their feet and break out the accumulated clogs of snow. Avery swung -his arms and slapped his hands, turning frequently to ask Swickey if she -were warm enough. - -The long, gloomy aisle winding past the hardwoods in their stiff, black -nakedness, and the rough-barked conifers planted smoothly in the deep -snow, their cold brown trunks disappearing in a canopy of still colder -green, crept past them tediously. The sleigh creaked and crunched over -snow-covered roots, the breathing of the horses keenly audible in the -solemn silence, as their broad feet sunk in the snow, and came up again, -the frozen fetlocks gleaming white in the gloom of the winter forest. - -"Smoke's keepin' house, Swickey. Reckon he'll be jumpin' glad to see -you." - -"Of course. Poor old Smoke. When we get rich, he's going to stay with me -all the time." - -"If he lives long enough, I reckon he will, eh, Jim?" - -"No tellin'," replied Cameron, with profound solemnity; "no tellin'. -I've knowed worse things than thet to happen." - -"Worse things than what?" said Swickey, "getting rich?" - -"Egg-sackly," replied Curious Jim. "Gettin' rich ain't the worst. It -takes a heap of money to keep on _bein'_ rich; thet's the worst of it. -Kind of a bad habit to git into. Ain't worried 'bout it myself," he -added. "I got a plenty of other business to think of." - -Avery did not ask Jim what his "other business" was beside teaming and -doing odd jobs for the Lumber Company, for he realized the teamster's -chief concern in life was to see what "other folks" were doing, -although, speaking "by and large," Cameron's inquisitiveness was -prompted by a solicitude for the welfare of his friends. Upon his lean -shoulders Curious Jim carried the self-imposed burden of an Atlas. - -Slowly the horses toiled over the corduroy stretch, and presently -Cameron's camp became visible through the trees. - -"Here we be at the Knoll. Now, you and Swickey come in and have suthin' -hot. It's gettin' dark and colder than a steel trap in January." - -"You go in yourself, Jim. Me and Swickey'll wait. We be kind of anxious -to git home. Smoke's been in the house sence mornin' and I reckon the -fire's out and he ain't had nuthin' to eat." - -"All right. I'll take these here things in to the missus." - -From the doorway Mrs. Cameron shouted an invitation, but Swickey and her -father were firm. Once in the house, they knew that she would not accept -their refusal to stay for the night. - -Curious Jim returned to the sleigh in a few minutes and they creaked -along toward Lost Farm. The early winter night, which surrounded them -with muffling cold, pierced the heavy blankets round Swickey and nipped -the cheeks and fingers of the two men. The trail found its way through -the stark trees, a winding white path of uniform width that gleamed -dimly ahead through the dusk of the overhanging branches. Slowly they -topped the knoll on which the three cabins stood, banked window-high -with snow. The camp looked cheerless in the frosty glimmer of its -unlighted windows. - -As the traces clacked, Smoke heard and barked his welcome. - -"'T warn't as heavy goin' as I thought it would be," remarked Cameron, -as he swung the sleigh close to the cabin, his head nearly level with -the snow-filled eaves. "Hear thet dog whoopin' to git out. Guess he -smells you, Swickey." - -Avery clambered down, broke through the drift to his door, and entered. -Smoke jumped to his shoulder with a joyous whine and then darted past -him toward the sleigh. - -"Smoke! Smoke!" - -As she handed the bundles to Cameron, the terrier sprang up to her, only -to fall back in the smothering snow, in which he struggled sturdily, -finally clambering into the sleigh with such vigor that he rolled over -the side and on his back in the straw, where Swickey playfully held him, -a kicking, struggling, open-mouthed grotesque of restrained affection. - -Light glowed in the windows as Avery built the fire and lighted the -lamps. It wavered through the frosted panes and settled on the horses, -who stood, nostrils rimmed with frost and flanks steaming, like two -Olympian stallions carved from mist. - -"Why, Pop!" exclaimed Swickey, "you haven't been using the front of the -house at all. It's just the same as I left it when I was here last." - -"Nope," replied Avery. "Me and Smoke and Beelzebub's middlin' comf'table -in the kitchen,--and it saves wood; but I'll start the front-room stove -and things'll get het up in no time." - -"How's the trapping?" asked his daughter, as she hung her cap and coat -in the little bedroom. - -"Middlin'. Ain't did what I calc'lated to this season," he replied, as -he dumped an armful of wood on the floor. - -"Fur scarce?" - -"Not eggsackly scurse--but I've been findin' my traps sprung reg'lar -with nothin' in 'em, and 'bout a week ago I noticed some snowshoe tracks -nigh 'em what never was made by Hoss Avery. They is a new camp--Number -Fifteen-Two, they calls it--where they commenced to cut this winter, -right clus to Timberland. I ain't sayin' some of Fifteen-Two's men's -been stealin' my fur, but I'm watchin' fur em. Fisty Harrigan's boss of -Fifteen-Two. Been set down a peg by the comp'ny 'count of his drinkin' -and carryin'-on." - -"Yes. I saw him in Tramworth, once," replied Swickey. - -"If Fisty's up to pesterin' me," said the old man, "or thet brick-top -Smeaton what's with him,"--he struck a match viciously,--"they'll be -some pow'ful tall doin's when I ketch 'em." - -"Now, Pop, you're getting too old to think of doing anything like that. -If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do." - -"'Course not," replied her father, smiling broadly, as she came and -squatted, Indian fashion, in front of the stove. "'Course not. Don't -calc'late you be worryin' 'bout anything happenin' to Fisty or Red, be -you?" - -She laughed merrily. "Why should I? I don't belong to either of them." - -"So you ain't forgot you belongs to your Pa, yit? Wal, I guess -eddication ain't spoilin' you a'ter all. It do spile some folks what -gits it too sudden-like; them as ain't growed up 'long with it -nacheral." - -Swickey gazed at the red chink of the damper. Suddenly she sprang up. -"Why, Pop! I was forgetting about supper." - -"Why, Swickey,--I forgot--'bout supper likewise," said her father, -mimicking her. "I'll fetch in some meat. Got a nice ven'son tenderline -in the shed, and you kin make some biscuits and fry them p'tatus; and I -got some honey from Jim last fall,--he ought to be in purty quick -now,--and they's some gingerbread and cookies in the crock. I reckon -with some bilin' hot tea and the rest of it, our stummicks kin limp -along somehow till mornin'." - -"Whew! she's colder than a weasel's foot down a hole," exclaimed Curious -Jim, a trifle ambiguously, as he came in with a gust of wind that shook -the lamp-flame. - -Beelzebub, solemn-eyed and portly, lay before the kitchen stove, purring -his content. Smoke followed Swickey, getting in her way most of the -time, but seemingly tireless in his attentions. Avery smoked and talked -to Cameron in subdued tones as he watched his daughter arrange the -table-things with a natural grace that reminded him poignantly of the -other Nanette. "Jest like her--jest like her," he muttered. - -"Yes, he does like her, don't he?" remarked Cameron, referring to -Smoke's ceaseless padding from stove to table and back again. - -"Wal, I reckon!" said Avery. "Had two chances fur a car-ride to Boston, -but he come back here a-flyin' both times. You can't fool a dog 'bout -whar he'd ruther be, same as you kin some folks." - -"No, you can't," replied Cameron sagely, "'speshully on a winter night -like this one." - -Swickey left the men to their pipes when she had washed the supper -dishes, and went to the front room, where she opened the box from -"Boston," emitting a delighted little cry as she drew out the short -rifle from its leather case. A card attached to it was closely written -over with a friendly little expression of Christmas cheer from David. -She tucked the card in her dress and ran to the kitchen with the rifle. - -"Wal, a shootin'-iron!" exclaimed Avery, turning toward her. "Thet's -what I call purty nifty. From Dave? Wal, thet are nice!" - -"Cartridges, too!" said Swickey. "Soft-point .44's." - -"Wal, we'll git thet moose now, sure," said Avery, examining the rifle. - -Curious Jim maintained a dignified silence. When the first joy of -opening the box and displaying its contents had evaporated, he arose and -shuffled toward the door, pausing mysteriously on the threshold. "You -ain't seen all they is yit," he said, closing the door and disappearing -in the night. - -Avery looked at Swickey and she at him. Then they both laughed. "Thet's -Jim's way," said Avery. - -The teamster returned with two more bundles which he placed on the -table. "There they be," he said, trying vainly to conceal his interest -in their contents, "and it's night before Christmus." - -In his excitement he had overlooked that one of the packages was -addressed to him. - -Swickey brought the bundles to her father. "You open them, Pop; I opened -the other one." - -The old man pulled out his jack-knife and deliberately cut the string on -the larger package. A gay red and green lumberman's jacket lay folded in -the paper. - -Avery put it on and paraded up and down grandiloquently. - -"Whee-oo! Now, who's puttin' on style?" said Cameron. - -"From Dave likewise," said the old man. "And I be dum' giggered if here -ain't"--he fumbled in the pockets--"a pair of buckskin mitts. Wal, I -commence to feel like a walkin' Christmas tree a'ready." - -"And they's anuther," said Jim, eager that the last parcel should not be -overlooked. - -Avery glanced at the address, held the bundle away from him, then laid -it on his knee. "Wal, I ain't a-goin' to open _thet_ one to-night." - -Cameron's face expressed a keen disappointment that was out of keeping -with his unusual self-restraint. - -"You might open it, Jim, seein' as it's addressed to you." - -With studied indifference the teamster untied the string and calmly -opened the package. "What's thet?" he asked, handing a card to Swickey. - -"Why, it's l-i-n-g-e-r-i-e, lingerie," she replied, with a puzzled -expression. - -Curious Jim's countenance expressed modulated scorn for her apparent -ignorance. "Now, you _spelled_ it right, but you ain't _said_ it right," -he remarked sagely. "Thet's' loungeree,' meanin' shirts and things -mostly for wimmen. I was some worried 'bout that word for a spell, and -so I ast the school-mam to Tramworth, and she did some blushin' and tole -me. And sure enough it's shirts," he exclaimed, taking two heavy flannel -garments from the package; "fur me, I reckon by the size. And here's -another leetle bundle fur Jessie and one for the missus. And a pipe." -This latter Cameron examined closely. "Silver trimmin's, amber stem, and -real French brier--and I carried thet clean from Tramworth and never -knowed it!" - -He immediately whittled a palmful of tobacco and filled the pipe, -lighted it with great deliberation and much action of the elbow, and sat -back puffing clouds of smoke toward the ceiling. - -"Now, who's putting on style?" said Swickey, and they all laughed. - -So they sat the rest of the evening, each thinking of David, until -Swickey, drowsy with the heat of the big stove, finally bade them -good-night and went to her room. - -"I'm glad Ross is comin' up next spring," said Cameron. - -"So be I," replied Avery. - -"Some young folks I could name needs settin' back where they belong," -ventured Cameron mysteriously. - -"Seen Andy Slocum lately?" asked Avery, in a casual manner. - -"Huh?" Cameron was startled at his companion's uncanny "second-sight" as -he mentally termed it. "Oh, Andy?--sure--seen him stand-in' in the -window of the hotel when we druv by comin' home." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI--THE TRAPS - - -In a swirling mist of powdered snow that all but obscured the sun, two -figures appeared below the three cabins and moved over the unbroken -white of the clearing toward Lost Lake. They were muffled to the -eyes--heavily clad against the biting wind of that Christmas morning, -and they walked, one behind the other, the taller of the two breaking a -trail, with his short broad snowshoes, for his companion. - -Joe or "Red" Smeaton, as he was called, watched them from the screen of -a clump of cedars on the hillside. "Cameron's gone," he muttered. "Seen -him drive down the Tramworth road half-hour agone. Guess they hain't -nobody 'ceptin' the dog at the camp, fur there goes the ole man and the -gal. Wonder where they be p'intin' fur? Hain't goin' nowhere near the -trap-line. They's headed straight fur 'Fifteen-Two,' if they keep goin' -long enough." - -He drew back from the branches and picked up a gunnysack at his feet. It -was half filled with stiff objects that he shook together before he -finally slung the bag to his shoulder and tramped along Avery's "line," -passing the unsprung traps, but stopping whenever a luckless fisher or -fox lay frozen across the harsh steel jaws that opened grudgingly to the -pressure of his knee, as he unlocked the biting rims and drew out those -pitifully inert shapes. - -"Harrigan, Smeaton and Company is doin' fine--doin' fine," he said, as -he unsprung the fifth trap and shoved its victim into his bag. "Got -enough fur here to keep us in booze a week, and ole Hoss Avery is payin' -for it, or if he ain't _payin'_ for it, he's losin' it--the ole white -pirut." - -Smeaton's dislike for Avery had no tenable foundation, save that -Harrigan hated the old man and it was natural for "Red" to follow -Harrigan's lead. Fisty had befriended Smeaton when he was able to do so, -and now that Fisty's fortunes were on the wane, Smeaton held -unwaveringly to his boss, with a loyalty worthy of a bigger cause and a -better man. - -Harrigan was wont, when in liquor, to confide the Lost Farm secret to -Smeaton, with many mysterious allusions to "doing for certain folks that -stood in his way,"--all of which Smeaton digested with drunken gravity -until he became inoculated with the idea that he, too, had a grudge -against the Lost Farm folk. From Camp "Fifteen-Two" to Avery's "line" -was a comparatively short journey. Harrigan had suggested pilfering the -fur, and Smeaton promptly acted on the suggestion by making cautious -rounds of the traps. Twice he had gathered in Avery's lawful spoils, and -this trip was the third. He approached the end of the "line" with -considerable hesitancy, peering through the trees as he shuffled toward -No-Man's Lake, at the head of which Camp "Fifteen-Two" lay hidden in the -towering pines of Timberland Mountain. - -"Here's where my tracks fur 'Fifteen' don't go no furder," he muttered, -dropping the bag and unlacing his snowshoes. - -Tying them to the pack, he swung the load to his shoulders, stepped to -the lake, and skirted the edge of the timber, keeping on a strip of -bleak, windswept ice that left no trail. As he came to a little cove -where the wind had banked the snow breast-high round its edges, he -climbed to a slanting log and began to cross it. Halfway over, and some -six feet from the frozen lake beneath, he slipped on the thin snow -covering the log. He tottered and almost regained his poise when a chip -of bark shot from beneath his foot and he fell, striking the frozen lake -with the dead shock of his full weight, the bag and snowshoes tumbling -beside him. Dazed, he turned to get up, but sank to his face with -clenched teeth and a rasping intake of breath. He lay still for a few -seconds and then tried again. His right leg, on which he had fallen, -dragged and turned sideways unaccountably. He drew the bag to him and -propped himself against it. Carefully he felt down his leg. A short -distance below the hip it was numb, while above the numbness it pained -and throbbed horribly. - -"She's bruk--damn it. If I holler, like as not ole Hoss'll come -sky-hootin' along and finish the job, and I wouldn't blame him at that. -Can't drag myself furder than the shore in this snow, but I'll do time -that fur anyhow." - -Painfully he pushed the bag ahead of him and crawled toward the trees, -his face ghastly with the anguish that made him, even in his distress, a -caricature of suffering. His red hair stuck stiffly from beneath the -visor of his cap, and his freckled face became grotesque as his features -worked spasmodically. - -He made himself as comfortable as he could and, with the _sang-froid_ of -the true woodsman, lit his pipe and smoked, planning how best to attract -attention to his plight, "A fire might fetch the boys. Yes, a fire--" - -The faint _c-r-r-ack_ of a rifle sounded from somewhere over Timberland -Mountain way. Then came an almost palpable silence following the echoes. -He raised on his elbow. A speck appeared on the opposite shore of the -lake, moved swiftly down it a short distance, and then shortened as it -swung in his direction. It grew larger until he was able to distinguish -the wide horns and twinkling legs of a moose, as it came unswervingly -across the frozen waters, directly toward him. Larger and larger it grew -until he could see the wicked little eyes and the long ears distinctly. - -"By gravy! He's a-comin' right in at the front gate. Reckon I'll have -comp'ny in no time or less'n that. He's hit somewhere, but not bad--he's -travelin' too stiddy. Mostly scared." - -Smeaton lay back for a moment, then his curiosity drew him groaning to -his elbow again. The moose was but a few yards from him. - -"Whoo-ay!" he shouted. - -The moose swerved, never slackening his regular stride, and passed -swiftly down the lake to a point fringed with cedars. Smeaton heard a -faint crackle as he crashed through them and vanished. - -"Call ag'in, you lopin' ole woodshed." But Smeaton's tone lacked humor. -The cold was taking hold upon him, striking through from stomach to -spine with stabbing intensity. - - - [Illustration: "HERE'S YOUR GAME," HE SAID HOARSELY] - - -Two specks appeared on the opposite shore and came toward him in the -tracks of the moose. - -"They're comin', and I don't give a cuss who they be, so long as they -find me." He lay back waiting in grim silence. Nearer came the hunters. -"I kin see red and green," he muttered,--"and skirts. Joe Smeaton, this -ain't your lucky day." - -When Swickey and her father came to where the tracks of the moose -swerved, they paused and glanced toward where Smeaton lay. - -He raised stiffly and called to them. "Here's your game," he said -hoarsely. - -They hastened toward him, Avery in the lead and Swickey, carbine in -hand, following. - -"Wal, if it ain't Joe Smeaton--and busted. What's the matter, Joe?" - -"Leg's bruk. Fell offen the log." - -Avery glanced at the log and then at the bag beneath Smeaton's head. - -"Trappin'?" he asked quietly. - -Smeaton endeavored to grin, but the pain twisted his mouth to a groan. - -"Why, Pop, he's hurt!" exclaimed Swickey. - -"Co-rect, Miss--I be." - -Avery knelt by the prostrate figure. "I'd have suthin' to say to you if -she wa'n't here; howcome you're busted and Hoss Avery ain't jumpin' on -no feller when he's down. You're comin' to my camp and git fixed up." - -"Swickey," he said, turning to the girl, who stood watching them, "you -know where my shack is down shore. Wal, they's a hand-sleigh thar. You -git it. We're a-goin' to need it." - -"Goin' to tote me to 'Fifteen-Two,' ain't you?" queried Smeaton, as -Swickey went for the sleigh. - -"Nope. Lost Farm. Fifteen ain't no place fur you. Who's a-goin' to set -thet leg?" - -"That's your fur in the bag," said Smeaton. - -"I knowed thet--afore I seed ye. Them's Canady snowshoes. I know them -tracks," replied Avery, with a sweep of his arm toward Smeaton's -raquettes. "I was layin' fur you," he continued; "howcome I didn't -calc'late to find you layin' fur me, so handy like." - -"Damn your ole whiskers, Hoss Avery, I ain't scared of you!" - -"Thet so?" said the old man, grinning. "Wal, I reckon you ain't got no -call to be sca'd. I reckon your breakin' thet leg has saved me breakin' -the rest of ye what ain't bruk a'ready; but it's Christmas to our -house--and seein' it do be Christmas, and not thet I'm pityin' ye -any--you're a-comin' 'long with me and Swickey." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII--"RED" SMEATON'S LOVE AFFAIR - - -Avery rather enjoyed having Smeaton at his camp. It gave him some one to -talk to during the long weeks of winter and early spring that followed. -"Red" sulked at first, but the old man overcame this by his unwavering -kindness and good humor. - -Fisty Harrigan had waited anxiously for Smeaton's return. Finally, he -sent a man to Tramworth, suspecting that "Red" had sold the pelts and -was dissipating the proceeds in riotous living. Upon ascertaining -Smeaton's whereabouts, Harrigan, mistrusting his informant, came to Lost -Farm himself just after Swickey had left for her final term at the -Tramworth school. What Avery said to Harrigan before he allowed him to -see his partner was in part overheard by the latter, as he lay bolstered -up in the old man's bed. He grinned as Avery drove home some picturesque -suggestions of what might happen in the way of physical violence, "to -folks ketched stealin' other folkses' fur." Avery intimated that a -broken leg was a mere incident compared with the overwhelming results -should he undertake to assist Providence in administering justice. - -Harrigan listened with poorly dissembled hate, which was not appreciably -overcome by Smeaton's attitude of apparent satisfaction with his host -and his surroundings. The Irishman licked his lips nervously while he -talked with "Red" and seemed ill at ease, possibly on account of the -proximity of Smoke, who lay crouched near the box stove in an attitude -of alert patience. - -Several days after Harrigan's departure, Smeaton called to Avery, who -was in the kitchen mixing biscuits. The old man came in, arms bare to -the elbow and a dash of flour on the end of his nose. - -"Wal, Joe?" - -Smeaton twisted his shoulders uncomfortably, but said nothing. - -"Wantin' a drink?" - -Smeaton nodded. - -The old man went out and returned with the dipper. "Reckon I hain't jest -a fust-class nuss," he said, "but you'll have to put up with me fur a -spell yit. How's the leg feelin'?" - -"Can't kick," replied Smeaton. - -"I persume not," replied Avery, with a touch of irony. - -"Say, Hoss--I--a feller--you wouldn't say as I was much on looks, would -you?" - -"Not if I didn't want to put a dent in my rep'tation fur callin' hosses -hosses." - -"U-huh. I knowed it. Wimmen-folks don't fancy red hair as a giniral -thing, do they?" - -"Depends on the man what's wearin' it. Had red hair m'self when I were a -colt. Don't jest rec'llect any females jumpin' fences when I come by." - -"Your'n's white now," said Smeaton, with a shade of envy in his pale -blue eyes. - -"What they is of it. But what you drivin' at?" - -Smeaton flushed and blinked uneasily. "Oh, nothin'--'cept I was thinkin' -when I got this here hind leg so she'd go ag'in, mebby I'd kind of -settle down and quit lumberin' and farm it. Have a place of my own." - -"What's her name?" said Avery, quite seriously. - -"Huh!" Smeaton's eyes glared in astonishment. "I ain't said nothin' -'bout gettin' married, Hoss." - -"'Course you ain't. Nuther have I." Avery's beard twitched. - -"Now, if a feller was thinkin' of gettin' married to a gal," continued -Smeaton, "do you reckon she'd think he was gettin' kind of old, if he -was, say, thutty-five?" - -"Thet's suthin' like the red hair, Joe. Depends mostly on the man. I was -older'n thet when I got married.--But I got to mix them biscuits. A'ter -supper I'm willin' to listen to the rest of it." - -"All right, Hoss,"--Smeaton sighed heavily,--"but I guess they ain't no -'rest of it' yit." - -Several weeks elapsed before the subject was mentioned again. The doctor -had been up from Tramworth to take the splints from Smeaton's leg and -had mentioned Swickey's message to the convalescent, which was that she -hoped he would soon be able to be up again, and that she knew he would -be just as strong and active as ever in a little while. - -"Strong and active. Strong and active." The phrase fixed itself in -Smeaton's memory and he repeated it to himself daily, usually concluding -with, "Wal, I guess I am--even if I ain't no dude fur looks." - -When "Red" was able to hobble about the house, it was noticed by Avery -that he gave more than a passing glance at the kitchen looking-glass -after his regular ablutions. By a determined and constant application of -soap and water he discovered that he could part his hair for a distance -of perhaps two inches, but beyond that the trail was a blind one. He -shaved regularly, and sent to Tramworth for some much-needed clothing. -Avery attributed "Red's" outward reformation to his own example, never -dreaming that the real cause was Swickey, who, for the first two weeks -of Smeaton's disability, had tended him with that kindly sympathy -natural to her and her father, a sympathy which seemed to the injured -man, unused to having women about him, nothing less than angelic. Her -manifest interest in his welfare and recovery he magnified to -proportions that his egotism approved immensely, but could hardly -justify through any known sense of attractiveness in himself. - -For the first time in his life, "Red" Smeaton was in love, and the -illusion of vague possibilities was heightened rather than otherwise by -Swickey's absence. - -"Suthin' wuss than a busted leg ails Joe. He ain't 'Red' no more. He's -gettin' almost fit to be called Joseph, by stretchin' things a leetle, -and it ain't my doin's, howcome I done what I could. I'm sca'd he's got -a shock to his spine or suthin' when he fell that time. He ain't actin' -nacheral, 'ceptin' his appetite. He ain't hurt thet none." - -Avery soliloquized, Beelzebub asleep on his knee, as he watched Smeaton -working in the garden-patch which was left soft by the recent spring -rains. - -"Says he's goin' back on the drive when she comes through--and she'll be -comin' purty quick now. Mighty resky, I take it. But Joe knows his -business. Danged if I ain't gettin' to like the cuss." - -Beelzebub stretched himself lazily, and worked his claws luxuriously, -and incidentally through Avery's blue jeans. - -"Hi, thar, Beelzy, you hop down. My leg ain't no fence-post!" - -The cat dropped to the ground, turning a reproachful eye on the old man. - -"Reckon Joe's did enough fur to-day. He sot at it hisself, howcome it -won't hurt him none. Hey, Joe!" - -Smeaton turned and limped toward the cabin, dragging the hoe after him. - -"What do you think about the drive this spring?" asked Avery. "She goin' -to be late?" - -"Been purty dry," replied Smeaton. "Only 'bout two feet in the cut and -the gates both on 'em down. I ain't expectin' to see 'em before June." - -"Dave's comin' in June," remarked Avery, half to himself. - -"Calc'late she'll tie up here sure," continued Smeaton. "Bad enough when -they's plenty of water. They'll need the dinnimite ag'in." - -"Ya-a-s. I shot the last two tie-ups fur 'em, but you recollec' you was -drivin' yourself." - -"U-huh." - -"Jim Cameron's tellin' me young Andy Slocum's goin' on the drive ag'in -this trip. He's got guts, but ain't he a leetle young fur the job?" - -"Hell! there's nothin' to drivin' nowadays," replied Smeaton. "Any kid -can turn the trick with a good man to tell him what to do. 'Sides, -Andy's ole man is jobbin' fur the Comp'ny and Andy's got to work the -same as any of us. He won't work fur the ole man, so he gits him a job -with the Great Western to be shet of him." - -"Pull?" queried Avery. - -Smeaton winked suggestively. - -"Wisht I knowed jest when they was goin' to run 'em through. My gal -Swickey's got a camera what Dave Ross sent her and she's jest dyin' to -take some pictures of the drive. She writ me about it, and I sent word -by Jim thet I'd let her know in time so'st she could come along up with -the picture-machine." - -"I'm thinkin' of goin' over to 'Fifteen-Two,' to-morrow, and I'll find -out what I kin 'bout the drive," said Smeaton. - -"I'm obleeged to you, Joe. They ain't no rush about it, howcome I reckon -you're gettin' lonesome-like fur the boys." - -Smeaton leaned on the hoe he had been scraping clean with his foot. "No, -I hain't. What I'm gettin' lonesome fur is a pay-check what's comin' and -a chanct to make a leetle more drivin', and then I'm goin' to pay Hoss -Avery what I owes him, includin' the skins I tuk, and put the rest in a -piece of land and farm it. No more lumberin' fur mine." - -"If you can hold your lady friend off a spell, mebby I kin give you a -job on the asbestos. They's a expert and some city-folks comin' up in -June and look around this here asbestos diggin's. When we git started -it'll beat farmin' all to shavin's." - -"Say, Hoss, you're whiter than a skunk's necktie, you are. By hokey, I'm -haffen a mind to go you on thet." - -Visions of a cabin and a grass-plot, with a certain dark-eyed young -woman keeping house, fired Smeaton's inflammable imagination. He -secretly vowed that Hoss would make the "all-firedest, plumb-squardest" -father-in-law this side of a place frequently mentioned in his daily -conversation. - -"Jest an idee fur you to chaw on, Joe," said Avery. "But if you'll quit -huggin' thet hoe-handle and come inside we'll have suthin' more -solid-like." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII--A CONFESSION - - -Ridges of honeycombed snow lay in the cold, sunless hollows of the -woods, slowly melting as each succeeding noon brought milder weather. -With the April rains the myriad inch-deep streams sprang to clamoring -torrents that swelled and burst over the level of their gutted courses. -They lapped the soft loam from the tree-roots until the clear snow-water -was stained with streaks of brown, in which floated mildewing patches of -clotted leaves. - -Moss-banked logs and boulders steamed as the sun found them through the -dripping trees, and a faint, almost imperceptible mist softened the -nakedness of beech and maple, while on the skyline the hills wavered in -a blue opaqueness that veiled their rich dark-green pinnacles of spruce -and pine. - -On the skidways dotted along the North Branch, that swept eddying into -Lost Lake, the lumbermen toiled from the first glimmer of dawn until -dusk, running the logs to the river until its broad surface was one -moving floor of crowding timbers. Day after day the logs swept down to -the lake and rolled lazily in the slow wash of the waves, and day after -day the lumbermen dogged them with grim persistence until the timbers, -herded at the lower end of the lake, lay secure against adverse winds -behind the booms. - -From Lost Farm Camp, Avery could see the smoke of the wangan below, as -he stood on the cabin porch watching the distant figures on the lake -shore; as they moved here and there, their actions, at that distance, -suggesting the unintelligible scurrying of ants. - -"They ain't wastin' no time!" he exclaimed. "Cook's on the job a'ready, -and Swickey ain't here yit. Howcome they's goin' to be plenty of chances -to take pictures afore they run _thet_ drive through. Water's turrible -low fur this time of year." He shook his head. "Wal, when the railrud -gits here, thet'll settle the drive. Reckon this is the last time the -boys will run 'em through. Lumberin' ain't what it used to be." He shook -his head again as the memory of his early days with the Great Western -came to him. - -Smoke, who squatted beside him, stood up and sniffed, nose high in air. - -"What you smellin', Smoke? Injuns?" - -The dog wagged his tail a very little, but kept his eyes fixed on the -edge of the clearing where the Tramworth road entered. - -"Yes, I hear 'em, too, Smoke. Guess it's Swickey and Jim. Reckoned she'd -come purty quick now, seein' as Joe Smeaton's been to Tramworth three -times to tell her." - -As the wagon drew nearer, Avery peered beneath his hand. "If thet's Jim -Cameron, he's changed some sence he was here last. It's Swickey sure -'nough, but who that feller is a-drivin'--why, it's Jim's hosses, but, -bless my buttins, if it ain't Joe Smeaton drivin' 'em. Hello, Joe! What -become of Jim?" - -Smeaton pulled up the team and Swickey jumped down, and fondled Smoke. -Then she turned to greet her father. - -"Sick," said Smeaton. "Took sick last Sat'day with ammonia--so Miss -Cameron says. I knowed Swickey was sot on photygrafin' the drive, so I -borried the team offen Jim and brung her." - -"It was very kind of you, Joe," said Swickey, blushing. - -"Thet's all right, Swickey. I ain't forgettin' what your Pa done fur -me,--and I ain't a-goin' to. Guess I'll drive back to the Knoll, fur -Jim's pow'ful oneasy 'bout this here team." - -"Better stay and have dinner, Joe," said Avery, as Swickey, rollicking -with Smoke, went into the cabin. - -"Guess I'll jog along, Hoss. Say," he continued, "you got the finest, -bulliest gal what ever growed up in these here woods, Hoss Avery." And -then, as though ashamed of his enthusiasm, he turned and climbed to the -wagon-seat, swung the horses with a jerk that threatened an upset, and -careened down the hill at a pace that surprised Avery by its -recklessness. - -"Wal, Swickey, so you're here--and lookin' like a bunch of hollyhocks. -How's Miss Wilkins?" - -"Just as nice as ever. My, Pop! but it's warm in here with the stove -going." - -"Wal, 't ain't so warm when the sun goes down," he replied, glancing at -her flushed face. Her lids drooped. "What's the matter, Swickey?" - -"Oh, nothing--I"--she hesitated and sat down by the window, her foot -tapping the floor. - -"Thought mebby you had suthin' to say. Ain't worried 'bout anything, be -you?" He patted her head, gazing down at her with quiet tenderness. - -She looked up and laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. "Oh, Pop, I -just must tell you. Don't laugh at me, but I know it sounds foolish. Joe -Smeaton asked me to marry him." - -"Joe Smeaton--asked--ye--to marry him? Wal, jumpin' snakes, what's -a-coming next?" - -"He was very nice about it," she replied. "He said he wanted to settle -down and go to farming--and that he knew I couldn't ever like him. Said -he hadn't any right to ask, but he just couldn't help it. That he -couldn't sleep until he heard me say 'Yes' or 'No,' and that he'd stop -chewing tobacco forever if--Oh, dear! I didn't know whether to laugh or -cry, he was so serious and so uncomfortable--and he was chewing tobacco -when he asked me. I cried a little, I guess. Anyway, he said he knew I'd -say 'No,' but that he felt better already. Then I laughed and so did he, -and that made me cry again, it sounded so mournful. Poor Joe." - -"Poor soapsuds!" exclaimed Avery. "The idee of him, thet red-headed, -chiny-eyed--" - -"Father!" - -"Wal, I reckon Joe has feelin's the same as any human critter. He ain't -the wust feller this side of 'Fifteen'--and I can't say as I blame him." - -Swickey's color flooded to her brows. "That isn't all, Pop. There was -another one--Andy Slocum." - -Avery's chest swelled as he suppressed an exclamation. "I promised not -to laugh, Swickey, but I'm feared I'll bust if I don't do suthin' else. -'Nother one! Andy Slocum? Jest wait a minute while I light up and -smoke--it'll come easier." - -He filled his pipe, lighted it, and puffed solemnly. "Go ahead, Swickey. -I'm bracin' up and waitin'." - -"You aren't angry, are you, Pop?" - -"Not the kind you mean. I ain't mad at nobody in pa'tic'ler. Jest bilin' -inside like when a feller steps on a bar'l-hoop in the grass. No sense -in gettin' mad at the hoop, and no sense in gettin' mad at hisself fur -steppin' on it--and no use gettin' mad anyhow--but thet ain't sayin' he -don't get mad." - -Swickey continued hurriedly. "Andy used to come and see me at Miss -Wilkins's when he was not in the lumber-camp. I thought he just liked me -the same as the other boys--" - -"Other boys--ya-a-s," said Avery, removing his pipe and spitting -deliberately on the clean floor of the room, which unusual action proved -his complete absorption in the subject. - -"--Till he wrote me that letter and sent the ring--" - -"Oh, he sent a ring, hey? Go ahead, Swickey, my insides is settlin' -down." - -"Of course I sent it back--Miss Wilkins said I ought to,"--Swickey -sighed,--"and one Sunday he met me after church and walked home with me. -That was the time when he said he wanted to marry me--and tried to kiss -me. I was afraid of him at first, but I don't think he will ever try to -do that again." - -"Did you cuff him good?" said Avery. - -"No, I didn't have to do that. But I told him something he'll remember. -You know Andy thinks all the Tramworth girls are just waiting to marry -him. Besides, he drinks whiskey, and I'll never marry a man who does -that." - -"I ain't howlin' temp'rance m'self," said her father, "but you're plumb -c'rrect, leetle gal." He paused for a moment and contemplated the bowl -of his pipe. "Dave Ross don't drink--thet is, so fur as I know." - -Swickey ignored his reference to David. "Andy promised to quit -drinking--" - -"Did he quit fust or promise fust?" Avery's tone conveyed a certain -degree of skepticism. - -"I don't know." She arose and went to her father, throwing her arms -round his neck. "I don't know, Pop. I wish," she sobbed, "I wish my -mother was here to talk to." - -"Thar, thar, leetle gal, I wisht she was too. Many's the time I've been -wantin' to talk to her 'bout--wal, you, fur instance, and lots of other -things. See, you're makin' Smoke feel bad, to say nothin' of your Pa. I -don't care how many fellers wants to marry you, so long as they don't. -Thar! now you've upset my pipe right on your dress." - -Swickey hurriedly disengaged herself and brushed the ashes from her -skirt. - -"Dave says in his letter thet thet young Bascomb, the surveyor feller, -is comin' up with him. They ought to be along purty soon now." - -"What! that Mr. Bascomb that tried to buy our place--and get the -asbestos?" - -"Yes, thet's the feller." - -"I didn't think Dave would have anything to do with him after what -happened. What is _he_ coming for?" - -"Dave writ that he and Bascomb had jined forces--said he'd explain when -he comes. I reckon it's all right, seein' as it _is_ Dave; howcome I'm -kind of tired worryin' 'bout the whole dinged business, but I gave my -word to Dave and I'm going to stick to it." - -"Of course you are, Pop. Dave would be disappointed if anything went -wrong now." - -"Thet's it. I ain't forgettin' what Dave Ross done fur you when he fust -come here; not sayin' thet thet makes all the diff'runce. Dave's purty -good leather at most anything he tackles." - -Swickey made no comment and the old man arose and walked to the door. - -"Guess I'll jog down to the dam and see what's doin'. Thet'll give you a -spell to ketch your breath ag'in." - -"All right, Pop." - -Swickey sat gazing out of the window. She was thinking of a summer -midnight some three years ago, when a very frightened, barefooted little -girl had tapped on a cabin window to waken the Dave whom she scarcely -knew then--and of his patience and gravity when she asked him to -purchase the book and the "specs" for Pop. "He didn't really laugh -once," she thought, and her heart warmed toward the absent David as she -pictured him traveling once more to Lost Farm, eager, as his letters had -stated, "to see her and her father again more than any one else in the -world." How well she remembered his keen, steady glance; his grave lips -that smiled so unexpectedly at times; even the set of his shoulders and -the vigorous swing of his stride. - -She stepped to the glass and surveyed her face with an expression of -approval. She drew quickly back, however, as the crunch of calked boots -sounded on the porch. - -"One of the men to see Pop," she thought, and went to the door. "Oh, -it's you!" - -The rugged, boyish figure of Andy Slocum, clothed in riverman's garb, -confronted her. - -"Why, I thought--" She hesitated, leaning against the door-frame. - -"Oh, it's me all right. On the job with both feet. I