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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a36ec8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69014 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69014) diff --git a/old/69014-0.txt b/old/69014-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index db3b7b2..0000000 --- a/old/69014-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8527 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The prey of the strongest, by Morley -Roberts - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The prey of the strongest - -Author: Morley Roberts - -Release Date: September 19, 2022 [eBook #69014] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE -STRONGEST *** - - - - - - - - THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST - - - BY - - MORLEY ROBERTS - - - - LONDON: - HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, - Paternoster House, E.C. - - 1906 - - - - -PREFACE - - To Archer Baker, - European Manager of the Canadian - Pacific Railroad - -MY DEAR BAKER, - -Of all the men I worked with on the Canadian Pacific Railroad in the -Kicking Horse Pass and on the Shushwap, when you and men like you -were hustling to put it through, I am not, nowadays, in touch with -one. They are, doubtless, distinguished or have gone under. Some of -them, perhaps, lie in obscure graves beside the track of other roads, -which, in their parlance, "broke out" when the C.P.R. was finished: -when End of Track joined End of Track: when the very bottom of their -world fell out because two Worlds, East and West, were united by our -labour, yours and theirs and even mine. Others of them are perhaps -famous. They may have some mighty mountains and a way station named -after them, as you may have, for all I know: they may even be -Managers! And what so great as a Manager of a Through Continental -Road, after all? There are Ministers and Monarchs and other men of -note, but to my mind the Managers top them all. That is by the way, -and you shall not take it as flattery: the humble worker with the -pick and shovel and hammer and drill and bar, like myself, cannot but -think with awe of the cold clear heights in which they dwell. - -Years ago, when I was toiling on another grade, in another sort of -rock-cut, hewing out a trail for myself in the thick impenetrable -forests of which the centre may be Fleet Street or where Publishers -dwell, I came across you. And it is to my credit that I never let -you go. Most men represent other men or shadows, but you represented -yourself and a great part of my old life: you stood for the Grade, -for the Mountains, and the Passes, for the steel rails, for the -Contractors with whom I worked, for the Road, for all Railroads, for -Canada and British Columbia, linked and made one at last. You know -what Colonial fever is: that disease of desire which at intervals -afflicts those of us who have come back out of the Wilderness. You -were often the cause of it and the cure of it. Perhaps I owe you -one: perhaps but for your giving me a chance of vicarious consolation -in our talk, I might have laid my bones by some other railroad in the -West on the illimitable fat prairies of our Canada. Therefore I -offer you this book. I offer you only a sketch, a rough and -incomplete sketch, of certain obscurer aspects of life in one of the -finest countries in the world, a country for which I have as much -hope as I have affection. I have not tried to put the Pacific Slope -into a pannikin. To cram British Columbia into a volume is as easy -as trying to empty Superior with a spoon. For it was a full country -when I knew it: when your Big Bosses came along with drills and -dynamite and knocked the Rockies and the Selkirks into shape to let -your Railroad through. In those days the World emptied many thousand -of its workers into your big bucket, and in that bucket I was one -drop. I had as partners, as tilikums, men from the Land of -Everywhere: not a quarter, hardly a country, of the round world but -was represented in the great Parliament of the Pick and Shovel and -Axe that decreed the Road, the Great Road, the one Great Road of all! - -I have seen many countries, as you know, but none can ever be to me -what B.C. was when I worked there. It fizzed and fumed and boiled -and surged. It was in a roar: it hummed: it was like the Cañon when -the grey Fraser from the North comes down to Lytton and smothers the -blue Thompson in its flood. We lived in those days: we worked in -those days: we didn't merely exist or think or moon or fool around. -We were no 'cultus' crowd. We lit into things and dispersed the -earth. Some day, it may be, I shall do another book to try and -recall the odours of the majestic slain forests and the outraged -hills when your live Locomotives hooted in the Passes and wailed to -see the Great Pacific. In the meantime I offer you this, which deals -only incidentally with your work, and takes for its subjects a -Sawmill and the life we lived who worked in one on the lower Fraser, -when we and the River retired from the scene that to-day ends in busy -Vancouver and yet spreads across the Seas. - -It is possible that you will say that there is too much violence in -this story, seeing that it is laid in British Columbia and not South -of the Forty Ninth Parallel. Well, I do not hold you responsible for -the violence. Even in law-abiding B.C. man will at times break out -and paint the Town red without a metaphor. There is a great deal of -human nature in man, even when suppressed by Judge Begbie: and -Siwashes will be Siwashes, especially when "pahtlum," or drunk, as -they say in the elegant Chinook with which I have adorned a veracious -but otherwise plain story. Take it from me that there is not an -incident, or man, or woman in it who is not more or less painted from -real life. That amiable contractor for whom we all had quite an -affection, whom I have thinly veiled under the name of Vanderdunk, is -no exception. He will, I feel sure, forgive me, but some of the -others might not and they are veiled rather more deeply. This I owe -to myself, for I may revisit B.C. again and I cannot but remember -that, for some things I said of folks out there many years ago, I was -threatened with the death, so dear to the Western Romancer, which -comes from being hung by the neck from a Cottonwood. If ever I do -see that country again, I hope it will be with you. As my friend -Chihuahua would have said, "Quien sabe?" My best regards to you, -tilikum! Here's how! - - Your sincere friend, - MORLEY ROBERTS. - - - - -THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST - - - -I - -"Klahya, tilikum." - -As Pitt River Pete spoke he entered the humming Fraser Mill by the -big side door chute down which all the heavier sawed lumber slid on -its way to the yard. He had climbed up the slope of the chute and -for some moments had stayed outside, though he looked in, for the sun -was burning bright on white sawed lumber and the shining river, so -that the comparative gloom of the Mill made him pause. But now he -entered, and seeing Skookum Charlie helping the Wedger-off, he spoke, -and Skookum, who could not hear in the uproar, knew that he said -"Klahya." - -The Mill stretched either way, and each end was open to the East and -the West. It was old and grimed and covered with the fine meal of -sawdust. Great webs hung up aloft in the dim roof. In front of Pete -was the Pony Saw which took the lumber from the great Saws and made -it into boards and scantling, beams and squared lumber. To Pete's -right were the Great Saws, the father and mother of the Mill, double, -edge to edge, mighty in their curved inset teeth, wide in gauge and -strong whatever came to them. As they sang and screamed in chorus, -singing always together, the other Saws chimed in: the Pony Saw sang -and the Great Trimmer squealed and the Chinee Trimmer whined. Every -Saw had its note, its natural song, just as naturally as a bird has: -each could be told by the skilled hearer. Pete listened as he -stepped inside and put his back against the studs of the wall-plates, -out of the way of the hive of man, he only being a drone that hour. -And the Big Hoes, Father and Mother of the Mill, droned in the cut of -logs and said (or sang) that what they cut was Douglas Fir, and that -it was tough. But the Pony Saw said that the last big log had been -Spruce. The smell of spruce said "spruce" just as the Saw sang it. -And the Trimmers screamed opposing notes, for they cut across the -grain. Beneath the floor where the chorus of the Saws worked was the -clatter of the lath-mill and the insistent squeal of the Shingle Saw, -with its recurrent shriek of pride, "I cut a shingle, phit, I cut a -shingle, phit!" - -The whole Mill was a tuned instrument, a huge sounding board. There -was no discord, for any discord played its part: it was one organic -harmony, pleasing, fatiguing, satisfying; any dropped note was -missed: if the Lath Mill stayed in silence, something was wanting, -when the Shingler said nothing, the last fine addition to the music -fell away. And yet the one harmony of the Mill was a background for -the soloes of the Saws, for the great diapason of the Hoes, for the -swifter speech of the Pony, for the sharp cross note of the Trimmers. -The saws sang according to the log, to its nature, to its growth: -either for the butt or the cleaner wood. In a long log the saws -intoned a recitative: a solemn service. And beneath them all was the -mingled song of the belts, which drove the saws, hidden in darkness, -and between floors. Against the song of the Mill the voice of man -prevailed nothing. - -When any man desired to speak to another he went close to him and -shouted. They had a silent speech for measurements in feet; the -hand, the fingers, the rubbed thumb and finger, the clenched hand -with thumb up, with thumb down, called numbers for the length of -boards, of scantling, what not. - -"Eleven feet!" said the rubbing thumb and forefinger. - -If any spoke it was about the business of the Mill. - -"Fine cedar this," said Mac to Jack, "fine cedar--special -order--for----" a lost word. - -But for the most part no one spoke but the saws. Men whistled with -pursed lips and whistled dumbly: they sang too, but the songs were -swallowed in the song of the Saws. They began at six and ran till -noon unless a breakdown happened and some belt gave way. But none -had given this day and it was ten o'clock. The men were warm and -willing with work, their muscles worked warm and easy. It was grand -to handle the lever and to beat in the iron dogs: to use the maul -upon the wedges as the Saws squealed. They worked easy in their -minds. They looked up and smiled unenvious of idle Pitt River Pete. -They knew work was good, their breath felt clean: their hearts beat -to the rhythm of the Mill. - -As mills go it was a small one. It could not compete with the giants -of the Inlet and the Sound who served Australia, which grows no good -working wood, or South America. It sent no lumber to Brisbane, no -boards to Callao or Valparaiso. It served the town of New -Westminster and the neighbouring ranches: the little growth of -townships on the River up to Hope and Yale. Sometimes it sent a -cargo to Victoria or 'Squimault. A schooner even now lay alongside -the wharf, piled high with new sawed stuff, that the saws had eaten -as logs and spewed as lumber. - -As logs! Aye, in the pool below, in the Boom, which is a chained log -corral for swimming logs, a hundred great logs swam. Paul (from -nowhere, but a tall thin man) was the keeper and their herder. He -chose them for the slaughter, and went out upon them as they -wallowed, and with a long pike stood upon the one to be sacrificed -and drove it to the spot whence it should climb to the altar: a long -slope with an endless cable working above and below it. He made it -fast with heavy dogs, with chains may be, and then spoke to one above -who clapped the Friction on the Bull-Wheel and hove the log out of -the water, as if it were a whale for flensing. It went up into the -Mill and was rolled upon the skids, and waited. It trembled and the -Mill trembled. - -"Now, now, that log, boys. Hook in, drive her, roll her, heave and -she's on! Drive in the dogs and she goes!" - -Oh, but it was a good sight and the roar was filling. Pete's eyes -sparkled: he loved it: loved the sound and the song and itched to be -again on the log with the maul. Those who speak of sport--why, let -them fell a giant, drive it, boom it, drag it and cut it up! To -brittle a monarch of the forest and disembowel it of its boards: its -scantlings: its squared lumber: posts, fences, shingles, laths, -pickets, Oho! Pete knew how great it was. - -"Oh, klahya, tilikum, my friend the log." - -He spoke not now to Skookum, but strong Charlie, and lazy Charlie, -understood him. At one hour of the day even the lazy surrendered to -the charm of the song of the work and did their damnedest. So -Skookum understood that his old friend (both being Sitcum Siwashes, -or half breeds) loved the Mill and the work at that hour. - -White, the chief Sawyer, the Red Beard, was at his lever and set the -carriage for a ten inch Cant when the slabs were off and hurtling to -the lath mill. Ginger White no one loved, least of all his -Wedger-Off, Simmons (a man, like silent Paul of the Boom, from -nowhere), for he too was gingery, with a gleam of the sun in his -beard and a spice of the devil in his temper. He was the fierce red -type, while White was red but lymphatic, and also a little fat under -the jowl and a liar by nature, furtive, not very brave but skilled in -Saws. Simmons took a wedge and his maul and waited for the log to -come to him. The carriage moved: the saws bit: the sawdust squirted -and spurted in a curve with strips of wood which were not sawdust, -for they use big gauges in the soft wood of the West and would stare -at a sixteenth gauge, to say nothing of less. Now Simmons leapt upon -the log and drove in the wedge to keep the closing cut open for the -saws. The lengthening cut gave opening for another and another. -Simmons and Skookum played swiftly, interchanging the loosened wedge -and setting it to loosen the last driven in. The Wedgers-Off on the -six-foot log were like birds of prey upon a beast. - -"Oh, give it her," yelled Skookum. It was a way of his to yell. But -Ginger drove her fast, hoping to hear the saws nip a little and alter -their note so that he could complain. Simmons knew it, Skookum knew -it. But they played quickly and sure. They leapt before the end of -the cut and helped to guide the falling cant upon the skids. -Chinamen helped them. The Cant thundered on the skids and was thrust -sideways over to the Pony Saw. - -"Kloshe kahkwa," said Pete. "That's good!" - -And as he sent the carriage backward for another cut, Ginger White -looked up and saw Pete standing with his back to the wall. Ginger's -dull eye brightened, and he regarded Simmons with increased -disfavour. Pete he knew was a good Wedger-Off, a quick, keen man -very good for