come up to have a -talk with you." He breathed heavily, and stared at her in a manner too -direct to be natural, even for him. - -"If it's about me"--she began--"why, Andy, I can't. I just can't. You -know that." - -"'T ain't much of a reason, Nanette--'just can't.' I've been comin' to -see you for more than a year now. What makes you say you 'just can't'? -Ain't I good enough for you?" - -She smiled. Then her face became suddenly grave. - -"Andy, I like you--I always liked you; but, honest now, Andy, do _you_ -think a man that comes straight from Jules's place to ask a girl to -marry him is going to quit drinking _after_ he's married?" - -Slocum's face flamed. "Who said I was at Jules's place?" - -She smiled again. "It didn't need telling, Andy. You're saying it -plainer every minute. Besides," she continued, "I saw you coming from -Jules's when I came from Tramworth with Joe Smeaton." - -Slocum laughed. "Joe Smeaton? Is it him?" - -She resented his tone by maintaining a silence that he interpreted as an -assent to his question. - -"Ain't they no chance if I quit?" - -"I want you to quit, Andy," she replied slowly, as a motherly, almost -pitying expression settled on her young face. "I like you more than most -any of the men I know, but I guess there's no chance. I can't help it." - -Slocum stood before her like a self-conscious and disappointed -schoolboy. He had what his associates termed "plenty of nerve," but -Swickey's clear brown eyes seemed to read him through and through, and -he resented it by exclaiming,-- - -"It's that man Ross, then." - -Swickey flushed despite herself. - -"I knowed it," he said quickly. "So that's what he's been hanging round -Lost Farm for. Hoss Avery's partner! Makin' no show of courtin' you--and -he wins. Well, I'll say this, Ross is straight, and seein' somebody had -to get you, I'm glad it's him instead of that plug Smeaton." - -Swickey's eyes twinkled. "So somebody had to get me--you're sure about -that, Andy?" - -He frowned, but she stepped close to him and put her hands on his -shoulders. "Andy, I like you better than ever for saying what you did -about Mr. Ross, but he has never said a word to me about--that. I was -only fifteen when he left here." - -"Then it's Joe. But how in thunder you can--" - -She interrupted him gently. "It's nearly supper-time, Andy, and my -father will be along soon." She looked straight in his face and smiled -wistfully. "Andy, good-bye. You're going on with the drive, and perhaps -I won't see you again till next spring." And much to his astonishment -she bent forward and kissed him. "Good-bye, Andy." - -Never a word said the young riverman as he turned and clattered down the -trail, his calked boots rasping on the pebbles. He paused as he came -opposite the wangan tents. He could hear some of the men laughing and -talking about Joe Smeaton. - -"Hell!" he muttered; "he wins--I lose. No accountin' for a girl's likes. -But she kissed me and that's mine to keep--and it's all I get." - -He felt a half-guilty pleasure in the knowledge that she had kissed him, -"without even askin'," he added, as he thought of it. Unfortunately he -missed the serene joy that might have assuaged his disappointment to -some extent had he been capable of understanding the quality of the love -that prompted Swickey's action. - -As it was, he swung blindly past a group of men who spoke to him, and -entered the woods bordering the Tramworth road. "Huh!" exclaimed one of -the men; "Andy's gettin' swelled up on his new job." - -"From where he's headed for, I reckon he's goin' to Jules--fur some -nerve." - -"Jules sellin' booze ag'in?" asked the first speaker. - -"Ag'in?" replied the other. "When did he quit? Huh, Pug, he's allus got -it--when you're heeled." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV--RIVALS - - -About six o'clock in the evening of the next day, when the boys at -"Fifteen-Two" were finding room for their legs under the long pine -tables spread with an imposing array of cookies, doughnuts, hot biscuit, -fried ham, potatoes, jam, and pies, Slocum, stumbling through the -doorway, paused in the shadow cast by the lamps. - -The log-jam down the river was being discussed in rich and glowing -numbers. The talk was colored with fragmentary experiences of former -days on the drive. Statistics were handled carelessly, to say the least, -and disputed in pointed language, which, if not always logical, seemed -convincing, especially to the speakers. The men rasped each other with -barbed and prickly oaths that passed with them as slang. Every one was -happy in a boisterous fashion, when Slocum, hitherto unnoticed, -exclaimed,-- - -"They ain't a bug-chasin' son-of-a-duck what can find the tender spot in -a jam quicker 'n ole Hoss Avery. He ain't a lady's man"--with a leer at -Smeaton--"and he ain't scared of nothin' what walks, creeps, or flies." - -He raised an outstretched arm grandiloquently, to command the attention -he thought due, and continued with drunken solemnity,-- - -"'Cept me." - -"Are you walkin', creepin', or flyin' now, Andy?" - -Slocum swayed a little and scowled. Then he drew himself up with -questionable dignity. - -"'Cept me," he repeated. - -The men laughed. "It's a good thing Hoss ain't here," said the -blacksmith, "'cause he'd be so scared he couldn't eat nothin'." - -Slocum, vaguely realizing that he was being made sport of, with the -illogical turn of a drunken mind, cursed the absent Hoss Avery rabidly. - -"Thet'll do, Andy," said Joe Smeaton kindly. "You jest keep a few of -them fancy trimmin's against the next time you meet Hoss. Mebby he'll -like to hear 'em and mebby he won't." - -"What's it to you, you sneakin', red-headed sliver--" He hesitated, then -pursued his former line of argumentation. "I kin make him eat 'em raw," -he whispered melodramatically. - -"Like to be thar when you're feeding him," said Smeaton good-naturedly. - -The men laughed again. There was a bantering note in the laughter, -especially from Harrigan's end of the table. - -"And you, too, you red-headed--!" said Slocum, shaking his fist at -Smeaton. - -The laughter died away. The men were unnaturally quiet. - -Smeaton mastered himself with an effort. "You'll be gettin' pussonel -next." - -He was apparently unruffled, although a red tinge, creeping slowly up -the back of his neck, showed what the effort had cost him. - -Slocum, dully conscious that he had assumed a false position, hunted -more trouble to cover his irritation. As the cookee, a lad of sixteen, -passed him, he snickered. Slocum turned, and, much quicker than his -condition seemed to warrant, struck the lad with the flat of his hand. -The cookee, taken by surprise, jumped backward, caught his heel on one -of the benches and crashed to the floor, striking his head on the bench -as he fell. - -Joe Smeaton jumped and struck in one motion. Slocum took the floor like -a sack of potatoes. - -"Guess that settles it," said Smeaton, as he stood over the quiet form, -waiting for the next move. - -The men shuffled to their feet, and gathered round, silent but -sharp-eyed. If there was to be any more of it they were ready. Finally, -one of them took a drinking-pail from one of the tables and poured a -generous stream on the cookee. - -Some one offered a like service to Slocum, but Harrigan interfered, -shouldering his way through the group. "Leave him be! I'll take care of -him. They ain't no one goin' to raise hell in this here shanty long as -I'm boss. Here you, Sweedie, give us a lift." - -They carried the limp, unconscious Andy to the stable and laid him in a -clean stall. Harrigan paused to throw a blanket over him. When he -returned to the shanty the cookee was seated on a bench crying. - -"Here, you! Shut up and git back on th' job, quick!" - -The strain eased a bit when the boy resumed his occupation. Andy -Slocum's friends evidently thought their man deserved his "medicine." - -"Joe took more lip than I would 'a'," remarked a disgruntled -belligerent. - -"That so?" asked another. "Well, they's some here as would of used boots -followin' the punch, and been glad to git the chanct at Andy--not namin' -any names." - -Next morning Harrigan sent the cookee out to call Slocum to breakfast, -but the young riverman had departed. "Prob'ly back on the job," remarked -one. - -"Yes, and it's where we'll all be afore night. Things is tied up bad in -the gorge. Then the wangan fur us--tentin' on the ole camp-ground fer -fair, but, oh, Lizzie, when we hit Tramworth--lights out, ladies." - -"Lucky if some of your lights ain't out afore you hit there," came from -a distant corner of the shanty. - -"Aw, say, deacon blue-belly, come off the roost. Say, fellus, let's -eat." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV--ON THE DRIVE - - -Joe Smeaton's regard for Swickey had been increased rather than -diminished by her kindly but decisive answer to his suit. "If they ever -was angels what wore blue dresses, she's one of 'em," he confided to -himself, as he beckoned mysteriously to the cookee. The rest of the men -had already filed out of the camp and down toward the river. - -"Here, Sliver, want to make a quarter?" The lad ambled toward him. "Sure -ting, Joe,--it's up to you." - -"When you git through here I want you to skin over to Hoss Avery's place -and tell his gal Swickey--now quit grinnin' and git this straight--thet -they's goin' to be some doin's down the gorge to-day. Harrigan's got his -back up and says he'll bust thet jam or every log-roller on the -drive--which means, speakin' easy-like, thet he's goin' to _try_. Tell -Swickey Avery to bring her picture-takin' machine, with the compliments -of Joe Smeaton. Savvy? Here's the two-bits." - -"I'm on, Red," replied the cookee, dodging a lunge from the lumberman -and pocketing the quarter. "Fix up purty, for she'll be lookin' at you." - -The cookee sped or rather fled on his errand. Smeaton looked about, then -went to his bunk and drew out a soft, pearl-gray hat with silk-bound -edges and wide band. He had purchased it in a moment of exuberance when -the possibility of Swickey's saying "yes" was unclouded. He straightened -it out, gazed at it admiringly for a moment, and then, flinging his old -hat in the corner, he set the pearl-gray felt jauntily on his shock of -red hair. - -"'T ain't every day a feller gits his picture tooken by a gal, or thet -kind of a gal," he muttered, as he strode from the camp with a fine -swagger. - -"And look who's here!" cried one of the men, as he joined them at the -riverside. - -"Whoo-pee!" came in a Piute chorus from the boys. - -"Where you goin' to preach nex' Sunday?" cried one. - -"President of the new railroad!" shouted another. - -"Oh, mother, but ain't she a lovely lid!" - -Smeaton jammed the hat down about his eyes, grinned sheepishly, and held -his peace. Meanwhile the cookee was retailing to Swickey the recent -happenings at Camp Fifteen-Two, including a vivid account of the -"scrap," in which his share, he emphasized, was not the least. - -"Hit me when I wasn't lookin'," he concluded, with a tone which -suggested that had he been looking some one else would have regretted -it. "But Joe Smeaton, he fixed him. Slammed him one and Andy went to -sleep on it. Said you was to come down to the jam and take his picture," -he added untruthfully, "with Joe Smeaton's compliments--fer a quarter." - -"Thank you, Mr. ----?" - -"Hines is my name." - -"Mr. Hines." - -The cookee, feeling that he had been rather abruptly dismissed, returned -to camp to finish his morning's work. Swickey locked the cabin and, -tapping a farewell to Smoke, who stood watching her at the window, she -walked briskly down the road, swinging her camera and humming. Harrigan -had called her father early that morning. Avery had handled the dynamite -for the Great Western for years before he came to Lost Farm, and -although practically retired from this class of work, his ability to -"get things moving" was appreciated by Harrigan, who was an experienced -driver himself. The old man was sitting on a log, bending busily over -something, when Swickey appeared. - -"Hello, Swickey. Thought mebby you'd be comin' along. Joe Smeaton jest -went by with some of the boys." - -"Yes, I want to see Joe. I've got something to say to him." - -Avery looked at her for a moment, scratched his elbow, and mumbled, -"M-m-um, ya-a-s, pussibly you have." - -He was toying carelessly with a bundle of dynamite sticks. He would -unwrap one, punch a hole in it with his knife, insert a fuse, and wrap -up the soapy-looking stuff again. He attached one stick to another until -he had a very impressive-looking giant firecracker. This he tied to a -long maple sapling, round which he wound the loose end of the black -fuse. Swickey appreciated her father's society, but not enough to tarry -with him just then. Their ideas regarding Providence were dissimilar in -a great many details. - -Avery liked to tease her. "If you ain't in a hurry to see Joe, you kin -carry one of these here fireworks down to the jam fur me. I'll take this -one. You kin take the one you're settin' on." - -She heard her father guffawing as she walked away. Suddenly he choked -and spluttered. "Swallowed his tobacco, and I'm glad of it." With this -unfilial expression she hurried toward the river. - -The jam lay in an angle of the gorge like a heap of titanic jackstraws. -Behind it the water was backing up and widening. Every few minutes the -upper edge would start forward, crowding the mass ahead. The river, -meeting stubborn resistance, would lift a fringe of logs up on the slant -of the jam and then the whole fabric would settle down with a grinding -heave and a groan. Once in a while a single log would shoot into the air -and fall back with a thump. Up on the edges of the gorge the birches -were twinkling in the sun, and vivid, quick pine warblers were flitting -about. Below was chaos, and groups of little men--pygmies--tugged and -strained at their peaveys, striving to rearrange things as they thought -they should be. The choked river growled and vomited spurts of yellow -water from the face of the jam. Gray-shirted men leaped from log to log, -gained the centre beneath that tangled, sagging wall of destruction, and -labored with a superb unconsciousness of the all-too-evident danger. -Some one shouted. The pygmies sprang away from the centre, each in a -different direction like young quail running for cover. The mountain of -timbers moved a few feet, settled, and locked again. Harrigan looked -worried. - -"Did you meet your Dad comin' down?" he asked Swickey, who sat perched -on a ledge overlooking the river. - -"Yes. He asked me to help him carry his 'fireworks'." - -"Here, Bill!" shouted Harrigan, "you go up and help Hoss. You know where -he is." - -Meanwhile the men loafed round in little groups, joking and laughing, -apparently unconscious of having done anything unusual. Their quarrel -with the river was one of long-standing and regular recurrence. They -were used to it. They leaned on their peaveys or squatted on the rocks, -watching the river nonchalantly. Hardened by habit to any acute sense of -danger, and keyed to a pitch of daring by pride in their physical -ability, they more than defied destruction,--they ignored it. Yet each -riverman knew when he stepped out on the logs beneath the face of the -jam that the next moment might be his last. Undiluted courage raced in -their veins and shone in their steady eyes. - -"Here comes Hoss, fellers. Give him the stage. We's only the awjence -now;" and the boys, with much jesting and make-believe ceremony, made -way for the old "giant-powder deacon," as they called him. Hoss carried -his grotesque sky-rocket with the business end held before him. He -walked out on the slippery logs easily, inspecting the conglomeration -with an apparently casual eye. Presently he hitched one suspender, -rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, and inserted the dynamite in -a crevice between the logs, pushing it down slowly with the sapling. He -fumbled with the fuse a minute, and then hastened to shore. - -Swickey, kneeling, snapped the camera as the rock beneath her trembled, -and up rose a geyser of brown foam and logs, pieces of logs, splinters, -bark, and stones. The jam moved forward, hesitated, and locked again. A -second and third shot produced no apparent effect. - -"Three times and out," said Harrigan. "Hey, Andy! Where's Andy Slocum?" - -"Over talkin' to Hoss," said a driver, as he went for a new peavey. His -was at the bottom of the river, pinched from his hands by two herculean -pine fingers. - -"Thought that last shot would fetch her," said Harrigan, as he came up -to Slocum and Avery. "But she's got her back up. Now, see if you can -coax her along, my buck. She didn't even smile when Hoss persented his -bokay." - -Avery grinned. "Thet's right. I was just tellin' Andy mebby if he was to -go out and _sing_ to her, she might walk right along a'ter him like thet -gal up in--" - -But the rest of what promised to be of entertainment to the boys -remained untold. Slocum skirmished among the men, quietly picking out -six of them to go with him and "loosen her up." - -They strode deliberately out on the logs, laughing and talking. Swickey -noticed that Joe Smeaton was one of those chosen. - -They tried timber after timber, working carefully. There was a -directness and unity in their movements that showed they meant to "pick -her or bust," as Avery expressed it. Swickey, pale and trembling so that -she could scarcely hold the camera steady enough to find the men, -followed with glowing eyes the little band as they moved from spot to -spot. Their evident peril reacted on her till even she, used to such -things, felt like calling to them to come back. She felt rather than saw -their danger. Presently Slocum and Joe Smeaton were working shoulder to -shoulder. Smeaton paused to wipe his face on his sleeve. Evidently he -said something, for Andy Slocum laughed. - -"They's goin' to fetch her," said Avery, as he came to where his -daughter stood. - -She questioned him with a look. - -"I can't jest explain, Swickey, but git your camera ready. They got a -grip on her now." - -Then, amid shouts from the men on the bank there came a crack like a -rifle-shot. The entire fabric bulged up and out. A long roar, a -thundering and groaning of tons of liberated logs and water, and five of -the seven men ran like squirrels from log to log toward shore. Where -were the other two? Joe was coming--no, he was going back. Swickey -raised her arms and shrieked to him. He turned as though he had heard -and flung out one arm in an indescribable gesture of salutation and -farewell to the blue-gowned figure on the rocks above him. Then he ran -down a careening log and reached for something in the water. He caught -an upraised arm and struggled to another log. He stooped to lift the -inert something he had tried so fearlessly to save, but before he could -straighten up, the loosened buttress of timbers charged down upon him -and brushed him from sight. The crest of the jam sunk and dissolved in -the leaping current. - -"Gone, by God!" said Avery. - -Men looked at each other and then turned away. - -Above, the pine warblers darted back and forth across the chasm in the -sun. - -Swickey slid from the rock where she had been standing and grasped her -father's arm. "It was Joe, wasn't it?" she gasped, although she knew. - -"Yes--and Andy," replied Avery. "Joe might of got out, but Andy slipped -and Joe went back to git the leetle skunk. Thet was Joe all over--dam -his ole hide." - -She dropped to her knees and crossed her arms before her face. With one -accord the rivermen turned and walked away. Avery stooped and lifted her -to her feet. - -"Thar, thar, leetle gal--" - -"Oh, father," she sobbed, "I thought mean of Joe this morning--I didn't -understand--and I can't tell him now." - -"If God-A'mighty's what we think He be," said Avery reverently, "He'll -make it up to Joe." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI--DAVID'S RETURN - - -Swickey climbed from the edge of the river to the woods above. Here she -turned to look once more at the gorge, where the released waters, dotted -here and there with stray logs, churned between the black boulders, and -swept roaring round the bend below. Again she seemed to see Joe -Smeaton's lonely figure, drenched with spray, as he waved that gallantly -grotesque farewell. Tears welled beneath her lids and she bit her lips -to keep from sobbing. She longed to be at home, alone with Smoke. -Listlessly she passed along the trail, blind to the afternoon sunshine -that hung soft, radiant banners between the arches of the mast-high -trees; banners that trailed and flickered from bole to bole, touching -the gray-green lichens with wavering gold. Unconsciously she saw the -stones in the roadway and the little streams that winked between the -pebbles in the wagon ruts. So at one with her grief was she that she did -not notice the two figures plodding ahead of her in the distance until -one of them laughed as the other, endeavoring to jump across a muddy -pool, slipped and fell with a splashing and scrambling to secure a -footing. - -She glanced up quickly. The taller of the two men was standing, arms -akimbo, laughing at his companion, who scraped the slimy mud from his -clothes with a deliberation that did not lack humor. - -"It's Dave!--and that Mr. Bascomb." - -The joy of seeing David again flashed across her lips in a quick smile, -but faded in the gloom of the recent tragedy. She wanted to feel happy, -if for nothing else than to make David's welcome what it should be, but -her heart quailed at the thought of meeting him now. She felt it would -be disloyal to the memory of the men whom she had just seen swept away -from the world and its sunshine, to allow herself the innocent happiness -that David's coming meant. She knew she must meet him sooner or later, -and some of her characteristic determination came to her as she -quickened her pace. - -David and his companion had gone on--were walking faster than she. Why -not allow them to reach the camp before her? But the sight of David had -awakened something of the Swickey of three years ago. She hesitated; -then called. - -Neither David nor Bascomb heard her. She hollowed her hands and called -through them: "Dave, it's Swickey." - -They stopped and turned. Neither of them seemed to know where the call -came from until David recognized her figure and, with a word to Bascomb, -left him and came to where she stood. - -"Well, Swickey!" - -He put out both hands and she took them. His eyes told her he had found -another than the Swickey he used to know, and yet-- - -"What is it, Dave?" she asked simply. - -"I'm looking for Swickey; this is Nanette." - -"Oh, Dave," she cried, restraining a sob, "I'll never be Swickey again. -Andy Slocum and Joe--Joe Smeaton--have been killed--in the gorge--the -logs--oh, it was horrible! Andy fell and Joe tried to get him out--and -they're both gone." - -She pulled her hands from his and covered her face. - -"Great Heavens, Swickey! Killed? When? On the drive?" - -"Just now," she sobbed. "I just came from there and I want to go home." - -"Come," he said quietly. - -Silently they walked along. Bascomb had gone ahead of them, for which -she felt a grateful relief. Presently David spoke. - -"Was either of the men a--any one whom I knew?" he asked. - -"Joe asked me to marry him, but--" - -"I beg your pardon, Swickey. I didn't mean to be inquisitive, but you -seemed to feel so badly about it--" - -"It was different--Andy--but Joe. Oh, I wish I could have told him--what -I wanted to." - -David thought he understood and kept silent as they walked up the slope -toward the camp. He could not help noticing the change in her: the neat, -trim figure, lithely erect; the easy, natural stride; the maturing -fullness of the softly rounded cheek and throat; the great, heavy braids -of dusky hair that were caught up beneath her cap and showed so sharply -against her present pallor; the firm, slender brown hands.... He drew a -long breath and turned his eyes from her toward his cabin, where Bascomb -sat, pack-sack beside him, wreathed in films of smoke that drifted from -his pipe. - -Even with his knowledge of the accident, and her grief, so manifest, a -little pang of something akin to jealousy gripped him. So she was to -have been married.... When he had thought of her during his absence, it -was of the girl who "wanted him--just him and no one else." He had never -dreamed of being anything more than a friend to her, even then. But -now.... He brushed the thought aside with a touch of self-accusing -anger. - -"Wallie, this is Miss Avery." - -Bascomb, who had arisen as they approached, laid down his pipe and shook -hands with her gravely. He noticed traces of her agitation and refrained -from making one of his characteristic remarks, bowing as she excused -herself and hastened toward the camp. - -"Swickey's all broken up about the accident. Two men just killed in the -gorge--on the drive. I don't know just how it happened." - -"Great Scott! Two of them killed? In the gorge? Why, we passed there -less than an hour ago. Say, Davy, I'm going back and--" - -"I wouldn't, Wallie--not now." - -Bascomb hesitated; then he turned toward David. - -"Your're right, as usual, Davy,--I won't." - -He picked up his pipe and relighted it. - -"Davy, look!" Smoke was leaping straight up, as Swickey pointed toward -them. Finally, he saw the figures in David's doorway, and springing from -her, flashed across the clearing and bounded against David, then -crouched and rolled on his back, legs kicking wildly as he whined and -barked in sheer happiness. "Well, Smoke!" - -At the sound of Bascomb's voice he stood up and shook himself. Then he -marched to his old master, sniffed at him once or twice, and then jumped -up, standing with his paws on Bascomb's chest. - -"I know you'd kiss me if I didn't smoke, wouldn't you, old chap? Horrid -habit, isn't it? My! but you're looking fit. Killed anybody lately?" - -The dog dropped to the ground and ran from one to the other, uncertain -as to which he owed more affection. Unwittingly Swickey solved the -difficulty by bringing the key of David's cabin. When she went back to -her father's camp, Smoke, after some serious hesitation, followed her -slowly. - -"Smoke seems to realize the situation is a bit complicated," said -Wallie, as the dog disappeared in the other cabin. - -"I don't know," replied David, throwing open the door and entering his -old familiar quarters. "But he seems to have made a pretty wise choice." - -"I don't know how wise it is--but it's a pretty one, anyway. Your little -friend Swickey is simply stunning, Davy. My! what a complexion. No -wonder you were in a 'swesperation' to get back to her. She'd make the -niftiest show-girl in Boston look like the morning after." - -David, busily unpacking his knapsack, grumbled something about having -forgotten to bring extra blankets. - -"Blankets? Don't you worry, Davy. Uncle Walt can bunk anywhere after -that walk. Why, I'll brace the Cy--Avery for a pair if it's necessary." - -"That reminds me, Walt. Remember that letter you wrote to me--the one in -which you sent your regards to the Cyclops and the siren child?" - -"Sure thing. What about it?" - -"Nothing, except I lost it and Swickey found it." - -"Whew!" - -Bascomb's whistle expressed a realization of untold possibilities. - -"She's keeping it for me," said David, smiling as he watched Wallie's -expression. "I told her it wasn't important enough to forward." - -"Well, you long-legged idiot, what did you do that for?" - -"_I_ didn't want it. You may claim it yourself if you want to." - -"But _she_ don't know what' Cyclops' means, Davy. Great Caesar! I'm a -goner if she does." - -"Swickey has been going to school for two years, Wallie, and she isn't -slow. You can never tell." - -"Oh, well, I've got to square myself with Avery anyway. He's had it in -for me ever since I desecrated his Eden with survey-stakes. Speaking of -stakes, did you notice the N. M. & Q. iron was laid up to the creek -below Jim Cameron's?" - -"No, I didn't. I was thinking of something else." - -"Asbestos?" - -"Yes. Livingstone and the committee will be up here in a few days and I -was wondering what we--that is, where we could put them if they stay -overnight." - -"Oh, Livy's a good sort--about as good a mining expert as there is east -of the Rockies, and that's going some. They're satisfied with his report -(you know I had him up here the first year I was in--before you came), -but I think they want an excuse to annex a private car and take a -joy-ride. Say, can't I help you tidy up a bit, or something?" - -"No, you sit still and talk. I'll get the bunks straightened out in a -minute." - -"All right, Mary. Don't forget to sweep under the bed." - -"For that impertinence you may go over and get an armful of wood. I'm -hungry--and you'll have to eat my cooking. That's my revenge." - -"I'll annex the wood-pile--but your cooking--I don't know. Here, where -are _you_ going?" - -"Over to the house to borrow a few groceries to feed you. Come on." - -Wallie seemed in no hurry to be up and doing. - -"No, I'll interview the wood-pile." - -He glanced at his muddy clothes. David laughed. - -"'Tis not alone my inky cloak--there are other reasons," said Bascomb, -with mock-seriousness. "And by heck! here comes one of them like Ulysses -on the home stretch. Well, Davy, when you write, tell them I died a -hero." - -As Avery, coming up the slope, saw the figures near David's cabin, his -grim features lightened. - -"The boy's back ag'in," he exclaimed, quickening his pace. "And the -surveyor feller, too, I take it." - -They went to meet him as he hurried up the hill. - -"Wal, how be you, Dave? I'm a'mighty glad to see you ag'in." His fist -closed over David's fingers vigorously. - -"First rate, Avery. You've met Mr. Bascomb?" - -"Ya-a-s," replied the old man, shaking hands with Wallie, "I have. -Dave's been tellin' me how you jined forces--goin' to dig asbestos -t'gither. Wal, they's plenty of it to dig." - -"And how have you been?" asked David. - -"Oh, middlin'--fur a Cyclocks,"--he glanced shrewdly at -Bascomb,--"whatever thet be." - -Wallie flushed despite himself. He hesitated, and then, glancing at -David, stepped up to Avery. - -"See here, Mr. Avery, I know all about that letter having been lost and -found by your daughter. I didn't suppose you would ever see it, and I -beg your pardon." - -"Ya-a-s," replied Avery noncommittally. - -Bascomb, taken aback by Avery's cool acceptance of his apology, was -tempted to let the matter drop right there; but the simple dignity of -the old man, as he stood silently before them, awoke an impulse that he -hastened to express. - -"I want to apologize to your daughter also." - -"Say nothin' more about it," interrupted Avery. "Mebby I be a Cyclocks, -but seein' as I ain't eddicated up to knowin' it, it don't bother me -none. Howcome I ain't speakin' fur Swickey. She's been goin' to school." - -Avery's shoulders straightened perceptibly. - -As they walked toward the camp, Avery asked them if Swickey had told -them of the catastrophe in the gorge. "Swickey never said much, but I -reckon she sot some store by Joe. He would 'a' crawled from here to -Tramworth fur her--and he went down a'tween them hell-grindin' logs like -a feller goin' to a dance. Wal, 't ain't the fust time I've seen 'em -go.--You're comin' in to eat, ain't you?" he asked, as David said -something about borrowing some bacon and flour. - -"Thanks, but we'll have supper in my cabin to-night." - -"Can't see no sense in thet. Swickey's got 'most everything ready. You -jest come in and feel to home." - -David glanced at Bascomb. "We'll manage to-night, anyway." - -He caught the glance of quick approval in Swickey's eyes, and after some -joking about running two establishments to feed five people, he borrowed -what he needed for supper and followed Bascomb to his own cabin, where -they cooked and ate a meal that "escaped criticism merely because there -wasn't enough of it to criticize," as Wallie remarked, with an -omnivorous eye on the thirteenth and last biscuit. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII--"I WANT DAVE" - - -The rear of the drive had passed, leaving in its wake the blackened -circle of the wangan fire, a few empty tin cans, one or two broken -pike-poles, an old pair of shoes with calks worn to blunt and useless -stubs, discarded and gloomy socks, and a wrinkled and tattered oilskin; -an agglomeration eloquent of the haste and waste of the drive, which was -worming its tedious way through the deadwater of the thoroughfare some -twelve miles below. - -Walter Bascomb, thumbs in his belt, sauntered down to the river with -David and stood idly looking at the pool below the dam. "I've just had -breakfast, but that trout makes me hungry," he said, pointing to a -rippling circle that widened and smoothed out in the breadth of the -brown water. - -"Hungry?" said David. - -"Not to eat 'em, but to catch 'em. Let's go fishing, Davy. Now that -Livy's gone and the committee has fled, loaded to the scuppers with -asbestos samples and Livy's pow-wow (had to laugh when he told 'em there -was enough Salamander's wool in sight to ballast a four-track road from -here to Ungava), it's about time we had a little fun. Taking a lot of -high-brows fishing isn't fun, but that was a brilliant idea of yours, -that fishing-party. Kept 'em happy. Asbestos! Huh! They spent just one -day crawling over the rocks and looking wise while Livy mesmerized 'em, -and four days catching trout. But that's always the way. Take an -'investigating committee' into the woods and let some one say 'fish' and -it's all off except the sunburn. I've got a cramp in my intellect -playing bridge and another in my elbow from pulling corks. _I_ didn't -have time to fish, and now I'm going to." - -"All right, Walt. We'll take a day off. You seem to be in Swickey's good -graces these days--just run up to the camp and ask her to put up a -lunch. It's half-past nine now, and I'll get the rods. Perhaps she'd -like to come, too." - -Bascomb raised an eyebrow. - -"Why not?" said David. "We're not in Boston." - -"Quite correct, Plato. I'll ask her." - -David went to his cabin and rummaged among his things. "Walt is getting -on with Swickey, and I'm glad. The old man seems to have taken a fancy -to him, too;--where in the dickens did I put that reel? Oh, here it -is!--and she's changed completely toward him. Talks and jokes--" - -"Hello, D-a-v-y!" - -He went out and found them waiting on the opposite porch. Bascomb had -the wooden lunch-bucket in his hand, and Swickey was evidently -cautioning him not to knock the cover off, for he pressed it down and -went through a pantomime of carrying it carefully. - -"Oh, I say, there you are. Here's the commissary. Got the 'rods and -reels and traces'?" - -"Yes," replied David. "How's your tobacco? Mine's about gone." - -"Lots of it," answered Bascomb gayly. "Come, let's go a-Juneing, you old -slow-poke. Amaryllis waits without--let's see," he said, looking at -Swickey, "without what?" - -"Without a hat--if I'm Amaryllis." - -"Well, Ammy'll get her pretty nose sun-burned, sure." - -"Don't care," replied Swickey, laughing. - -"But I do," said Bascomb. "I like that nose just as it is." - -They sauntered along in the June sun, Swickey walking ahead. She seemed -particularly alluring that morning, in the neat flannel waist and trim -skirt reaching to her moccasin-tops. The soft gray of her collar, rolled -back from her full, round throat, enhanced her rich coloring -unobtrusively. As she turned to speak to Bascomb, the naturalness of the -motion, the unstudied grace and poise accompanying it, appealed directly -to his sense of physical beauty. - -"By Jove!" he muttered, "it isn't every girl could wear those clothes -and make them becoming. Most girls need the clothes to help, but she -makes 'em what they are--Diana's vestments--" - -"Whose vest?" said Swickey, catching part of his soliloquy; "you're -frowning fearfully, and you don't usually." - -"Just dreaming, Miss Avery." - -"Well, don't, now. This footboard is shaky and you _might_ slip." - -"Oh, Davy would fish me out. Wouldn't you, Davy?" - -"Of course--fish what?" - -"Nothing." Bascomb hastened to change the subject. "How far is it to -this mysterious fish-hatchery that you've discovered, anyway? From what -you say, I should call it an aquarium--that is, if they bite as you say -they do." - -"About three miles. Just wait till you've made a few casts. Nanette can -tell you--" - -"Nanette won't, but perhaps Swickey will," she said, smiling at Bascomb. -As she paused, he stepped beside her and David took the lead, striding -up the slope at a pace that set Bascomb puffing. - -"It's a desecration to call you Swickey," said Bascomb, as he tramped -along, swinging the lunch-bucket. "My! but our Davy's in a hurry--I -don't think I could do it." - -"Yes, you can if you point your toes straight ahead when you walk, like -this. You swing your foot sideways too much. Try it." - -"Thank you; but I referred to calling you by your nickname." - -"Well, I said 'try it,' and you don't usually miss a chance like that." - -"Well, Swickey,--there! I feel that's off my mind,--I think you're -simply stunning in that costume." - -She laughed happily. "Oh, but you should have seen me when Dave first -came to Lost Farm. I had a blue checkered gingham that was--inches too -short. I was only fourteen then, and I cried because I didn't have a new -dress. Did Dave ever tell you about the book and the 'specs' and the two -new dresses he got for me?" - -"Nary a word--the dour laddie--but I was in the shop when he got it--and -I could just worship that gingham." - -"Really? Well, that's too bad. I used it for a mop-cloth only the other -day. It's on the mop now." - -"_Touche!_" exclaimed Wallie, grinning. "I won't try _that_ again." - -"What does '_touche_' mean, Mr. Bascomb?" - -"Well, different things. One interpretation is 'touched,' but 'bumped' -isn't stretching it under the circumstances." - -"We must hurry!" she exclaimed. "Dave's 'way ahead of us. No, there he -is, waiting." - -"Here's where we begin to climb," he said, as they caught up with him. -"Walt, you'd better give me that lunch-bucket. It's pretty stiff going -from now on." - -"Whew! If it's any stiffer than this," replied Bascomb, indicating the -main trail, "I'm thinking the van will have to wait for the commissary. -But I'll tote the provender, Davy. I'm good for that much, and you've -got the rods and paddles." - -"Here," David gave him one of the paddles, "take this. Hang the bucket -over your shoulder and you won't notice it." - -"Castle Garden," said Bascomb, as he settled the bucket on his back. -"Lead on, Macduff!" - -There was no visible footpath, simply the trees which David had -"spotted" at intervals on the route, to guide them. A few rods from the -Lost Farm trail the ground rose gradually, becoming rocky and uneven as -they went on, clambering over logs and toiling up gullies, whose rugged, -boulder-strewn banks, thickly timbered with spruce and hemlock, were -replicas in miniature of the wooded hills and rocky valleys they had -left behind, for as they entered deeper and deeper into the mysterious -gloom of half-light that swam listlessly through the fans of spreading -cedars, and flickered through the webs of shadowy firs, their -surroundings grew more and more eerie, till the living sunlight of the -outer world seemed a memory. - -Suddenly Bascomb, consistently acting his part as the commissariat, in -that he kept well to the rear, stepped on the moss-covered slant of a -boulder. The soggy moss gave way and he shot down the hillside, the -lunch-bucket catapulting in wide gyrations ahead of him. It brought up -against a tree with a splintering crash. - -"Hey, Walt! What are you doing?" shouted David, peering over the edge of -the gully. - -"Just went back for the lunch," called Bascomb, as he got up and -gathered the widely dispersed fragments of the "commissary" together. - -"I've busted my bifocals," he said, as he scrambled up the slope; "so if -there is any grub missing, you'll know why." - -"That's too bad," said Swickey, trying not to laugh. "Where's the -bucket?" - -"Here!" said Bascomb, displaying the handle and two staves; "that is, -it's the only part of it that was big enough to recover." - -He laid the remnants of the lunch on a rock, and gazed about him with -the peculiar expression of one suddenly deprived of glasses. - -"My!" he exclaimed, "but that was a fine biscuit-shower while it lasted. -Talk about manna descending from the skies-- We'll have to catch fish -now, or go hungry." - -David stripped a piece of bark from a birch and fashioned it into a rude -box in which the lunch was stowed. - -"I'll take it," he said. "We haven't much farther to go." - -"Magnanimous, that--we haven't much farther to go. Well, I'm glad some -one had sense enough to make a noise. This 'gloomy woods astray' -business was getting on my nerves. It did me good to hear you laugh, -Swickey." - -"I'm glad it did you good," she replied. "But I am sorry you broke your -glasses. You did look funny, though. I saw you start." - -"Huh! That wasn't anything. You ought to have seen me finish! But I'd do -it again to hear you laugh like that. There goes Davy through those -bushes like a full-back through a bunch of subs. It's getting lighter, -too. We must be coming to something." - -Presently they stood on the shore of the pond, gazing silently at the -unbroken phalanx of green that swept round its placid length and -breadth. - -"It looks good, Davy. I can almost smell 'em." - -"They're here--lots of them; and big fellows, too. We might as well have -a bite to eat. Can't catch anything now, it's too near noon." - -Bascomb surveyed the fragments of the lunch. "By the way, what's the -diminutive for dinner, Davy?