a Siwash, as good as any man in the Mill at such work. -He had seen Pete work at the Inlet. Oh, he was good, "hyas kloshe," -said White, but as for Simmons, damn! He was red-headed, and Ginger -hated a red man for some deep reason. - -It was a busy world, but even in the rhythm of the work hatred -gleamed and strange passions worked as darkly as the belts, deep in -the floor, that drove the saws. Quin, the manager (and part owner), -came in at the door by the big Saws, and he saw Pete standing by the -open chute. He smiled to himself. - -"Back again, and asking for work. Where's his wife, pretty Jenny?" - -She was pretty, toketie klootchman, a pretty woman: not a half breed: -perhaps, if one knew, less than a quarter breed, tenas Sitcum Siwash, -and the blood showed in the soft cheeks. She was bright and had real -colour, tender contours, everything but beautiful hands and feet, and -they not so bad. As for her face, and her smile (which was something -to see), why, said Quin, as he licked his lips, there wasn't a white -woman around that was a patch on her. Jenny had smiled on him. But -Pete kept his eye on her and so far as it seemed she was true to him. -But Quin---- - -In the busy world as it was Quin's mind ran on Jenny. - -"Yes, Sir," he used to say, "we're small but all there. We run for -all we're worth, every cent of it, every pound of beef. If you want -to see bigger, try the Inlet or Port Blakeley. But we cut here to -the last inch. Thirty thousand feet a day ain't a hell of a pile, -but it's all we can chew. And, Sir, we chew it!" - -He was a broad heavy man, dark and strong and much lighter on his -feet than he looked. If there hadn't been Skookum Charlie it might -have been Skookum Quin. He was as hard as a cant-log. - -"We're alive," said Quin the manager. They worked where he was, and, -hard as they had worked before, White set a livelier pace and made -his men sweat. Quin smiled and understood that Ginger White was that -kind of a man. Now Mac at the Pony Saw always took a breather when -Quin came in. Just now he walked from his saw, dropped down through -a trapdoor into a weltering chaos of sudden death and threw the -tightener off his saw's belt. The Pony Saw ceased to hum and whined -a little and ran slow and died. The blurred rim of steel became -separate teeth. Long Mac stood over the saw and tightened a tooth -with his tools and took out one and replaced it with a better -washleather to keep it firm. He moved slow but again descended and -let the tightener fall upon the belt. The Pony Saw sprang to valiant -life and screamed for work. Quin smiled at Mac, for he knew he was a -worker from "Way Back," and the further back you go the worse they -get! By the Lord, you bet! - -So much for Quin for the time. The Stick Moola, as the Chinook has -it, is the theme. - -It was a beast by the water, that lived on logs. It crawled into the -River for logs, and reached out its arms for logs. It desired logs -with its sharp teeth. It hungered for Cedar (there's good red cedar -of sorts in the ranges, and fine white cedar in the Selkirks), and -for Spruce (the fine tree it is!) and Douglas Fir and Hemlock or -anything to cut that wasn't true hardwood. It could eat some of the -soppy Slope Maple but disdained it. It was greedy and loved lumber. -Men cut its dinner afar off and towed it around to the Mill, to the -arms, the open arms of the Boom with Paul helping as a kind of great -kitchen boy. - -At early dawn its whistle blew, for in the dark (or near it) the -underlings of the Engineer stirred up the furnaces and threw in -sawdust and woke the steam. At "half after five" the men turned out, -came tumbling in for breakfast in the boarded shack by the Store and -fed before they fed the Mill. The first whistle sounded hungry, the -second found the men hungry no more, but ready to feed the Beast. - -In winter it was no joke turning out to begin the day early, but when -frost had the Fraser in its arms the Mill shut down and went to -sleep. One can't get one's logs out of eighteen inches of ice and -then a frozen log cuts hard: it shines when cut. But at this season, -it was bright at five and sunny at six. The men came with a summer -willingness (that is, with less unwillingness than in frost time, -for, remember, it takes work to make work easy and your beginner each -day hates the beginning) and they were drawn from all ends of the -earth. - -There were British Canadians: - -And Americans: from Wisconsin, Michigan, Texas, Iowa and the Lord -knows where. - -And Spaniards: one a man of Castile, and one from Mexico. - -There were two Kanucks of the old sort from the East or there was one -at any rate. - -There were Englishmen. Well, there was one Jack Mottram and he a -seaman. - -There was one Swede, Hans Anderssen, in the Mill. There were two -Finns outside it. - -And one Lett (from Lithuania, you understand). - -There was a Scotchman of course, and, equally of course, he was the -Engineer. - -There was a French Canadian, not by any means of the _habitant_ type -but very much there, and he knew English well, but usually cursed in -French as was proper. - -There were two Germans. One was as meek as one German usually is -unless he is drunk. But one was not meek. More of him anon. - -It was an odd crowd, a mixed crowd at meal times in the Mill hash -house. To add to everything Chinamen waited: Chinamen cooked. - -"Now then, Sing, chuck the chow on!" - -"Sing-Sing (that's where you ought to be), where's the muckamuck?" - -"Sacré chien----" - -"Der Teufel----" - -"By the great Horn Spoon----" - -"Holy Mackinaw!" - -"Caramba--Carajo----" - -"By Crimes----" - -"Oh! Phit!" - -"Oh, where's the grub, the hash--the muckamuck, you Canton rats! -Kihi, kiti, mukha-hoilo!" - -And the hash was slung and the slingers thereof hurried. - -The hash-eaters talked English (of sorts), American (North and -South), Swinsk, Norsk, Dansk, true Spanish (with the lisp), Mexican -Spanish (without it and soft as silk). They interlarded the talk -(which was of mills, lumber, and politics, and Indian klootchmen, and -the weather, and of horses and dogs and the devil and all) with -scraps of Chinook. And that is English and French and different -sorts of Indian fried and boiled and pounded and fricasseed and -served up in one jargon. It's a complete and God-forsaken tongue but -Easy, and Easiness goes. It is as it were brother to Pidgin English. - -The grub was "muckamuck" and luckily was "kloshe." But as it -happened (it usually did happen) there was salmon. - -"Cultus slush, I call it," said one. "Cultu muckamuck." - -"That's Ned Quin's nickname up to Kamloops," said Jack Mottram. - -"Our man's brother?" - -"Him," said Jack. He picked his teeth with a fork and Long Mac eyed -him with disgust. - -"I know Ned, he's tough." - -But Jack was tough himself: he had been salted in all the seas and -sun-dried on all the beaches of the rough round world. He made short -stays everywhere: passages not voyages: skippers were glad to give -him his discharge, for after sixty days at sea he sickened for the -land and became hot cargo. - -"Oh, I'm tough enough," he would prelude some yarn with. - -Now Shorty Gibbs spoke, he of the Shingle Mill. Lately the Shingle -Mill had annexed half a thumb of his as it screamed out to him. -"He's a son of a----" - -He completed the sentence in the approved round manner. - -They all admitted that Quin the Manager was Tough, but that Ned Quin -of Kamloops was tougher admitted not a doubt. - -They swept the food from the table. Just as the logs were divided by -the Saws and fell into various Chutes and disappeared, so the food -went here. Most of the men ate like hogs (the better Americans least -like): they yaffled, they gurgled, they sweated over the chewing and -got over it. - -"I'm piled up," said Tenas Billy of the Lath Mill. He too was minus -a thumb and the tops of some fingers, tribute to the saw. Especially -do the Shingle Saw and Lath Saw take such petty toll. When the Hoes -ask tribute or the Pony Saw it's a different matter. - -"I'm piled up." - -As to being piled up, that was a Sawmill metaphor. - -"You've put the tightener on your belt!" - -To be sure they all had. - -But as to piling up, when things were booming and men were warm and -feeling the work good, and when nothing went wrong with the belts or -with the Engines and the logs came easy and sweet, it was the -ambition of the Chief Sawyer to pile up the Skids of Long Mac who had -the Pony Saw. Then it was Long Mac's desire to pile up the skids for -the Chinee trimmer (not run by a Chinee) and it was that Trimmer's -desire to pile up the man opposing. To be piled up is to have bested -one's own teeth, when it comes to chewing. - -"My skids are full," said the metaphorical. - -At six the whistle blew again, with a bigger power of steam in its -larynx. The Mill said:-- - -"Give me the logs, the boom is full and I'm in want of chewin'! Nika -tiki hyas stick! Give me logs: I've new teeth this morning! I'm -keen and sharp. Hoot--too--oot--too--oot! Give me Fir and Pine and -Spruce--spru--ooce!" - -The Hash-Room emptied till noontime, when next Hash-Pile was -proclaimed, and the men streamed across the sawdust road and the -piled yard to the open Mill. Some went in by the door, some by the -Engine-Room, some climbed the Chutes. The sun was aloft now and -shining over the Pitt River Mountains (where Pete came from) and over -Sumach. The river danced and sparkled: scows floated on its tide: -the _Gem_ steamer got up steam. The Canneries across the big River -gleamed white. The air was lovely with a touch of the breath of the -mountains in it. The smell of the lumber was good. - -The men groaned and went to work. - -They forgot to groan in twenty minutes. - -It was good work in an hour and good men loved it for a while. - -But it was work that Pitt River Pete saw as he leant against the -wall. It wasn't an English pretence, or a Spanish lie, or an Irish -humbug: it was Pacific Slope work, where men fly. They work out West! - -"Oh, Klahya!" - -"I wonder if I can get a jhob," said Pete. And the job worked up for -him under his very eyes, for Quin had a quick mind to give him work -and get pretty Jenny near, and Ginger White was sore against Simmons. - -Yes, Pitt River Pete, you can get "a jhob!" Devil doubt it, for -you've a pretty wife, and White drove the carriage fast and faster -still, drove it indeed faster than the saw could take it, meaning to -hustle Simmons and have present leave to burst out into blasphemy. -Things happen quick in the Mill, in any mill, and of a sudden White -stopped the carriage dead and yelled to Simmons on the log: - -"Can't you keep her open, damn you? Are you goin' to sleep there? -Oh, go home and die!" - -Simmons, on the log on his knees, looked up savagely. Though the big -Hoes were silent there was row enough with the Pony Saw and the Big -Trimmer and Chinee Trimmer and the Lath Mill and the Shingle Saw and -the Bull Wheel and the groaning and complaining of the planing -machines outside. So Simmons heard nothing. He saw Ginger's face -and saw the end had come to work. He knew it. It had been coming -this long time and now had come. But Simmons said nothing: he -grinned like a catamount instead, and then looked round and saw Quin. -He also saw Pete. - -"To hell," said Simmons. - -As he spoke he hurled his maul at White, and Ginger dodged. The head -missed him but the handle came backhanded and smote Ginger on the -nose so that the blood ran. - -"Oh, oh," said Ginger as sick as any dog. Simmons leapt off into the -very arms of Quin. - -"I'll take my money, Mr. Quin," said Simmons. - -"Take your hook," said Quin. "Look out, here's White for you with a -spanner!" - -White came running and expected Simmons to run. But Simmons' face -was red where White's was white. He snatched a pickareen from the -nearest Chinaman, and a pickareen is a useful weapon, a sharp half -pick, and six inches of a pick. - -"You----" grinned Simmons, "you----" - -And White stayed. - -"Yah!" said Simmons, with lips set back. And Ginger White retreated. - -"Here, sonny, take your pick," said the Wedger-Off that had been to -the Chinaman; "fat chops don't care to face it." - -He turned to Quin. - -"Shall I go to the office, Mr. Quin?" - -"Aye," said Quin carelessly enough. - -He beckoned to Pete, whose eyes brightened. He came lightly. - -"You'll take the job, Pete?" - -Would he take it? - -"Nawitka," said Pete, "yes, indeed, Sir." - -Nawitka! He took the job and grinned with Skookum, who fetched the -maul and gave him the wedges with all the pleasure in the world, for -Skookum had no ambition to be Chief Wedger-Off. White came forward, -dabbing at a monstrous tender nose with a rag. - -"I've seen you at the Inlet?" he asked. - -"Yes," said Pete, "at Granville." - -"You'll do," said White. He dabbed at his huge proboscis and went -back to the lever. Pete leapt upon the log and drove in the first -wedge. - -"Hyas, hyas! Oh, she goes!" - -She went and the day went, and Pete worked like fire on a dry Spruce -yet unfelled. He leapt on and off and handled things with skill. -But when he looked at White's growing nose he grinned. Simmons had -done that. - -"If he ever talk to me that away," said Pete, "I'll give him -chikamin, give him steel!" - -He didn't love White, at the first glance he knew that. But it was -good to be at work again, very good. - -At twelve o'clock the whistle called "Hash," and the engine was shut -down. The Saws slackened their steady scream, they grew feeble, they -whined, they whirred, they nearly stopped, they stayed in silence. -Men leapt across the skids: they slid down the Chutes: they clattered -down the stairs: they opened their mouths and could hear their -voices. They talked of White (he grubbed at home, being married), -and of Simmons and of Pete (he being a Siwash, even if not married, -would not have grubbed in the Hash House) and heard the story. On -the whole they were sorry that Simmons had not driven the pickareen -through White. However, his nose was a satisfaction. - -"Like a beet----" - -"A pumpkin----" - -"A water melon----" - -A prodigious nose after contact with the Maul Handle. - -"I knew Mr. White," said Jenny to Pete, "Mr. White bad man, hyu -mesahchie." - -"Sling out the muckamuck," said Pete calmly. - -He fell to with infinite satisfaction, and Jenny came and sat on his -knee as he smoked his pipe. - -"She is really devilish pretty," said Quin, who had no one to sit on -his knee. - -The whistle suddenly said that it was half after twelve and that it -would be infinitely obliged if all the working gentlemen from -everywhere would kindly step up in a goldarned hurry and turn to. - -"Turn to, turn too--toot," said the whistle as brutally as any -Western Ocean bo'sun. - -The full fed reluctant gentlemen of the Mill went back into the -battle, waddling and sighing sorely. - -"Wish to God it was six o'clock," they said. There's no satisfying -everybody, and going to work full of food is horrid, it really is. - -What happened in the morning happened in the afternoon, and all the -saws