--Dinnerette?" - -"Oh, there'll be enough. That reminds me of the good dean. Remember him, -Walt? He used to talk about taking a 'perpendicular lunch,' and he -hardly had time to get even that." - -"Remember him? Bless his heart. Remember him? Why, there was more -character, real good old earthy character in his old brown hat than in -half the faces of the faculty. Well, I guess!" - -Unclouded the noon sun lay miles deep in the centre of the pond, -radiating a dazzling brilliancy. Swickey shaded her eyes with her hand -and gazed across the pond. - -"There's a deer!" she whispered, "just under those cedars, in the water. -I wonder what it's doing here this time of day?" - -"Can't see it," said Bascomb. "Couldn't if he was sitting on this log -eating lunch with us." - -"It isn't a he, it's a doe, and she has a little fawn near her. I can -just see him on the edge of the bank." - -David stood up and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. "I'll get the -canoe and paddle up there. It's down the shore a bit." - -"I'd give anything to have your eyes," said Bascomb, as David departed. -"But seriously, I'd prefer your hand." - -"Is that the way you talk to other girls--in Boston, I mean," replied -Swickey. - -"Sometimes. Depends on--well, the girl, you know." - -"Or how well you know the girl? Isn't that it, Mr. Bascomb?" - -"Not always," said Bascomb uneasily. - -Swickey's direct gaze was disconcerting. She had reproved him without a -word of reproof. - -"You haven't known me very long, have you?" she asked. - -"Long enough to want to know you better," he replied, smiling. - -"Dave never says such things," she remarked, half to herself. - -"Oh, Davy's a clam--a nice clam," he added hastily, as a storm gathered -in Swickey's eyes. "He can say things when it's necessary, but he -usually does things first, you know, and then it takes dynamite or -delirium to get him to talk of them. Now, look at that! He just -meandered down and dug up that canoe as though it grew there. Never said -a word--" - -"Oh, yes, he did. You were looking at me and didn't hear him." - -"Well, that lets me out, but I'll bet a strawberry you didn't know he -had a canoe hidden up here." - -"You'll have to find a strawberry, a nice, ripe, wild one, for it's my -canoe. Dave and I hid it there, before the--the--accident. We used to -come in here and fish all day. I hope the porcupines haven't chewed it -to pieces." - -As they embarked, David spoke to Swickey, recalling a former day's -fishing on the pond. Bascomb noticed her quick change of manner. "She -don't chirrup like that when I talk to her," he thought. They paddled -across the pond and down the opposite shore, enjoying the absolute -silence of the place, broken only by the soft swish and drip of the -paddle-blades. Finally they ceased paddling and sat watching the long -shore-line that swam inverted in the clear depths of a placid -underworld, where the tree-tops disappeared in a fathomless sky beneath -them. - -Bascomb accepted cheerfully the limitations imposed by the breaking of -his glasses, and as the canoe shot ahead again he watched Swickey, her -moccasined feet tucked beneath the seat, swinging to the dip and lift of -the paddles, all unconscious that her every movement was a pleasure to -him. Gradually the intensity of noon drew back into the far shadows of -the forest, and a light ripple ran scurrying over the water and vanished -in the distance. - -"I smell air," said Bascomb. "Guess the atmosphere is awake again." - -"The trout will be jumping in an hour. What time do you think it is?" -said David. - -"About two o'clock." - -"Just three forty-five." - -"What!" Bascomb turned an incredulous face toward David. "Well, we've -all been asleep. It's a caution how the 'forest primeval' can swallow up -a couple of hours without a murmur. Let's try a cast or two." - -"There's only one place in this lake--for it is really a lake--where you -can catch trout. That's a secret, but we'll show you where it is," said -Swickey, as she took her rod, drew out a length of line, and reached -forward in the bow and pulled a wisp of grass from a tin can. - -"Shades of William Black if it isn't a squirm, and an adult at that! -Won't they take a fly?" asked Bascomb, as Swickey crocheted the hook -through a fat angleworm. - -"Sometimes," replied David. "Here's the fly-book." - -"Well, catch me assassinating angleworms when I can use one of these -little bedizened bugs," he said, selecting a silver doctor from the -fly-book. "I'm a sportsman. No squirms for mine." - -David urged the canoe to a spot touched by the shadows of the -overhanging trees. "Here's the place, Walt. Cast over there, just this -side of those weeds." - -Swickey had already made a cast, and she sat watching Bascomb as he -whipped the fly here and there, finally letting it settle a few feet -from where her line cut the water. - -"Nothing doing. I'll try over here." The fly soared across the surface -of the pool and dropped gently over the weeds. - -"Not at home! Well, we'll call again. Hey! Swickey, look at your rod!" - -Swickey's hand was on the reel, and she thrust the butt of the rod -toward the flash of silver and red that shot from the water and swirled -down again with a splash that spattered her arms with flying drops. - -"You've got him!" shouted Bascomb. "He's a bird!" - -The tense line whipped singing back and forth. The trout whirled up -again and shook himself. Then he shot for deeper water, taking the line -out with a _bur-r-r_ from the spinning reel. Swickey recovered the line -slowly until he was close to the canoe. "He's only pretending," she -said. "He'll fight some more." - -Suddenly the line swung toward the boat as the trout made a final play -for freedom. Her quick fingers flashing, Swickey reeled in, stopping the -fish almost under the canoe. "If he gets under, I'll lose him. But he's -getting tired. I can feel it." - -With cautious deliberation she worked the fish upward and slowly slid -her hand down the line. With a quick twist she flopped the trout into -the canoe and held him while she extracted the hook. - -"Say, he's a whopper! Three pounds if he's a fish. And you did handle -him well." - -"Now, kill him," said Swickey. "Dave always does--right away." - -Bascomb managed, with directions from Swickey, to break the trout's neck -by putting his thumb under the upper jaw and bending the head back with -a quick snap. Then he reeled in his fly. "I've a favor to ask, Swickey." - -She turned toward him, deceived by the gravity of his tone. - -"It's a great favor." - -"What is it?" - -"I can't assume the proper attitude of supplication, owing to the -skittish disposition of this craft, but will you please pass the worms?" - -Bascomb quickly duplicated Swickey's success. Sportsmanship was -forgotten in the wild joy of playing and landing big trout that fought -every inch of the way to their final and somewhat ignominious handling -from the water to the canoe. Flies, landing-nets, and fussiness might do -for story-books and catalogues: they were catching fish. - -David sat quietly watching them and smoking. Now and then he swung the -canoe back into position as it drifted from the pool. The rocks gleamed -gray-white on the opposite shore as the sun touched the western end of -the woods and the air became refreshingly cooler. - -"I don't want to end the fun," he said finally, "but it gets dark soon -after six." - -"Why, Dave!" Swickey reeled in her line swiftly, "you haven't caught a -fish!" - -"Say, old man, why didn't you shout?" - -"I enjoyed every minute of it," replied David, as Swickey caught up her -paddle and swung into stroke with him. "The best part of fishing is just -the opportunity to get away from one's self a while, isn't it?" - -"I don't know," replied Bascomb. "I never was much of a dreamer, -anyway." - -"Dreamer?" said Swickey, pausing to turn half round. "Dave isn't a -dreamer--are you, Dave?" - -"He's apt to be most anything, Swickey. He'll bear watching," said -Bascomb. "You don't know him as I do." - -The canoe slid swiftly over the darkening surface of the water till they -came to the place where they had embarked. They stepped ashore and -carried the canoe to the bushes. - -"Now we'll have to travel, Wallie. I'm sorry your glasses are broken, -but you keep close to Swickey and we'll make it all right. I'll go -ahead." - -"I'm agreeable," said Bascomb, "but I feel like a hen with glass eyes." - -He blinked helplessly in the sudden gloom as they entered the forest. - -"This way," said Swickey. "It will be all right when you get used to it. -I don't believe it ever gets much darker or lighter in here." - -Bascomb stumbled along, doing his best to keep up with David's pace, -that seemed unnecessarily fast, but was in reality much slower than -usual. As they came to a gully which they had crossed on a fallen tree -when they came in, Swickey took Bascomb's hand, and, walking sideways, -led him across carefully. - -"It's muskeg down there, so be careful." - -"Sure. I wish this log was a mile long. I like muskegs, don't you?" - -"No, I don't," said Swickey, releasing his hand as they came to securer -footing. - -"Of course it's a matter of taste, Miss Avery. When blindness is bliss, -'tis folly to wear glasses, you know." - -"Perhaps it won't be bliss all the way," she replied. "There's another -stretch of swamp--you remember that place just after we left the old -trail?--and it's black mud, and deep each side of the hummocks." - -"Yes, I know--that you're absolutely bewitching--although I can't see as -much of you as I should like to in this--wait a minute till I crawl -under this log--neck of the woods." - -"We won't be able to keep up if you stop to say such things," replied -Swickey. - -"I'm really in no hurry, even if I seem to be. I'm only trying to keep -up with you. There! Hang it! I wish the chap that put that rock there -had a little more sense of proportion. It's altogether too big a chunk -to be lying around loose on the avenue. Hey, Davy, are you there?" - -"Hello! Here I am," called David. - -"Thought you were lost. This route has got the N. M. & Q. frapped to -suds. I've got a half-nelson on a friendly sapling and Swickey has -deserted me, and it's mud from here to China." - -Swickey turned back and laughingly helped Bascomb to the trail again. -"It's your own fault--you will say things whenever I help you." - -"That's me," he replied, squeezing her hand. "It's my nature to be -gracious, you know." - -"Well, here we are, on the old trail again," she said, as they came up -to David. - -They walked along in single file until the trail widened near the river, -across which they could see the lighted windows of the camp. - -"Father's home," said Swickey. "I wonder how Jim Cameron is? Pop's been -to see him--Jim has been sick." - -"Yes. Your father told me," said David. "Pneumonia, isn't it?" - -"Yes; I hope he is better. Pop went down to tell Jim you were here. He -said Jim would get well right away when he heard Mr. Bascomb was with -you." - -"There, Davy! Talk about 'angels with healing in their wings.' I feel so -sanctimonious it hurts." - -"I wouldn't let it get too painful, Wallie. You know they call Cameron -'Curious Jim'--" - -"There you go--blasting my fair illusions in the bud. For an -out-and-out, cold-blooded vivisectionist of ideals, you're the -heavy-weight champion of the scalpel, Davy--and you used to write -poetry. Oh, Pegasus and autos!" - -"Poetry!" exclaimed Swickey. - -"Steeped in guilt," replied Bascomb, nodding toward David. "He wrote the -blankest kind of blank verse, and the most solemnly salubrious sonnets, -and the loveliest lyrics! Remember that Eugene Fielder you did about the -little boy and his pup?" - -"If you had your glasses on, Walt, I'd--" David made a playfully -threatening gesture. - -"No, you wouldn't, Davy dear, for I could see you coming--and I'd run. -Besides, you'd have to drop that string of trout first." - -After supper David went to his cabin to write some letters. Bascomb -stayed behind to chat with Avery about certain details of the work that -was soon to be begun in the Timberland Valley. - -"I reckon," said Avery, seating himself on the edge of the porch, "I -reckon they's no sense in hirin' men fur the job till the new railrud -gets to runnin'. Howcome they's some swampin' to be did--cuttin' a road -from the creek to the sidin', and we kin git Jim, and a couple of men -from Tramworth, and me, and go at it most any time now. Jim's comin' -around all right, and I calc'late to git him to do the teamin' later on. -'Course you and Dave'll boss the job. Now, about one thing: Dave says we -won't make nothin' the fust year. Now, I ain't worryin' about thet. What -I'm thinkin' of is who's goin' to look after things at the other end. -Somebody's got to do the sellin' and take care of the money when it do -git to comin' in, and--" - -"Davy and I talked it over," interrupted Bascomb. "He thinks I'd better -be back in town when things get to running here. He will probably speak -to you about it." - -"I was jest a-goin' to say suthin' about it m'self, to Dave. Guess I'll -go over and see him now. Comin' over?" - -"No," replied Bascomb, leaning back against the side of the cabin. "This -is feathers for me after that tramp to-day. I'll loaf here awhile." - -"Thet's right. You kin keep Swickey comp'ny." Avery arose and stretched -himself. "I'm gettin' a mite stiff settin' here." - -As the old man strode toward the light of David's doorway, Bascomb -called to Swickey. - -"Did you hear that?" - -"About Pop getting stiff in the night air?" - -"Of course. I don't need night air to make me stiff, though. I bear the -loving marks of the trail all over me. Won't you come out and ease my -departing spirit with a little friendly conversation?" - -"If you'll promise not to be silly like you were to-day." She stepped -softly to the door and peered at Bascomb. - -"I'll promise." - -She came out and sat on the edge of the porch, her back against one of -the posts. - -"That's it," said Bascomb. "'Just as you are,' as the picture-man says. -Your profile against the summer night sky is--There, you've spoiled it! -Please turn your head again. Diana and the moon--" - -Swickey faced him. "Diana the huntress?" - -"Yes, a mythical creature as illusive--as you are. She's very lovely, -too." - -"Does she wash dishes and mop floors and--" - -"Tantalize mortals?" he interrupted. "Yes, she does, just the same as -she used to forty-seven hundred years ago." - -"I'm not going to ask any more questions," said Swickey, "but you can -talk if you want to. I'll listen." - -"Thanks awfully. If you'll sit, just as you are, I'll answer all those -questions you're not going to ask--every one of them." - -Swickey resumed her position and sat gazing into the gloom. She could -hear the murmur of voices from the doorway opposite. Presently she heard -David say: "That's right, Avery." - -"You bet it is, if Davy says so," murmured Bascomb. - -Swickey turned toward him again. "Did Dave really write poetry once, Mr. -Bascomb?" - -"Really, truly, cross my--pocketbook," he replied, "only it's in my -other clothes." - -"He doesn't look like a poet, does he? I mean their pictures." - -"No. Davy looks more like a man. Now I'd make a good understudy to -Shakespeare; don't you think so?" - -"I don't know," she replied, drawing up her knees and clasping her hands -about them. "You're almost too fat. Besides, I haven't read Shakespeare, -and only one letter that _you_ wrote, and that wasn't poetry." - -"You'll forgive me for that, won't you?" said Bascomb. - -"Perhaps. I looked up 'Cyclops,' but I didn't tell father what it -meant." - -"Well, you're the frankest creature! Great Scott! I feel like a worm." - -"I didn't want to make you feel like that," said Swickey. "I just said -what was so." - -"And therein lies your bright particular charm, mademoiselle," replied -Bascomb, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Don't you want to walk down -to the river and hear it gargle?" - -"No--not the river--" - -"I forgot, Swickey." - -She arose and went in, without her usual cheery "good-night." - -Bascomb filled his pipe, blinking in the flare of the match. He puffed -meditatively for a while. - -"Wallie," he said to himself, "you're a chump. Come out of it. She's not -your kind, my boy." And then, as he realized the snobbishness of his -thought, he added, "No, she's a blamed sight better." - -The moon, drifting toward the western tree-tops, flickered on the -moss-edged shingles of the camp; glimmered on the sagging eaves and -crept down till the shadowy lattice of the window-frame lay aslant the -floor of Swickey's bedroom, where she stood, slowly undressing. The coat -David had given her hung in the glow of the moonlight. She took it down -and pressed the soft fabric to her face and throat. "David!" she -whispered. "David!" She rocked to and fro, then suddenly flung the coat -from her. "It burns!" she exclaimed. - -She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing wistfully out of the window. -Presently she seemed to see the river; the tangle of logs, the dashing -spray, and then a figure standing erect for a moment to wave to her, and -disappear forever.... - -She knelt by the bed, pressing her face in the cool white coverlet, the -heavy masses of her dark hair falling across her arms and shoulders. She -lifted her hands imploringly toward the soft radiance that poured -through the window. - -"I never prayed," she whispered. "I'm wicked--I'm wicked, but, O God, I -want Dave." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII--COMPLICATIONS - - -Foot by foot the N. M. & Q. crowded through the summer forest, heralded -by the roar of derrick engines, the clink and thud of spike-driving, the -rattling crash of rock ballast dumped from the flat-cars, the rasp of -shovels as the ballast was distributed, and the shouts of foremen as the -sweating crews lugged the long ninety-pound rails from rain-rusted piles -to the unballasted ties ahead. The abutments of the bridge across the -Branch stood naked-gray in the sun. Finally the heavy steel girders and -trusses were hoisted and swung into place, and the din of riveting -echoed above the sombre cadence of the river. Day after day Avery, -Bascomb, and David, with their small crew of axemen, felled and cleared -away the trees and underbrush between the Timberland survey line for the -road and the creek-bed above it. Finally, Cameron came with his team and -handled the heavier timbers, which were corded and piled for winter -fuel. - -In the meantime the three cabins became a sort of headquarters for the -N. M. & Q. division engineer and foremen, who invented daily excuses for -stopping at the camp to talk with Swickey. She held a rustic court, in -which each overalled gallant vied with his neighbor in keeping the -wood-box and water-pails filled. Smoke paid indifferent attention to -their coming and going, but Avery's halloo as he returned at night, -always brought the dog bounding down the slope to the river, where he -stood excitedly waiting for his triumvirate to cross the dam. Smoke's -boundary was the riverside, and in vain had Avery, Wallie, and David -endeavored to coax him farther from Swickey. - -The summer sun held a tyrannous hand on the dead, still heat of the -woods, only lifted at night or when the clouds, loafing round the -encircling hills, drew together grumbling, and, bursting, shot ragged -flashes through the heavy air aslant the downright volley of the welcome -rain. August saw the dull parallels of steel gaining length after length -on the open right-of-way, which swung round the base of Timberland -Mountain and ran north, vanishing in the distant haze of skyline. - -One evening when the sounds of the railroad camps had died away in the -sultriness preceding a thunderstorm which flickered its silent warnings -across the western horizon, Bascomb, who had been silently listening to -a somewhat heated discussion between David and Avery, proposed to -Swickey that they stroll down to the edge of the woods. - -"Just to cool off," he said, "and get out of the zone of danger," -indicating David and Avery with a shrug. - -Swickey, with a quiet glance at David, who was expounding a theory as to -the rights of corporations in general and the N. M. & Q. especially, -listlessly arose and walked down the hill with the young surveyor. - -"Well," he said, "they've fired me." - -"Fired you?" Swickey's tone was incredulousness itself. - -"Back to Boston. Been enjoying myself too much here. Besides, we need -more money." - -"Oh, then Dave's going to stay?" She was only partially successful in -hiding her eagerness. - -"Yes, Davy draws the long straw. Anyway, he's worth two of me, here." - -"I don't think so," replied Swickey. - -Bascomb's astonishment quickened his naturally eager pulses. - -"That was nice of you, Swickey,--in a way. Do you really mean it?" - -"Don't I usually mean what I say?" she asked, laughing. - -"Yes, I think you do--to my sorrow." - -"Always?" she said, with a touch of unexpected coquetry. - -"There's one exception--just now. Let's sit down on this log and watch -the heat-lightning. The sky over there is just like a big purple Easter -egg turned inside out, with little red cracks coming and going." - -"It's not going to rain here," she replied, with naive assurance. "That -storm will go south of us. They always do when they commence over -there." - -"You're a regular little Delphian Oracle when it comes to forecasting -weather. Can you tell fortunes?" - -"I wish I could," she sighed. "Can you?" - -"When I can see 'em--certified and payable to bearer." - -"What does that mean?" - -"If you'll sit down--no, within easy speaking distance,"--he said, as -she sat on the log a few feet from him,--"I'll explain. This is -'strictly confidential,' as they say, so I'll really have to sit a -little nearer." - -"Oh, I don't mind," she replied, "only it's so warm." - -"I'll fan you, and we'll make this _tete-a-tete_ quite swagger." - -"It's nice--but don't hit my nose with your hat. And I'm not going to -fall off this log, Wallie." - -"I only put my arm there--to--lean on," he replied. "Now about the -fortune. If I were to ask you--of course, this is--ah, imaginary, you -know. If I were to propose to you--" - -"Propose what?" - -"Well, that is, ask you to marry me--" - -"Oh, but you won't!" - -"And you should say 'Yes'--just quick, like that, before you could -change your mind,--why, then we'd be engaged. Whew! but it is hot!" he -exclaimed, fanning himself with his hat. "Well, then, I'd have a fortune -in prospect." - -"But--" - -"Now wait, Swickey.--Then if we should get married and I saw my ring on -your finger, and--and they were Mendelssohning us out of church, with -two little pink toodles carrying your train and the bunch at the door -plugging celestial cereal at us, as we honk-honked for the two-thirty -train to--to heaven, then I'd have a fortune--you. Certified and payable -to bearer, so to speak." - -Swickey stared at him unsmilingly. Presently she said, "Wouldn't it mean -any more to you than that?" - -"Well, wouldn't that be enough?" he replied earnestly. - -"But you always seem to be making fun of everything and everybody, even -when you try to be serious." - -"I know it. Can't help it, Swickey dear. But I wasn't entirely fooling -then." - -"But you'd never ask _me_ to marry you," she said calmly. - -"Ask you?" he said, with sudden vehemence. "Ask you? Why, can't you see? -I've wanted to ask you a hundred times this summer. If I hadn't thought -Davy was--" - -"Dave? I hate Dave!" - -Bascomb, misinterpreting the passion that lay behind her words, took -them literally, blindly following the current of his desire. - -"Don't say that, Swickey. Davy's true blue, but I'm glad there's -nothing--like that--between you." - -She bent her head and he heard her sobbing. - -"There, little girl, I'm sorry I made you feel badly. Come, don't cry. I -love you, Swickey." He leaned toward her and she allowed him to take her -in his arms. "Listen, dear, you don't belong up here in this ungodly -country. It's good to come to, but not to stay. I want you to come home -with me." - -The soft roar of the distant river pulsed faintly in her ears. She was -worn with an unsatisfied yearning that seemed almost fulfilled as she -found a momentary content in his arms. With a passiveness that in her -was pitiful, she let him kiss her unresponsive lips. The hunger of his -desire burned her unanswering passiveness to life as she shuddered and -drew back, her hands against him, thrusting him from her. - -"No! No! Not that!" - -As he gazed stupidly at her, a dim outline took shape behind her bowed -shoulders. Then the sound of footsteps as she turned, and the figure of -David passed across the strip of light paving the grass in front of -Avery's doorway. - -"But, Swickey!" His voice trembled, and he held out his arms -imploringly. - -"No, Wallie. I must go now. It was wrong. You shouldn't have made me," -she continued, with a feminine inconsistency that almost made him smile. -"I like you, Wallie, but not that way. Oh, if you knew, you'd -understand. But you can't. I dreamed--I made myself dream it was--" she -hesitated. - -"David," said Bascomb. "Now I understand." - -With a gracious inclination of his head and a touch of his former -lightness he bade her good-night. "I'm short-sighted, you know," he -said, in humorous mockery of himself. - - ---- - -The next morning, while Bascomb was sorting over his things with a great -deal of unnecessary packing and repacking, David came to him. - -"See here, Wallie," he said brusquely, "you don't have to dig out at the -drop of the hat, you know. I only spoke of your going in a general way. -There's no great hurry--and you'll miss the fall hunting." - -"It's time I left," replied Bascomb, glancing up from his task. "If I -stayed here much longer I'd qualify for the booby-hatch sure. I asked -Swickey to marry me last night." - -"Swickey? To marry you?" - -"Yes, Solomon,--why not? Don't get fussed up--she isn't going to." - -"I didn't imagine you were hit that hard, although--" - -"Go ahead, Davy. I'm bomb-proof now." - -"Although I saw you two by the river last night. I didn't intend to -intrude. I came upon you in the dark before--" - -"No, Davy, it was just after. I don't understand her exactly. Perhaps -she is a 'siren child,' after all." - -"You mean that she'd lead a chap on and then drop him?" David's brows -tightened to a frown. - -"I don't know," replied Bascomb listlessly. "Perhaps I took too much for -granted. She's not like other girls." - -"Well, Walt, I think I understand. It's one of the men that went under -in the rapids that time. Swickey hasn't been the same since. She will -hardly speak to me now. I don't know why. She used to be the greatest -youngster for fun--" - -"Well," interrupted Bascomb, "she isn't a youngster any more, Davy. I -can tell you that much. I'm the kid--or goat--it's all the same." - -"When you get back home you'll feel differently about it," said David. -"When you get among your own kind again." - -"Oh, damn that song about 'my own kind.'" His face flamed and paled -again. "This caste business makes me sick. Why, Swickey's worth any six -Back Bay dollies in Boston. There's more real woman about her than a -whole paddock of them." - -"Well, that's going some for you, Walt, but you're pretty nearly right." - -"You, too?" said Bascomb, with a quick smile. - -David bit his lip and a slow tide of color crept under his tan, but -Bascomb, bending again over his packing, did not see. Finally he arose, -and, swinging the pack to his shoulders, stepped out and across to -Avery's camp. - -Swickey saw him coming, and, shaking the dish-water from her fingers, -she wiped her hands on her apron and came to the door. - -"Good-morning, Swickey." - -"Good-morning," she murmured, stooping to pat Smoke. - -"I'm going out--'where duty calls,' you know. Came to say good-bye." He -extended his hand and she took it nervously. "Good-bye, Swickey. I'll be -up again some day. By the way, I want to make you a present. Keep Smoke. -He's yours anyway, by preference, but I want to give him to you." - -"Thanks, Wallie. I understand. Pop's gone over to Timberland, but I'll -say good-bye for you. He didn't expect that you'd be going so soon." - -"Neither did I," he replied. "Davy's going to jog down the road a piece -with me--as far as the work-train. Special car for mine--little red one -with green flags--to Tramworth. Good-bye." - -She watched him as he joined David and turned with him down the tracks -toward the south. Smoke stood in the doorway watching the retreating -figures. Then he came into the room, sniffed sonorously at Beelzebub as -he passed him, and threw himself down beneath the table with a grunt. - -"Smoke," said Swickey, as she returned to the dishes, "you're getting -fat and lazy. I wonder if you know whom you really belong to now. But -you always belonged to me, didn't you?" - -As though he understood, the dog got up and came to her, looking up with -an expression that said plainly, "Do you doubt it?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX--SMOKE'S LAST STAND - - -As each morning brought a crisper edge to the air and a crisper outline -to the margin of the forest against sunrise and sunset, the Lost Farm -folk grew restless, and this restlessness was manifested in different -ways. Avery, returning from Timberland in the afternoons, busied himself -in cleaning and oiling his already well-cared-for traps and rifle. He -also prepared malodorous bait from fish, which he cut in strips, -bottled, and hung in the sun. Swickey took long walks with Smoke, never -asking her father nor David to accompany her. The railroad camps had -moved north, following the progress of the road toward the Canadian -boundary. David, naturally prone to a healthy serenity, and although -satisfied with the progress of the work, grew unnaturally gruff and -short-spoken. Night after night he walked and smoked alone, till even -Avery's equanimity was disturbed by his partner's irritable silence. - -"A good huntin' trip'll fix him up, and September's crawlin' along to -where they ought to be good moose-huntin'," he remarked one evening. -"He's been workin' like the old scortch, and he needs a leetle spell of -play. A man what don't play and holler onct in a while ain't actin' -nacheral." - -"Why don't he go?" said Swickey. - -"I dunno. I tole him the moose 'ud be gettin' frisky purty quick, and he -wants to git a head fur Wallie. But he didn't say nothin'. What's wrong -atween you and Dave, anyhow?" - -"Me and Dave?" exclaimed Swickey, reverting to a favorite expression of -her earlier days; "why, nothing." - -"Wal, Swickey, mebby they's nothin' jest _wrong_, but they's suthin' as -ain't jest _right_, or else I be gettin' pow'ful fussy in my head." - -"Don't worry about Dave, or me," she replied, going to her father and -sitting Indian fashion at his feet. "You need a rest, Pop; you're older -than Dave--and a hunting trip would be fine. I'd like to get a moose, -too." - -"Wal, a huntin' trip ain't sech a snoozer of a _rest_, howcome it's -mighty nigh time I got shet of that eye-waterin' railrud. I reckoned -when we fust come to Lost Farm, we come to stay. It was purty then. Now -it looks like the back yard of Beelzebub's rightful home, with them -piles of ties and rails and thet bridge up thar in the gorge, grinnin' -like a set of store teeth. Huntin'! Ya-s-s! I feel like huntin' fur a -new place to live, 'stead of killin' moose what's doin' the same 'count -of this here railrud." - -The old man arose and walked back and forth uneasily. - -"Wal," he said finally, "I'll see what Dave says. You kin git your -things ready 'nless you'd ruther go with jest me." - -"I don't care," replied Swickey. - -"All right." Avery stepped out and closed the door. "She says she don't -care, and thet's a woman's way of sayin' she do care, sometimes. Funny -how young folks gits to thinkin' their fathers warn't young folks onct." - -"Dave," he said, as he approached the open door of the other's cabin, -"how do you feel 'bout packin' up and goin' fur a moose up Squawpan -way?" - -"Bully! Wouldn't like anything better." - -"Swickey's goin' likewise. We kin camp on the pond and take Smoke and -the whole outfit. Got to take him anyway, seein' as we're like to be out -three-four days." - -"I'll get ready. When do you start?" - -"In the mornin'--early. We kin paddle up as fur as the head of the lake, -and then tote over to Squawpan, and I reckon we kin make the pond by -night. They's a shack I built over on the pond and we kin take thet -leetle tent of your'n." - -"Will the canoe carry three of us--and Smoke?" - -"We'll take the twenty-footer, jest in case we git a head. Reckon she'll -float thet much, howcome we kin go back a'ter the meat--if you want it." - -"Why shouldn't we want it?" asked David. - -"Wal, bull-moose in ruttin' time ain't jest the best eatin' they is, -howcome I've et it--when I had to. I reckon you'll be wantin' to turn -in. We'll start 'bout five in the mornin'." - -"Dave going?" said Swickey, as her father returned. - -"Sure certain," he replied, but she made no comment. - -Next morning, before the sun had smoothed the gray frost from the -weathered timbers of the dam, Avery slid the big canoe into the water, -and David and Swickey loaded in the various bags and bundles. - -"She's goin' to be a fine day," said Avery, as Swickey stepped in and -sat amidships, with Smoke curled up and shivering in the bow. David and -the old man swung briskly to the paddles, as the canoe rode the lazy -swell of the lake. The jutting points in the distance seemed like long, -beckoning fingers that withdrew as they neared them. The pines marched -round in a widening circle as the canoe slid past in the murmur of waves -over the rounded boulders. The smoke from Avery's pipe twirled behind in -little wisps that vanished in the sunshine. With the rhythmic, -_hush-click! hush-click!_ of the paddles and the sibilant thin rush of -tiny ripples from the bow, mile after mile of shore line wove in and -out, now drawing back until the trees were but inch-high at the far apex -of some wide, blind cove, now towering above them as the lake narrowed -to its western boundary. - -In the mild warmth of the noon sun they ran the canoe up a narrow -opening where a clump of white birches marked the Squawpan Carry. Here -they disembarked. - -"Hungry ain't a big enough word fur it," said Avery, stripping a piece -of birch bark and lighting the small heap of driftwood David had -gathered. "See thar!" he exclaimed, pointing to some great, heart-shaped -tracks in the mud bordering the stream. "He's gone up to Squawpan. Like -enough is waitin' up thar, stompin' around and feelin' mad 'cause he -ain't got no lady friend to keep him comp'ny." - -"Seems too bad to put one of those big fellows down just to get his -head," said David, gazing at the tracks. - -"We ain't got him down yit," replied Avery. "Wal, the tea's -a-bilin'--Guess we'll eat." - -After dinner, Swickey insisted on toting her share of the equipment, -taking one of the lighter packs, as she followed David and her father, -who tramped along with the partially laden canoe on their shoulders. At -the farther end of the trail they again embarked and crossed the pond. -Again they disembarked, David and Swickey walking while Avery poled the -canoe up the shallows of the headwaters, and through the rapids below -the falls. Here they made another short carry, and evening found them in -camp on the shore of a rush-edged pond, round which were many tracks of -moose and deer. - -"We'll limber up and poke round a bit in the mornin';" said Avery. "If -we don't see nothin' we'll try callin' 'em to-morrow night. Have to shet -Smoke up in the shack; howcome Swickey kin explain it to him so 'st he -won't have bad feelin's." - -Despite Avery's knowledge of the surrounding country and his not -inconsiderable woodcraft, they failed to get a shot at a moose, although -they saw several on the distant borders of the pond. Two evenings he had -"called," but without success. Swickey's disappointment was more than -offset by the companionship of David. Gradually something of their old -familiar friendship, with its pleasant banter, was established again. On -the last morning of the hunt she regretted more the necessity for their -return than the fact that they were to return empty-handed. - -As they carried round the falls on their way down Squawpan stream, she -asked her father if they could not run the "rips" below. - -"Ya-as, you kin run 'em all right, but not with three of us in the boat. -If you and Dave'd like to drop down through, I'll take the trail. Mebby -I might run into a moose at thet. If you hear me shoot, jest pull in at -the first eddy and wait." - -She questioned David with wide, bright eyes. - -"I'll go, if you'll take the risk, Swickey." - -"They ain't nothin' to do except keep clus to the left bank," said -Avery, turning toward the woods. "Let the rocks stay whar they be and -they won't bother ye none. They's only a short piece of white water, and -then another, and then it's jest as quiet as a Sunday a'ternoon in a -muskeg." - -As Swickey stepped into the canoe, Smoke followed nimbly over the -gunwale, and curled at her feet. She threw her mackinaw over him, for -the afternoon was none too warm, and he would have to be still for an -hour or more in the cramped quarters of the bow. - -They swung from the eddy below the falls and shot into the backwash of -the river as it swept converging toward the first grim rocks that -shouldered the current to a rippling wedge of white. They dashed -through, Swickey's paddle flashing as she fended off, now to the left, -now to the right, and before they realized it they were in the listless -drift of the somnolent dead waters below. - -"That was great!" shouted David. "Is there any more of it?" - -"Yes, in a minute or two," replied Swickey. - -Each turn in the river seemed to open on a vista more varied and -beautiful than the last. Gray rocks alongshore; banks of brush and -frost-nipped fern that straggled up the easy slope to the forest and -lost themselves in the deeper green of the shady