yelled and the planers complained and the men jumped till six, -when the Engines let steam into the Whistle high up against the Smoke -Stack and made it yell wildly that work was over for the day. Mr. -Engine-man played a fantasia on that pipe and hooted and tooted and -did a dying cadenza that wailed like a lost soul in the pit and then -rose up in a triumphant scream that echoed in the hills and died away -across the waters of the Fraser shining in the peaceful evening sun. - -And night came down, the blessed night, when no man works (unless he -be in a night shift, or is a night watchman or a policeman or, or--). -How blessed it is to knock off! But there, what do you know about -it, if you never played with lumber in a Stick Moola? Nothing, I -assure you. Go home and die, man. - - - - -II - -There were times when the Mill ate wood all night long, but such -times were rare, for now the City of the Fraser was not booming. She -sat sombrely by her bright waters and moaned the bitter fact that the -railway was not coming her way, but was to thrust out its beak into -the waters of the Inlet. The City was a little sad, a little bitter, -her wharves were deserted, dank, lonely. She saw no great future -before her: houses in her precincts were empty: men spoke scornfully -of her beauty and exalted Granville and the forests whence Vancouver -should spring. - -But for such as worked in the Mill the City was enough. They lived -their little lives, strove manfully or poorly, thinking of little -things, of few dollars, of a few days, and of Saturdays, and of -Sundays when no man worked. And each night in Sawmill Town, in -Sawdust Territory, was a holiday, for then toil ceased and the shacks -lighted up and there was opportunity for talk. Work was over. 'Halo -Mamook,' no work now, but it might be rye, or other poison and -gambling and debauchery. The respectable workers (note that they -were mostly American) went off up town, to the Farmers' Home or some -such place, or to the City library, or to each other's homes, while -the main body of the toilers of the Mill 'played hell' in their own -way under the very shadow of the Mill itself. For them the end of -the week was a Big Jamboree, but every night was a little one. - -Pete was back among his old tilikums, his old partners and friends, -and it was an occasion for a jamboree, a high old jamboree of its -order, that is; for real Red Paint, howling, shrieking, screaming -Jamborees were out of order and the highly respectable rulers of the -City saw to it that the place was not painted red by any citizen out -on the loose with a gun. British Columbia, mark you, is an orderly -spot: amazingly good and virtuous and law-abiding, and killing is -murder there. This excites scorn and derision and even amazement in -American citizens come in from Spokane Falls, say, or elsewhere, from -such spots as Seattle, or even Snohomish. - -But even without Red Paint, or guns, or galloping cayuses up and down -a scandalised British City, cannot a man, and men and their -klootchmen, get drink and get drunk and raise Cain in Sawdust Town? -You bet they can, tilikums! Nawitka, certainly! Oh, shucks--to be -sure! - -Pete and Jenny (being hard up as yet) lived in a room of Indian -Annie's shack, and had dirt and liberty. In Sawdust Town, just -across the road and on the land side of the Mill, were squads of -disreputable shacks in streets laid down with stinking rotten sawdust -and marked out with piles of ancient lumber. All this had one time -been a swamp, but in the course of generations sawdust filled it to -the brim. Sawdust rots and ferments and smells almost as badly as -rice or wheat rotting in a ship's limbers, and the odour of the place -in a calm was a thing to feel, to cut, even with an axe. It was a -paying property to Quin and Quin's brother, for lumber costs next -door to nothing at a mill, and the rent came in easily, as it should -when it can be deducted from wages. It was a good clean property as -some landlords say in such cases, meaning that the interest is -secure. Life wasn't; and as to morality, why, what did the Quin -Brothers care about their renters of the shacks, shanties, and -keekwilly holes? They cared nothing about their morals or their -manners or the sanitation. - -Chinamen lived there: they were Canton wharf-rats mostly, big men, -little men, men who lived their own odd secret racial lives hidden -away from the eyes of whites. White boys yelled-- - -"Oh, Chinkie, kihi, kiti mukhahoilo----" - -And it was supposed to be an insult. The Chinkies cursed the boys by -their Gods, and by Buddha and by the Christians' Gods. "Oh, ya, -velly bad boy, oh, damn." Stones flew, chunks of lumber, and boys or -Chinamen ran. The Orientals chattered indignantly on doorsteps. If -a boy had disappeared suddenly, who would have wondered? - -It was a splendid locality for nature, the nature of Man, not for the -growth of other things. There were few conventions green in the -neighbourhood, a man was a man, and a hound a hound there, and a -devil a devil without a mask. It had a fascination. - -The Chinamen mostly worked in the yard: handling lumber as it came -out, stacking it, wheeling it, carrying it. But there were others -than Chinky Chinamen about. There was Spanish Joe in one shack which -he shared with Chihuahua, who was a Mexican. Be so good as to -pronounce this word Cheewawwaw and have done with it. Skookum -Charlie and his klootchman (he was from S'Kokomish and was a Puyallop -and she from Snohomish and was a Muckleshoot) lived in another. -There's no word for wife in Chinook but only _Klootchman_, woman, so -though there's one for marry, _malieh_, the ceremony is not much -thought of. When a man's klootchman is mentioned it leaves the -question of matrimony open for further inquiry, if necessary. But is -it worth while? - -A dozen Sitcum-Siwashes camped in other shanties; they were from all -along the coast, even Metlakahtla and from inland, one being nearly a -full-blooded Shushwap. But the only pure-blooded Indian about the -place was Indian Annie. She was a Hydah from the Islands and had -been as pretty as a picture once, as so many of the Hydah women were. -Now she was a hag and a procuress and as ugly as a burnt stick and as -wicked as a wild-cat. If she was ever washed it was when she was -dead drunk in a rainstorm: she was wrinkled like the skin of a -Rambouillet ram: she walked double and screeched like a night-hawk. -As to her clothes and the worth of them, why, anyone but an -entomologist would have given her a dollar to burn them--Faugh! -Nevertheless it was in her shack that Pete camped with Jenny. - -About nine o'clock that night, the night of Pete's getting a job, it -was wonderful at Indian Annie's. If you don't believe it come in and -see, tilikum! There are tons of things you don't know, tilikum, the -same as the rest of us. - -Oh, hyah, oho, they were enjoying themselves! - -Such a day it had been, clear, clean-breathed, splendid, serene, and -even yet the light lingered in the cloudless heavens, though the -bolder stars came like scouts over the eastern hills and looked down -on Mill and River. - -But shucks, what of that in Indian Annie's? The room that was -kitchen, dining room, hall and lumber room was reeking full. A wood -fire smouldered on the hearth: a slush lamp smoked in the window -against the dying heavenly day. Pete was there and Annie, and Jack -Mottram, an English sailorman. He lived next door with a half-breed -Ptsean (you can't pronounce it, tilikum) who was scarcely prettier -than Annie, till she was washed. Then she was obviously younger at -any rate. - -Everyone was so far very happy. - -"Hyu heehee," said Indian Annie. By which she meant in her short way -that it was all great fun, and that they were jolly companions -everyone. Besides Annie there were three other klootchmen in the -room and their garments were not valuable. But it was "hyu heehee" -all the same, for Jack Mottram brought the whisky in; Indians not -being allowed to buy it, as they are apt, even more apt than whites, -the noble whites, to see red and run "Amok." - -"Here two dollah, you buy mo' whisky, Jack," said Pete, who was -almost whooping drunk by now and as happy as a chipmunk in a deserted -camp, or a dog at some killing, perhaps. - -"Righto," hiccupped Jack, and away he Went. Pete sang something. -There's bawdry in Chinook even. - -Pete was a handsome boy if one likes or does not dislike the Indian -cheekbones. For the features of the Sitcum-Siwash were almost purely -Indian; his colour was a memory of his English father. He was tall, -nearly five foot ten, lightly and beautifully built. He was as quick -on his feet as a bird on the wing. His hands, even, were fine -considering he was one who would work. His eyes were reddish brown, -his teeth ivory: his moustache was a scanty Indian growth. Not a -doubt of it but that Pete was the best-looking "breed" round about -Westminster. And he wasn't as lazy as most of them. - -Take his history on trust. It is easy to imagine it. He had half -learnt to read at an Anglican Mission. His English was not bad when -he talked to white men. In truth it was better and heaps cleaner -than Jack Mottram's. But talk on the American side of the water is -always cleaner. "If you don't like bawdry, we'll have very little of -it," said Lucio to the Friar, who was perhaps American. Pete was a -nice boy of twenty-three. But he had a loose lip and could look -savage. His mind was a tiny circle. He could reach with his hand -almost as far as his mind went. He had a religion once, when he left -the Fathers of the Mission. He then believed in the Saghalie Tyee, -the Chief of Heaven: in fact, in the Head Boss. Now he believed in -the head boss of the Mill and in whisky and in his wife: all of them -very risky beliefs indeed. - -So far Jenny, Pete's little klootchman (and a sweet pretty creature -she was) hadn't yet showed up in the shebang. She had been out -somewhere, the Lord alone knows where (Quin would have wished he -knew), and she was now in the inside room, dressing or rather taking -off an outside gown and putting on a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown -given her by a lady at Kamloops. Now she came out. - -She was a beauty, tilikum, and you can believe it or leave it alone. -She was little, no more than five feet three say, but perfectly made, -round, plump, most adequate, which is a mighty good word, seeing that -she was all there in some ways. She had a complexion of rosy eve, -and teeth no narwhal's horn could match for whiteness, and her lips -were red-blooded, her ears pink. She had dimples to be sworn by: and -the only sign of her Indian blood (which was obviously Hydah) came -out in her long straight black hair, that she wore coiled in a huge -untidy mass. But for that she was white as far as her body went. As -for her soul--but that's telling too soon. - -Now she came out of the inner chamber in her scarlet gown, which was -flaming with outrageous tulips, horribly parodying even a Dutch -grower's nightmare, and she looked like a rosebud, or a merry saint -in a flaming San Benito with flower flame devils on it in paint. And -not a soul of her tilikums knew she was lovely. They envied her that -San Benito! - -Jenny was sober enough this time (and so far), and if no one knew she -was lovely she knew it, and she eyed some of the drunken klootchmen -disdainfully. This was not so much that they were _pahtlum_ but -because they had but ten cents worth of clothes and were not -_toketie_ or pretty. - -"Fo!" said Jenny, stepping lightly among the recumbent and -half-recumbent till she squatted on her hams by the fire. - -"Where you bin, Jenny?" asked Pete, already hiccupping. And Jenny -said she had been with Mary, or Alice, or someone else. May be it -was true. - -"Have a drink," said her man, handing her a bottle. She tilted it -and showed her sweet neck and ripe bosom as she drank and handed it -back empty. - -Then Jack Mottram, English sailorman and general rolling stone and -blackguard, came in hugging two bottles of deadly poison, one under -each arm. - -"Kloshe," said the crowd, "kloshe, good old Jack!" - -The "shipman" dropped his load into willing claws and claimed first -drink loudly. - -"S'elp me, you see, pardners, I bro't 'em in fair and square: never -broached 'em. I know chaps as'd ha' squatted under the lee of a pile -o' lumber and ha' soaked the lot. S'elp me I do!" - -It was felt on all hands that he was a noble character. Indian Annie -patted him on the back. - -"'Ands off, you catamaran," said Jack. In spite of being a seaman he -believed the word was a term of abuse. - -He was a seaman, though--and a first-class hand anywhere and anywhen. -To see him now, foul, half-cocked, bleary, and to see him when three -weeks of salt water had cleaned and sweetened him, would surprise the -most hopeful. He went passages, not voyages, and skipped ashore -every time he touched land. There wasn't a country in the round -world he didn't know. - -"I know 'em all from Chile to China, from Rangoon to Hell," said -Jack, "I know 'em in the dark, by the stink of 'em!" - -Now he jawed about this and that, with scraps of unholy information -in his talk. No one paid attention, they talked or sucked at the -whisky. The more Indian blood the more silence till the blood is -diluted with alcohol. Every now and again some of them squealed with -poisonous happiness; outside one might hear the sound of the screams -and singing and the unholy jamboree. The noise brought others. -Someone knocked at the door. The revellers were happy and pleased to -see the world and they yelled a welcome. - -"Come in, tilikum!" they cried, and Chihuahua opened the door against -one klootchman's silent body and showed his dark head and glittering -eyes inside. - -"Where my klootchman? You see my klootchman? Ah, I see!" - -She was half asleep by the fire, and nodded at him foolishly. He -paid no attention for he was after liquor and saw that the gathering -welcomed him. He knew them all but Pete, but he had heard of the row -in the Mill and had seen the head that Simmons put on Ginger and he -knew that a tilikum of Skookum's had been made wedger-off. - -"You Pete, ah, I tinks." - -"Nawitka, tilikum, that's me, Pitt River Pete. You have a drink. -Ho, Jenny, you give me the bottle. She's my klootchman." - -Chihuahua took the bottle and drank. He looked at Jenny and saw that -she was beautiful. - -"Muchacha hermosa," he said. She knew what he meant, for she read -his eyes. - -"Your little klootchman hyu toketie, Mister Pete, very peretty, oh, -si," said Chihuahua. - -"Mor'n yours is," hiccupped Jack Mottram. "But--'oo's got a smoke?" - -The beady-eyed man from Mexico had a smoke: a big bag of dry tobacco -and a handful or pocket full of papers. He rolled cigarettes for -them all, doing it with infinite dexterity. Drunk or sober Chihuahua -could do that. His own klootchman clawed him for one of them and -without a word he belted her on the ear and made her bellow. She sat -in the corner by the fire and howled as lugubriously as if her dog or -her father had just died. - -"Halo kinootl, halo kinootl, mika tiki cigalette!" - -"Oh, give the howler one," said Jack, as she kept on howling that she -had no tobacco and that her man was angry with her. Pete gave her -his, which was already lighted. She giggled and laughed and began -crooning a Chinook song:-- - - "Konaway sun - Hyu Keely - Annawillee!" - - -It was a mournful dirge: she sang and smoked and wept and giggled and -tried to make eyes at Jack who must love her or he could never have -given her a "Cigalette." He was heaps nicer than Chihuahua. - -She set them off singing and more drink was brought in, and still -Annawillee said she was very "keely" or sad. Indeed, she was weeping -drunk and no one paid any attention to her, least of all Chihuahua. -Jack sang a chanty about Dandy Rob of the Orinoco and a pleasing meal -of boiled sawdust and bullock's liver, "blow, my bully boys, blow!" -and wept to think of Whitechapel. An encore resulted in "My rorty -carrotty Sal, who kems from W'itechapal," and then Jack subsided amid -applause, and slept the sleep of great success. - -But Pete was now "full" and could speak to Chihuahua and to Spanish -Joe and Skookum Charlie who had come in together. - -"Why you come here, Pete?" asked Skookum. "They say you have a good -jhob up to Kamloops." - -"I tell you, tilikum," said Pete. "Me and Jenny here was with Ned -Quin, Cultus Muckamuck we call him up alound the Dly Belt. Ain't he -a son of a gun, Jenny?" - -Jenny nodded and took a cigarette from Chihuahua with a heavenly -smile. They were all lying around the fire but Pete and Jenny. The -other klootchmen were mostly fast asleep: Indian Annie was -insensible. Pete went on talking in a high pitched but not -unpleasant voice. His English was by no means so bad though not so -good as Jenny's. - -"Mary, my sister, she's Ned Quin's klootchman," said Pete, "and has -been with him years, since his white woman died. I forget how long: -nika kopet kumtuks, it's so long. So me and Jenny work there: she -with Mary, me outside with the moos-mooses, wagon, plowin', -harrowin', and scraper team. Oh, I work lika hell all one year, -dollar a day and muckamuck: and old Ned he was Cultus Muckamuck, oh, -you bet, tilikums: mean as mud. Him and me don't hit it off, but I -lika the place, not too wet, good kieutans to ride, and, when I get -sick and full up of Cultus, Jenny here she fond of my sister and when -she was full up of Mary I just happen to pull with Cultus, so that's -why we stay. Sometime the old dog he allow a dollar a day too much -for me, and me workin' lika a mule. Oh, I work alla time, by God, -velly little dlunk only sometime in Kamloops. And I say 'Look here, -Cultus, I not care one damn, I can go. I can quit:--you pay me!' -But when it came to pay out dolla he very sick, for sure. So I say, -'You be damn,' and he laughed and went away, for I had a neck-yoke in -my hand, ha!" - -Pete showed his teeth savagely, and the others grinned. - -"We do that often: he damn me, I damn him, and mebbe Jenny and me -would be there yet if he had not hit Mary with a club while I was -away over to Nikola bringin' in the steers that was over the range. -I come back, and I find Jenny cryin' and Mary sick and cryin', and -sore all over, and Cultus hyu drunk. So I ups and say to Cultus, -'You swine, you hit my poor sister once mo' and I quit.' Then he -began to cry and fetch mo' whisky and we both get drunk and very much -friends, and I go to sleep, and he get ravin' and fetch a -long-handled shovel and frighten Jenny here to death and he hit Mary -with the flat of the shovel, and say, 'You damn klootchman, next time -I give you the edge and cut hell out of you.'" - -"He say those same words," said Jenny. - -"And when I wake up," Pete went on, "they tell me, and I say it no -good to stay for if I stay I kill Cultus and no taffy about it. So -next day I say 'Give me my money,' and he give me an order on Smith -over to Kamloops, and we came down here, and now I get the job -wedging-off again and that's better'n workin' for old Cultus. Gimme -the bottle, Skookum, you old swine." - -They all had another drink. - -"George Quin heap berrer'n Cultus," said Skookum. - -"'E lika peretty girls," said Chihuahua, leering at Jenny. "'E look -after klootchman alla day, eh, Joe?" - -Spanish Joe said that was so. "Spanish" was a real Castilian, as -fair as any Swede and had golden hair and lovely skin and the blue -eyes of a Visigoth, and he was a murderous hound and very good at -songs and had a fine voice and could play the guitar. He had no -klootchman, but there was a white woman up town who loved him and -robbed her husband to give him money. - -"All klootchman no good," said Joe scornfully. - -"You're a liar," said Jenny, "but men are no good, only Pete is good -sometimes, ain't you, Pete?" - -"Dry up," said Pete thickly, for the last drink had done for him. -"You dry up. All klootchmen talk too much. You go to bed, Jenny." - -"I shan't," said Jenny, sulkily. - -So he beat her very severely, and blacked her eye, and dragged her by -the gorgeous dressing-gown into the next room. As he dragged her she -slipped out of the gown and they saw her for an instant white as any -lily before he slammed the door on her and came out again. Joe and -Chihuahua yelled with laughter, and even Skookum roused up to chuckle -a little. He had been asleep, lying with his head on the insensible -body of an unowned klootchman, who was a relative of Annie's. His -own klootchman still sat in the corner, every now and again chanting -dismally of the woes of Annawillee. Joe and Chihuahua spoke in -Spanish. - -"She's a beauty, and George Quin will want her," said Chihuahua. - -"And he'll have her too, by the Mother of God," said Joe. "But -klootchmen are no good. My woman up town she cries too much. And as -for her husband----" - -He indulged in some Spanish blasphemy on the subject of that poor -creature's man. - -They slapped Pete on the back when he sat down again, and said he -knew how to serve a saucy muchacha. And Joe sang a beautiful old -Spanish love song with amazing feeling and then went away. But the -melancholy of the song haunted poor Pete's heart, and he went to his -wife and found her crouched on the floor sobbing and as naked as when -she was born. And Pete cried too and said that he loved her. - -But she still cried, for he had torn the lovely dressing-gown with -its gorgeous garden of tulips. She hugged it to her beautiful bosom -as if it were a child. - -In the outer room they all slept, and even Annawillee ceased moaning. - -The night was calm and wonderful and as silent as death. - - - - -III - -Nah Siks, ho, my friend, let me introduce you to George Quin: Manager -and part owner of the Mill, of the Stick Moola which ate logs and -turned out lumber and used (even as sawdust) the lives and muscles of -high-toned High Binders from Kowloon and the back parts of Canton, -and hidalgos from Spain with knives about them, and gentlemen from -Whitechapel who knew the ways of the sea, and many first-class -Americans from the woods, to say nothing of Letts, Lapps and Finns -and our tilikums the Indians from the Coast. - -Quin was two hundred pounds weight, and as solid as a cant of his -fir, and his mind was compact, a useful mind when dollars were -concerned. He was a squaw-man and was always in with one of them, -for there are men who don't care for white women (though indeed he -had cared very much for one) and so run after klootchmen just as -water runs down hill. It