woodside; moss-crested -boulders in midstream, some of them of Olympian dimensions, past which -they slipped on the noiseless current that floated wisps of moss and -river-grass out from the lower edges of these granite islands. The -regular nod of an upright branch suggested some living thing marking -time to the march of the shimmering brown waters. Midway in the stream -an island appeared, fringed with low cedars and crowned with an almost -symmetrical ring of spruce-tops, etched on the far background of blue -sky like fairy spires in some enchanted land. Swiftly they drew nearer -it. The long grass in the river bottom twisted and turned in the -shallowing current. - -From below them came the murmur of heavy waters, lunging between the -rocks, and above its diapason rang a note of eerie laughter as the river -spread again to pebbly shallows and hurried to charge at the rocks still -farther downstream. - -They rounded the lower end of the island and plunged at the next stretch -of quick water. In they went and struck a submerged boulder quartering. - -"To the left!" called Swickey, as David, catching her gesture, threw his -shoulders into the stroke and swung the canoe toward the shore. - -Swickey's paddle shot forward as the bow sagged in a cross-current that -split and spread from the knife-edge of a sunken rock. They whipped past -it, ground over the shingle in a shallow, and darted through a stretch -of chattering waves that slipped along the gunwale and fell behind. The -canoe lurched over the rounded pitch of a submerged ledge and settled to -a steady keel in the lower Squawpan deadwater. - -"That's better than the trail," said David. - -Swickey glanced back at the snoring rips and brushed a spatter of water -from her face. - -"We'll drift and wait for Pop," she replied, shaking the water from her -paddle and laying it in the bow. "Dave, look! Get your rifle--it's a -young bull!" - -Smoke raised his head and twitched his homely nose. "Down, Smoke!" -whispered Swickey. - -Two or three hundred yards ahead of them was something that looked to -David like a tangle of branches on a drifting log. Had it been following -the current, Swickey would probably have paid no attention to it, but it -was forging steadily across the stream. - -"He's yours," said David. "Here, take the .45. That carbine's not so -certain on moose." - -"No, Dave, I want you to get him. Please!" she whispered, as he shook -his head. - -"Couldn't think of it, Swickey. Besides, you're in the bow." - -"He'll land in a minute. Paddle, Dave! And please shoot him. I want you -to have him. I'll shoot if you miss." - -"You'll get him then," replied David. "I have never tried for a moose -before. I'll take a crack at him to please you, but he's your moose just -the same." - -Swickey sat with carbine across her knees, as steady as an old hand at -the game. David was more excited than she. - -"He's turning back!" she cried. "Paddle for the other side and take him -when he comes out of the water." - -The moose was making good time toward the bank and David jumped the -canoe ahead, every atom of his strength in each stroke. - -As they touched the bank, Swickey stepped out. Smoke lay cowering in the -bow, hooded like a monk in her coat. As David leaped to shore he grinned -at the dog. Smoke trembled, but lay crouched in his place. He knew it -was not expected of him to do anything else just then. The young bull -found bottom and waded to the bank leisurely, facing them as he landed. -He seemed to have come a long way, for he was puffing hard. He swung his -head from side to side and the hair bristled along his neck and -shoulders. David did not understand his unnecessarily belligerent -attitude, for he could have gained cover in two leaps. - -"Now, Dave! Let him have it--just in that spot above his forelegs." - -She was watching the bull, and just as she expected to hear the rifle -boom Smoke growled. She turned to threaten him; there was a rattling -crash of underbrush above them, and a second bull, coming apparently -from nowhere, charged right on top of them. - -She saw the first moose plunge into the bushes downstream as she -shrieked, "My God, Dave! Drop!" - -Her cry pierced the numbness of his bewilderment and he stooped, -instinctively throwing up his arm. Smoke shot from the canoe, a streak -of white, and leaped for the bull. He caught the moose by the throat as -the big brown shape reared to drive those terrible hoofs down on the -crouching David. - -Swickey's carbine jumped to her shoulder and she fired point-blank at -the rearing blur of brown and white. Down it came with a clatter of -antlers on the rocky shore. - -David straightened up, his eyes expressing helplessness and horror. A -few yards away the bull lay with his head twisted to one side. David -stood stupidly watching a little red stream trickle down through the -pebbles. Swickey stepped forward, glanced at the moose, and then her -fingers relaxed, and the carbine clattered to the rocks as she sank -down, her head drooping forward to her knees. David was shaking as he -picked up a piece of driftwood and pried the fore-shoulders of the moose -off Smoke. He got the dog's hind legs and pulled him out. The bullet, -with terrific energy at that short range, had ripped through the dog and -into the moose, killing them both. - -Smoke lay, a crushed and bloody mass, his teeth still fixed in the -throat of the moose. "Smoke, old boy," whispered David, as he knelt by -him and patted his head, "you stood to your guns when I was a tottering -idiot." - -He thought of the many times he had teased the dog, telling him he was -"no good" and "a bother," which Smoke had seemed to understand and -accept with a cheerful wagging of his tail as if trying to say, "I know -you are only joking." - -Finally he arose and went to Swickey. "Come, girl, get in the canoe. -I'll be back in a minute." - -"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Don't touch that moose! Oh, -Dave, Dave--" - -"Damn the moose. I'm going to bury Smoke--your dog." - -Swickey was crying, but the sound of digging, as David scraped a shallow -hole in the shingle, brought her to her feet. - -"Oh, Dave, he's dead, and I killed him." - -She knelt and drew the mangled body to her knees. - -"Swickey, don't!" He grasped her arm roughly. - -She shook it off and bent over the dog. - -"Here, stop it! I can't stand that," he said more gently. - -"I'll do what you say, Dave," she said, a new light coming to her eyes. -David had never commanded her before. "I loved Smoke," she sobbed. "Now -he's gone, and there's no one--" - -"Swickey!" His hand went out to her to help her up. She drew toward him, -clinging to his arm, her head thrown back, her lips quivering. His arms -went round her and his head bent slowly to hers. "I didn't know, -Swickey--I thought--there was some one else." - -His lips found hers gently, and the color ran to her face again. Her -arms slipped round his neck and she reached up and caressed his cheek, -her fingers creeping up to his hair. She touched the scar near his -temple, and shuddered. Then her eyes filled again. - -"Oh, Dave, _he_ didn't know, and you didn't--but I knew when I fired. I -had to shoot, Dave,--and I saw white--" - -She broke down and sobbed passionately, her grief and her love so -commingled that it shook her to the very soul. - -"I know," he said, drawing her hot face up to him. He kissed her eyes -and mouth, as her lips parted and the hunger of her girl-heart passed -from her in the wonderment and sweet content of womanhood that gives and -gives, and asks no other happiness. - - - [Illustration: "I DIDN'T KNOW, SWICKEY--I THOUGHT--THERE WAS - SOMEONE ELSE"] - - -Avery, hurrying down the river-trail, stopped abruptly. "Heard 'em -shoot! Huh!" he muttered, as he saw them. "Reckon they was just -celebratin'. This ain't no place fur me. Guess I'll go down the river a -piece and then holler." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX--JUST FUN - - -For weeks after the Lost Farm folk returned from the hunting that had -ended so disastrously, Beelzebub wandered about the camp and the stable, -poking his broad, sleek fighting-face into odd corners, and mewing -plaintively as each nook disclosed an emptiness that he could not -understand. Finally, he gave up looking for his vanished friend. When -the snow came he resumed his old place beside the kitchen stove, -philosophically dozing away the long winter days in luxurious content. - -One December afternoon, as Avery sat weaving the mesh of a snowshoe, -Beelzebub stretched himself, yawned, and sidled over to the old man. He -crouched and sprang to his lap, rubbing a black nose ingratiatingly -against his sleeve. - -"Wal, Beelzebub, what's ailin' you now? Lonesome with jest me here? Wal, -Dave and Swickey's comin' back afore long." He glanced at the clock. -"Int'rested in this here snowshoe? No. Don't like the smell of it, hey? -What be you askin' fur? Smoke? Wal, Smoke's gone huntin'--up a long -trail where huntin' 's easy and they's lots of it. Now I reckon you -better hop down ag'in so 's I kin finish this here job. Thar!" - -The big cat rubbed sinuously against a table leg, circled the room, and -crouched beside the stove again. - -"Wouldn't mind bein' a cat myself," soliloquized Avery. "Nothin' to do -but eat and sleep and feel plumb sat'sfied with everything. 'Specially a -he cat what ain't got no young ones to raise and nuss. But it's -diff'runt with me. Now, there's my Swickey--but what's the good of -talkin'! Young folks is goin' to do jest the same as their pas and mas -done, if they don't do no wuss." - -The old man bent busily over the racquette, which was nearly completed. -Finally, he tossed it to the floor and stood up, pushing back his -spectacles and yawning sonorously. - -"Wal, it do beat the old scortch how things keeps a-proddin' a man to -keep him movin'. A'ter suthin' happens and he ain't got nuthin' to do -but jest live and wait fur--wal, gits settled kind of easy and -comf'table a'ter one shakin' up, long comes suthin' unexpected-like and -says, 'Here, you're takin' it too all-fired easy'; and then, like -enough, he gits over thet, and gits settled ag'in, and afore he's got -his feet on the stove and his pipe lit, long comes, wal, mebby a railrud -and runs slam-bang through a feller's barn. Now, he's either got to hire -a man to open and shet the doors every time a train comes -rippety-clickin' through or sell out and move on like a Injun. And if -the hired man happened to fergit to open the door--suthin' 'ud git -busted, so I reckon we'll sell out and move over to Timberland, hey, -Beelzebub?" - -"Yas," he continued, moving to the window, "young folks likes new things -and ole folks likes ole things and both on 'em likes to live as long as -they kin, even if they be some one over yonder, back of them clouds up -thar on the mountain, callin' and callin' like as if they'd been -expectin' a feller fur a long time. Wal, I reckon it ain't a-goin' to be -a long time afore Swickey comes blushin' up to her Pop and says she's -a-goin' away fur a spell--with Dave. Things are pintin' thet way, -howcome they ain't _said_ nothin' yit. Shucks! but I be gettin' as fussy -as a hen sca'd offen eggs. God-A'mighty never set out to make a better -man than Dave, or a healthier gal than my Swickey, and come so clus to -finishin' the job. 'Course, Dave come from the city--thet's the only -thing ag'in' him marryin' my gal, fur she ain't never goin' to be like -them city kind; howcome he says he ain't a-goin' back ag'in to stay, and -he never bruk his word yit. Wal, they'll git married and raise half a -dozen strappin' fine young ones, like as not, and they's things wuss -than thet happenin' every day. Reckon I ought to be as happy as a -pockapine in a bar'l of apples, but I ain't. Feel like as if I was -losin' suthin' I was never goin' to git back ag'in. - -"Used to calc'late if I had a lot of money, they'd be nothin' to fuss -about. Now I got money and more a-comin' in and it's jest good for -buyin' vittles and buildin' houses and sech, and gettin' things ready to -be comf'table in, but thar's jest where it lays back and folds its hands -and says, 'Now go ahead and _be_ comf'table'--and thet's diff'runt." - -The big iron kettle on the stove simmered contentedly. Avery rammed a -stick of wood into the fire and poked the door shut with another. The -short winter afternoon crept into the sombre cavern of the forest, and -each pallid star took on a keener edge as twilight swiftly lost itself -in the dusk of a December night. Over the silence came the sound of -voices--a laugh--and Avery was at the door. - -"Here they be, Beelzebub!" he exclaimed, "racin' fur the camp like a -couple of young ones thet's killed a snake." - -"That's not fair!" cried Swickey, as she stumbled, and David passed her, -a cloud of silvery dust swirling up from his snowshoes. - -He turned back, laughing, and helped her from the drift. "Now, we'll -start again. Are you ready--one--two--three!" - -He allowed her a generous start and she beat him to the doorway. - -"Hello, Pop!" she panted, as she stooped to unlace the snowshoes. "My! -but that was fun. We raced from the edge of the woods all the way up -here, and I beat Dave." - -"Yes, she got ahead of me," said David, as with a lift of his foot and a -twist of his ankle he freed himself from his snowshoes. - -"You must teach me that hitch, Dave. I always have to unfasten mine." - -"That's the Micmac hitch. My old guide Tommy showed me that," replied -David, picking up the racquettes and entering the house with Swickey. - -"What was you racin' fur?--Supper?" queried Avery, winking at David. - -Swickey glanced at David and laughed. "He will tell you, Pop. He lost." - -"I think the winner should treat, don't you, Avery?" - -"Sure certain!" - -"All right," said Swickey, unbuttoning her coat and tossing it to a -chair. She ran to her father and kissed him. - -"Huh! You didn't race _goin'_ to Jim's, did you?" said the old man, -holding her at arm's length and admiring her deepening color. Her eyes -brimmed with mischief. - -"If you will let me go, I'll tell," she replied, assuming a childish -seriousness that made him laugh. She slipped from him and ran to her -room. In the doorway she turned and, putting her finger on her lips, -cast an absurdly penitential glance toward the floor. "Yes, we did race -going down, and Dave won." - -"Did the winner treat--?" began Avery. - -"Mrs. Cameron was home," replied Swickey evasively. "Jim had gone to -Tramworth. The sheriff sent for him. But I'm going to change my -stockings. Ask Dave." And she closed the door. - -"Jest like ole times--Swickey cuttin' up and actin' like the leetle -Swickey ag'in." - -"Better than that," said David absent-mindedly. Then, aware of Avery's -twinkling eye, he added, "That is--Swickey--you know Smoke--she felt -badly--" - -"Ya-a-s," drawled Avery. "I reckon I know, and I'm pow'ful glad things -is as they be." - -After supper Swickey lay stretched lazily on a camp-blanket near the -stove, with Beelzebub purring a satisfied monotone as he lay curled in -the hollow of her arm. Avery questioned David as to Cameron's absence -from home. - -"I don't know," replied David. "Mrs. Cameron said the sheriff sent for -him. Must be something important or he would have come up to see Jim -himself." - -"Thet Curious Jim's a queer cuss, always interestin' hisself in other -folkses business--howcome they ain't nothin' mean about Jim." - -"Maybe it's about Fisty Harrigan," said Swickey. "Mrs. Cameron said -Fisty had been laying around Tramworth, drinking and making threats -against--Dave." She glanced up at him, and he smiled reassuringly. "And -Jim knows more about--that time--than any one else." - -"Mrs. Cameron didn't favor me with her confidence," said David, as -Avery's eyes questioned him. - -"Oh, well, you're only a man," said Swickey. "We talked about lots of -things." - -"Didn't talk about racin' on snowshoes with Dave, did you?" - -"Now, Pop, that's mean--after my telling you--before supper--" - -Avery laughed in huge good-humor. - -Swickey's head nodded and drooped to her arm. Beelzebub, disturbed, -stood up and arched his back, yawned, sat on his tail and, stretching -his sleek neck, licked her chin with a quick dab of his little red -tongue. - -"Now--Dave--" murmured Swickey sleepily. - -In the Homeric roar of laughter that made the cat jump over her and -flatten himself beneath the stove, she wakened, gazed about her, and -finally got up with considerable dignity and marched to her bedroom. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI--THE BLUFF - - -The ruddy face of the sheriff was wreathed in benignant smiles as he sat -in the office of the Tramworth House. Cameron was standing by the stove, -his hands spread to the warmth. He had just come in from the Knoll in -answer to a message from the sheriff. - -"Whew! but it's howlin' cold. Three foot of snow and more comin'. What -you doin'--keepin' house?" - -"Yes," replied the sheriff. "Bill's gone over to Hike's for a minute." - -Cameron rubbed his ear gingerly, then lapsed into frowning silence as -the sheriff told him why he had sent for him. - -"That's _one_ way of lookin' at it, Scotty," he said presently, "but it -ain't accordin' to law." - -"What is the law in such a case, Jim?" - -Cameron's frown deepened. "To my thinkin'--it's jail." - -"That's all right--but how would you go at it to prove to a Tramworth -jury that he put Injun Pete up to it?" - -"There's them three ca'tridges--and me." - -"Do you think there's a jury up here would send Fisty down on that -evidence?" - -"I dunno--why not?" - -"Well, I'll tell you, Jim. They'd be afraid of Fisty's friends, for one -thing. Ross is an outsider, and there's always a bunch glad to see an -outsider get the worst of it. Besides, Fisty isn't worth spending the -money on to convict. He's all in, and I'm going to prove it to you. But -here comes Bill," he said, as the clerk entered. "We'll go up to my -room." - -"Now," continued the sheriff, as he closed the door of his -sanctum-sanctorum above, "I'm going to hand it to you straight." - -Cameron, astride a chair, tilted back and forth expectantly. - -"In the first place, Jim, you haven't got anything against Fisty but the -shooting, have you?" - -"Nope--ain't got no scrap with him aside of that." - -"All you're itching for is to see justice administered, isn't it?" The -sheriff's eyes twinkled in a preternaturally grave face. - -"That's it!" Cameron's chair thumped to the floor. - -"And now that Barney Axel's over in Canada, you'd be the chief witness -for the State?" - -"That's me." - -"And that's why you want to see Fisty on trial." Cameron's hand was -raised in expostulation, but the sheriff continued hurriedly. "I thought -so. Now, Jim, there's more ways than one of straightening a man out, and -the law isn't always the best or surest way. I've found out that." - -"What you goin' to do?" asked Cameron, forgetting for the moment his -explanation that the other had interrupted. - -"Well," said the sheriff, glancing at his watch, "if you can stand it -for about ten minutes I think I can show you. How's Ross getting on at -Lost Farm?" - -"Great! Got the sidin' in to the asbestuff, and everything snug fur -winter. He's trappin' with Hoss now. Say! and he's done more than -that,"--Cameron paused that his news might have due effect,--"he's -a-goin' to marry Swickey Avery--him! as learned her her readin' and -writin'. That's what me and the missus has figured, from the way -Swickey's actin' of late." - -"Why not? Swickey's a mighty fine girl and mighty pretty, too." - -"Yes. But what I jest told you was privit calc'latin'--but seein' as -you're a officer of the law, I guess it's O.K." - -"Well, I'm glad of it. We need men like Ross up here. When are they -going to get married?" - -"I dunno. In the spring, I reckon, if Fisty Harrigan don't--" - -The sheriff held up his hand. "Fisty won't," he said. "I'll take care of -that." - -The sound of feet blundering up the stairway held Cameron's eyes fixed -on the door. "Some one comin', Scotty." - -"Yes; I expected a visit. Sit still--you needn't go." - -A short rap and the door swung open as Harrigan, breathing heavily, -paused on the threshold. - -"Come in, Denny. Sit down; I want to have a little talk with you." - -"Is he in it?" asked Harrigan, closing the door and indicating Cameron -with a nod. - -"Yes, incidentally. I'm glad you came, Denny--makes it easier for me." - -"Easier?" queried Harrigan. "Now what you drivin' at?" - -"Denny," replied the sheriff, "I hear you're out of a job." - -"What's that to you?" - -"Not so much as it is to you, perhaps. I hear they need men up St. John -way. There's a new company up there--started in last year." - -"Anxious to git me a job?" growled Harrigan. - -"Not anxious, but willing to give you a chance." - -"Chanct? Well, I dunno as I'm askin' any favors or lookin' fur jobs. -What you got to do about givin' me a chanct anyhow?" - -"Nothing, officially. Personally, a little more than that." The -sheriff's tone was altogether unruffled and pleasant. "See here, Denny, -you ought to know me by this time. I've given you a chance to catch on, -but you won't take it." His manner changed as he whirled toward Fisty. -"How many shots did Pete fire at Ross?" - -"How in hell do I know?" replied Harrigan, backing away. - -"Maybe you don't, but I'll tell you." - -The little man stepped to his trunk, unlocked it, and laid three empty -cartridges on the table. - -Harrigan glanced at them and his eye shifted to the wall. - -"Three, Denny; three. Do you think Pete took Ross for a deer more than -once?" - -"So that's what you and Mr. Curious Jim is drivin' at, hey? Well, you -jest git to work and prove that I told Pete--" - -"Hold on, Denny,--don't convict yourself yet. I'd have locked you up -first if that was what I wanted. I'm showing you the easy way out of -it." - -"So Ross is after my scalp, hey? And he's scared to come out--got to git -behind you to do it." - -"No. Ross hasn't said a word to me since the shooting. And from what I -hear of him, I don't think he's scared either. This is my affair--and -yours." - -"Yes, damn him. He druv me out of the asbestos, and now he's tryin' to -drive me out of the country." - -"Suit yourself about that," replied the sheriff suavely. "If Ross had -come to me, perhaps you wouldn't have had a chance to leave the country. -Here are the facts. You bought the rifle and gave it to Pete. I traced -it by the factory number. You sent Pete back after the--deer. I've got -Axel's word for that and his word is good. Cameron, here, picked up the -three shells after you found the Injun in the road. Ross gave you the -licking of your life at Lost Farm. He kept Avery from selling to Bascomb -and you were the man that gave Bascomb the tip about the asbestos, and -your indorsement is on the check Bascomb gave you--for the information. -Besides, you blamed near gave yourself away just a minute ago. Now, do -you want to stay and stand trial or do you want to look for a job up -North? It's up to you. Take it or leave it." - -The sturdy little sheriff bristled like a terrier facing an ox. He took -his hat from the table. "I'm going to the station, Denny. I'll wait -there for the three forty-five going north. She'll probably be late--but -I'll wait." - -"Hell!" said Harrigan, endeavoring to maintain a bluff front; "I'll -go--but I'm broke." - -"That's all right. I expected that. You meet me over there and I'll fix -that up for you; but, just remember, this is strictly unofficial--and -confidential," he added, facing Cameron. - -They descended the stairs and Harrigan, with a surly farewell, left -them. - -"Well, Jim," said the sheriff, once more the rotund and smiling -individual, "was it all right?" - -"Well, I should smile. But say, Scotty, I'd jest like to know why you -ast _me_ to come up to the room and listen?" - -"Oh, there are two or three reasons. One of them was that I wanted a -witness in case--" - -"I was watchin' his pocket," interrupted Jim. "I could 'a' jumped on him -afore he got his gun out." - -"Yes," replied the sheriff, smiling, "and my deputy was in the -clothes-press, in case of a row. You might run up and tell him the -coast's clear. Bet he's about frozen." - -"Now, that's one on me, Scotty--" - -"Oh, it was a bluff, and Fisty didn't have the nerve to call it." - -"I wasn't meaning that." Curious Jim drew himself up impressively. "I -ain't no constable or sheriff or detective, and I reckon I'm sort of a -joke to some folks, but Dave Ross is a friend of mine. Reckon you know -'most everything what's goin' on, but you don't know Dave Ross paid fur -my doctorin' when I had the ammonia,--advancin' the money out of my pay -as is comin' fur next year,--and I reckon you're thinkin' I'd be -proud-like to be the hull works at Fisty's trial,--but thar's where -you're wrong. All I want to do is to git Fisty where he can't do no more -shootin', and if Fisty had 'a' come at Ross a'ter he was married to -Swickey Avery, by God! Scotty, I'd have plugged him m'self!" - -"Shake!" said the sheriff, extending his hand. - -A slow smile came to Cameron's lean features as he pump-handled the -extended "arm of the law" vigorously. - -Then he turned and climbed the hotel steps, whistling like a schoolboy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII--HOSS AVERY'S TRIBUTE - - -Flitting whitethroats and chewinks shot in and out of the sun-patches of -the May woods, and a hen-partridge stood stiffly on the end of a log, -clucking to the young brood that scurried through the ferns, as David, -pausing frequently as though looking for some one, came down the trail -from the three cabins. - -The hen-partridge, unruffled and tense, stretched her neck straighter, -but gave no sign of departing. Farther on, a noisy squirrel filled the -woods with his running-down-clock-works diminuendo as the intruder -passed him. A rabbit hopped leisurely along the shady path, stopping at -intervals to sit up. His left oblique into the bushes, as David came -nearer, was a flashing epitome of startled agility, and as the dab of -cotton on the rear end of the epitome disappeared, David laughed. - -"Feelin' purty good this mornin', Dave?" - -David stopped and gazed about him. - -"Here I be," called Avery, striding toward him David was amused to see -that the old man had been picking wild-flowers. - -"Looks kind of queer to ye, don't it--me a-pickin' posies, though it do -be a Sunday mornin'." Hoss rubbed his hand down his forehead, along his -nose, and so on, to the end of his beard, which he wound round one -finger and released slowly. It seemed as though he had drawn off the -harlequin mask worn on work-days. Despite the all-but-sealed and watery -orifice where his "off eye," as he called it, used to be, and the blink -and twinkle of his good eye, the old man looked dignified, almost -majestical. Perhaps the fact that he was not chewing tobacco lent him a -certain impressive unreality. He usually plunged into a narrative like a -bull going through a snake-fence, head down and tail whisking. Now he -seemed to be mentally letting down the bars, one by one, that he might -carry himself with dignity into unfrequented fields of reminiscence. - -"Mebby you have often been wonderin' how I come to have the name of -'Hoss.' Like as not you have thought of it. A city feller ast me thet -once, but he didn't find out; howcome I did tell him it mought pussibly -be fur the same reason he oughter be called a Jassax. He didn't ast me -no distickly pussonel questions a'ter thet. - -"Mebby likewise you're wonderin' how I come to lose this here blinker. -Another feller ast me thet onct. I didn't do nothin' to him. I jest -said, says I, 'I overworked it tryin' to see too fur into other folkses -business.' And he quit astin' me pussonel questions, likewise. Now, you -ain't never ast me nothin' like thet; howcome I reckon you be goin' to -ast me _suthin'_, from the way you be lookin' at me. And you kin, and -I'll tell you." - -"I did want to see you," replied David. "Of course, you know Swickey and -I are going to be married, but I thought I'd come and ask you for her -just the same." - -"Wal, thet's what I call mighty ginerous of you; howcome I don't see as -you be worryin' what the answer'll be." - -"We intend to go for a trip," continued David. "I want my Aunt Elizabeth -to know Swickey,--I know they will like each other,--and I want Swickey -to see something of the country before we settle down here to stay. We -want you to come with us." - -"Say, Dave, thet's as near to tellin' a lie as I ever knowed you to -come. Do you reckon I'd spile your trip and Swickey's trip by ridin' on -them trains and hangin' around hotels in store-clothes and feelin' -mis'rable?" - -"But we want you--Swickey says she won't go unless you come." - -"No," replied the old man. "Swickey thinks she wants me and she says she -won't go 'less I come, hey?" He chuckled at David's seriousness. "My -whiskers ain't gray jest because I like 'em thet way. I was young -onct--and mebby you mought figure out thet Swickey had a ma onct, -likewise." - -"Of course--I know that, but--" - -"And seein' as I'm givin' you my gal,--howcome I reckon she's guv -herself on the resk I'd say 'yes,'--you jest let me enj'y it my way, and -stay to home. When you thinkin' of leavin'?" he asked, after a pause. - -"We haven't just decided on the _day_, but we should like to go some -time this month. It's May--" - -"Uhuh, it's May ... May," he muttered. "Think you kin leave Swickey up -at the house fur a spell? I got suthin' to say 'bout her ma, and I ain't -never felt like sayin' it to you afore this." - -David came and sat on the log beside him. - -"It's kind of good," said Avery, "to empty out a feller's -insides,--meanin' the place where he keeps storin' up feelin's 'bout -what are done and can't be did over ag'in,--and take a fresh start so'st -he kin fill up ag'in 'thout crowdin'. 'Long about this time of year when -growin' things is takin' a new holt on the ground, birds singin' and -flies and skeeters jest commencin' to feel their oats, I allus come up -here and gits some of these"--pointing to the trilliums he had -gathered--"fur a friend. I allus gits white uns, howcome the red uns is -purty." And he took a single stalk and turned it round and round -meditatively. - -"When I was consid'able older than you be, I was called 'Bud.' 'Bud -Avery,' they called me. Hosses was my failin' and my luck. Nex' to a -good woman, I reckon a hoss is 'bout the best thing they is. I was a -purty frisky young blue-jay them days, goin' to all the raisin-bees, -dancin', trappin' at times, drinkin' licker, fightin' and bein' fit. The -feller what got this here eye, he never tole no pusson 'bout it, so no -pusson knows, aside of him, jest how it come to not be thar. He were a -French-Canady man. He come over the line--in a hurry, too, I reckon--and -brung his sister along. He built a cabin on the p'int at the head of the -lake, near where I was livin' then, and went into the woods workin' fur -the Great Western, what was cuttin' _timber_ them days. I was haulin' -fur the Comp'ny at the time and he was workin' with the crew swampin' -out roads. He never said much to no one and some said he had a good -reason fur keepin' still. And he had. Seems he knifed a breed over in -Canady, fur gettin' sassy to his sister when he had licker in him. No, -the breed--Jules--warn't the drinkin' sort. Jules Marbeau was his name. -Anyhow, he had to light out, and he brung his sister along. She stuck to -him, seein' as the row was about her. She reckoned to keep him stiddy; -howcome the knifin' business warn't none of her fault. Her name was -Nanette." - -The trillium ceased its twirling in Avery's fingers, and nodded at the -pause as if saying daintily, "Nanette, Nanette." - -"I were drivin' a team of big grays then. Feet on 'em as big as your hat -and built accordin' to their feet. They was as likely a team as they was -in the woods. They used their heads workin' as well as their feet. -Long's they was mine nobody never laid a hame or a britchin' over 'em -but me. I worked them hosses--Gray Billy and Gray Tom--by feelin' 'em -through the lines and lettin' 'em feel what I wanted through the lines. -You understand?" - -David nodded. - -"My cabin and stable was a few rods from Marbeau's cabin, and sometimes -Jules and Nanette would come over to see 'Mo'sieur Averee's beeg -hosses.' She would talk to 'em and pat 'em and she were special fond of -Gray Billy and he were special fond of her. Thet hoss knowed her step -and used to whinner afore he seed her comin'. She 'most allus had a -piece of maple sugar for 'em. I reckon thet helped 'em remember, -likewise. I used to go over their way some, too, in the evenin's. Jules -he never said much, but smoked. Me and Nanette done most of the talkin', -sech as we could, seein' I warn't no Frencher, but nex' to a hoss a -woman kin understand some things 'thout talkin' 'most as good as a hoss -kin. - -"Wal, it was goin' on three year I'd been comin' in the evenin's, sayin' -to myself I'd ast her nex' time, but nex' time I come I'd set and figure -how to go at it, bein' short on the French words, to make a good job of -it, and one night--wal, anyhow--I ast her and she promised. Said she'd -take me along with the hosses so 'st to keep us all t'gither. Said she -liked Gray Billy more'n she done me,--jokin', fur sure,--but she warn't -jokin' when she put her hands out and said, quiet-like, jest as I was -leavin' her thar in the moonlight, 'Bud, I know you good to Gray Billy -and Gray Tom and I know you be good to me.' - -"It warn't jest what I calc'lated she'd say, if I done any calc'latin' -jest then, but it sounded like it was so. And it was. - -"Wal, we went to keepin' house, and was as happy as plain folks got any -right to be. Then the baby come, my Swickey--and then we was as happy as -God A'mighty calc'lates to let any kind of folks git, whatsoever. For -two years we jest lived right clus to thet baby, and then-- - -"Wal, Gray Billy was a onlucky hoss. Settin' aside bein' a prime -fav'rite with Nanette and seein' as I'd never laid a gad to him in his -life, Billy were onlucky--fur us. - -"Nanette's brother Jules were 'fraid of thet team,--bad sign, I take it, -when a man's sca'd of hosses,--and one day he come over at noon to talk -about the foller we was goin' to work t'gither in the spring. It was -winter then and he were jest a-goin' back to his work in the woods, when -Billy, what was standin' steamin' in the cold from a big mornin's -haulin', shook hisself, makin' a sharp rattlin' noise with the -trace-hooks. Jules he had hair-trigger nerves and he throwed up one arm -like as if some one was comin' from behint, and stepped back a'most -under Gray Billy's nose. Thet hoss didn't jerk up his head like I seen -some. No, sir! He brung his head down slantin' and quick, and he bit. He -was a big hoss and pow'ful. Then I knowed Jules was bad clean through, -howcome I kin sca'cely say _how_ I knowed. - -"Jules he screamed, and afore I could wink he had thet quick knife of -his 'n into Gray Billy twict. You won't think I'm jokin' when I tell you -I felt thet knife like as if it was in me. And I'd ruther it had of -been. - -"Billy riz up and a'most fell back, but I didn't wait to see what come -of him. I quit feelin' like a human. I commenced to feel big and strong -and quiet inside, like God A'mighty. I walked over to Jules, takin' off -my mackinaw as I went. He didn't move. Jest stood thar holdin' thet -knife as was drip, drip, drippin', makin' leetle red holes in the snow. - -"'Keep the knife,' I says. 'You are a-goin' to need it'; and then I only -recollec' suthin' hot across this here eye and I had a holt of him. I -could lift a bar'l of flour by the chimes, them days.... When I had -stomped what I reckoned to be all the life outen him, I took Gray Billy -by the forelock--his bridle bein' off so 'st he could eat--and led him -up to the thing on the snow. 'Billy,' I says, 'I can't see good--suthin' -queer in my eyes, but I kin see a black suthin' on the snow what mebby -was a man onct and mebby not. Thet man stuck a knife into you, but he -won't stick no hosses no more.' - -"Then I led Billy acrost the thing on the snow, twict, but thet hoss -stepped over it, instid of on it as I were wishful. Then I kind of -slumped down ag'in' a tree and went to sleep. The boys come back on the -road a'ter the noon spell, and found me settin' ag'in' the tree, and -_it_ layin' on the snow, and Gray Billy a-shiverin' whenever anybody -come a-nigh him. The hoss got along purty good, but was always a bit -tetchy a'ter thet knifin' business. He never feared me none, though. -Jules warn't dead, which were no fault of mine, but Gray Billy's. - -"I recollec' layin' in the cabin thet night, listenin' to the kettle -bilin' and the baby chirrupin' and Nanette movin' round. She come in -whar I was and see I was some easier than when they fetched me home. -'Bud,' she says, 'you almos' keel Jule.' 'Reckon I have,' says I. 'Ain't -he dead yit?' She didn't say nothin' to thet. 'You seen Billy's -shoulder?' says I. 'Oui, Bud,' she says. Thet was all. A woman kin -understand some things without talkin' 'most as good as a hoss kin. But -Billy were onlucky. Jules he pulled through--them kind allus does--and -went up into Canady ag'in--Northwest Territ'ry this time. Spring come -and I got so 'st I could see outen my good eye. One evenin' Nanette she -fetched in a bunch of them flowers, the white uns, and fixed 'em up on -the table. I reckoned thet was sign thet Jule hed got well. It came -along to rain about sundown, and I started to go and see to the hosses. -Then she says, 'No, Bud, not yet. You take cold.' And she reached down -one of Jule's ole coats and says, 'I go.' And why she kissed me and -laughed and then kissed leetle Swickey, and said 'Good-bye, -Bud,'--jokin' fur sure.--I ain't never understood yit. I was pretendin' -to play with the baby when I heard a goin's-on in the stable, and when -Nanette didn't come back I went out to see." - -As Avery paused David noticed that his big-knuckled hands were folded on -his knee in unconscious finality. He was treading very softly toward the -end of his journey. - -"Thet coat done it! Gray Billy smelt thet coat of Jule's, and from what -I could see, he lashed out jest as she come behint him. I carried her in -and laid her on the bed. When she spoke, I could sca'c'ly hear,--her -side was crushed in suthin' turrible. - -"'Bud,' she says, 'Gray Billy didn't know it was me. He -thought--it--was--' and then she said suthin' in French, what, I -couldn't ketch. I reckon she prayed. - -"Then she kep' astin' me suthin' with her eyes. I brung Swickey to her -and she tetched the baby's dress. I seed she was goin'. Then I stooped -down and she whispered, drawin' in her breath and holdin' it fur every -word, 'Good-bye, Bud. Be good to Billy.' Then she tetched the baby -ag'in. 'Take--care--of--her--.' She lifted herself up and then fell -back.... I don't recollec' clear...." - -Avery had long passed the point where David's interest in the story -meant anything to him. He was regathering old memories, and he spoke, -not of them but through them, with a simplicity and forgetfulness of his -present self that showed the giant behind the genial mask, albeit -battered by age and perilous toil. Presently he remembered David and -continued: - -"Wal, I sold Gray Billy and Gray Tom. Hain't never tetched a hoss since. -But a'ter thet the name of 'Hoss' sorter crawled along ahead of me from -camp to camp. Then I took to handlin' the dinnimite." - -He gathered the trilliums together and arose. - -"Nanette's posies," he said, half to himself. Turning to David he handed -him the flowers. "Here, Dave, take 'em to Swickey, and tell her her Pa -says she kin go." - -THE END - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST FARM CAMP *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35034 - -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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