is explicable, for the conduct of (or the -conducting of) a white woman for the most part takes a deal of -restraint. Quin hated any form of it: he was by nature a kind of -savage, though he was born in Vermont and bred up in lower Canada. -He went West early (even to China, by the way) and only kept so much -restraint as enabled him to hang on and make dollars and crawl up a -financial ladder--with that wanting he might have been:-- - - A Hobo, - A Blanket Stiff - or - A mere Gaycat, - -and have ended as a "Tomayto-can Vag!" These are all species of the -Genus Tramp, or Varieties of the species, and the essence of them all -is letting go. We who are not such vagabonds have to hold on with -our teeth and nails and climb. But the blessedness of refusing to -climb and the blessedness of being at the bottom are wonderful. We -all know it as we hang on. Now Quin, for all his force and weight -and power of body and of mind was a tramp in his heart, but a coward -who was afraid of opinion, where want of dollars was concerned. He -turned himself loose only with the women. He hated respectable ones. -You had to be civil and gentlemanly and a lot of hogwash like that -with ladies. - -"Oh, hell," said Quin. "Great Scott, by the Holy Mackinaw, not me!" - -The devil of it all is that we are pushed on by something that is not -ourselves, and for what? It's by no means a case of "Sic vos non -vobis" but "sic nos non nobis," and that's a solid fact, solid enough -to burst the teeth out of any Hoe that can cut teak or mahogany, to -say nothing of the soft wood of the Coast. - -Quin compromised with the Mournful Spirit of Push and gave his soul -to dollars on that behalf, and his body to the klootchmen. - -It wasn't often that he slung work and took a holiday, but in -latitude 49.50 N. and longitude 122 W., which is about the situation -of New Westminster, so far as I can remember, Mills themselves take -holidays in frost time, and when the Mill was shut down the Christmas -before, he had taken a run up to Kamloops to see his brother Ned or -Cultus Muckamuck. - -There he saw Jenny, the sweet little devil, who hadn't been married -to Pete for more than six months and was just nineteen. He made up -his mind about her then, but there were difficulties. For one thing -Ned was always wanting him, and Indian Mary, Ned's klootchman, was a -good woman and heartily religious in her own way, and she had a care -for the pretty little girl when the Panther, or Hyas Puss-Puss, -called George Quin, came nosing around. And Pete was but newly wed -and hadn't beaten Jenny yet. And Jenny, the pretty dear, was fond of -her Sitcum Siwash and loved to see him on horseback, all so bold and -fine with one hand on his hip and a quirt in the other. Given -favourable circumstances and enforced sobriety there's no knowing -what the two might have been. - -I shall have to own it wasn't all George Quin after all: I couldn't -help liking George somehow. It's the most mixed kind of a world, and -though the best we know, it might have been improved by a little -foresight one would think. There's always something pathetically -good in blackguards, something that redeems the worst. What a pity -it is! - -George Quin loved one woman who lived in far off Vermont. She was -his mother. He sent her dollars and bear skins more than twice a -year. He had his portrait taken in his best clothes for her. He -looked so like a missionary that the good old lady wept. - -There was something good in George one sees. But he kissed Jenny -behind Ned's old shack before he went away. It might look like a -coincidence for Pete to come down to the Mill to work for George -after getting the Grand Bounce by Ned, if it hadn't been for the -kiss. Women are often deceitful. - -"I'll tell Pete," said Jenny in the clutches of the Panther. - -Hyas Puss-Puss laughed. - -"You tell him, you sweet little devil, and I'll blow a hole through -him with a gun!" said he. - -If he played up, that is! Sometimes they don't, you know. - -"You give me a kiss without a fight, and I'll give you a dollar," -said the Panther. Jenny still kicked. But she didn't squeal. Mary -was inside the shack and would have heard her, if she wanted help. - -"Not for two dolla," said Jenny, hiding her mouth with the back of -her hand, with her nails out claw fashion. - -"Three then," said Hyas Puss-Puss. He was as strong as the very -devil, said Jenny's mind inside, three times, four times, ever so -many times stronger than Pete. - -"Oh, no, not for three, nor four, nor five," said Jenny, laughing. - -He got it for nothing. But he got no more. Indian Mary came outside -and called-- - -"Jenny!" - -George sat down on a log and filled his pipe while Jenny went back. -She ran fast so that her colour and her tousled appearance might be -accounted for. George Quin saw it. - -"The deceitful little devil, but I kissed her!" - -He got no more chances. When he had hold of her with that immense -strength of his she was as weak as water, as was only natural, but -she wanted to be good (Mary and the missionary had told her it was -right to be good, and Mary said that Ned was going to marry her some -day, so she was all right) and she was really fond of Pete. - -However, when Quin was going down to the Coast again he got a moment -with her. - -"If you want to come down my way, I'll always give a first-class job -to Pete, my dear. Don't forget. He's a good man in a Mill. I saw -him over at the Inlet before he married you. I wish I'd seen you -before that, you little devil. Ah, tenas, nika tikegh mika! Oh, I -want you, little one!" - -When she and Pete pulled out from Cultus Muckamuck's six months -afterwards, they naturally went on a Howling Jamboree in Kamloops, -and it ended in their being halo dolla, or rather, with no more than -Jenny had secreted for a rainy day. She was a little greedy about -money, it must be owned. Some wanted Pete to go up to the Landing at -Eagle Pass as the Railroad was getting there from East and West, -though he wasn't a railroad man by nature, but a lumber man. The -railroader is always one and so is the lumber man. Jenny suggested -the Coast and New Westminster. - -In the meanwhile Pete had beaten her several times and many had told -her she was very pretty. She wasn't quite the little girl she had -been at Cultus Muckamuck's ranche. She missed Mary, and her morals -did, too. She remembered all about George Quin's, "I'll give you two -dollars for a kiss!" For a kiss only, mind. She could take care of -herself, she said. But they went to the Coast by way of the only -way, Savona and the Cañon. At Savona, Jenny's eyes got a pass to -Yale out of Mr. Vanderdunk, who had beautiful blue eyes and was a -very good chap, take him all round. Jenny lied to him like sixty and -said her mother was dying at Yale. Her mother was as dead as -Washington long years before. She died, poor thing, because Jenny's -father became respectable and renounced her and married a white woman -in Virginia. He was a shining light in a church at that very time, -and was quite sincere. - -"Give the pair a pass down," said Vanderdunk, "of course they're -lying but----" - -Eyes did it as they always will. So they went down to Yale and by -the _Fraser_ steamboat to New Westminster, and they put up at Indian -Annie's as aforesaid and the row in the Mill happened and Quin saw -Pete and he knew Jenny had come, and he smiled and licked his lips. - -The very next day after Pete's swift acceptance of that noble -position in the hierarchy of the Mill, the Wedger-Off-Ship, and after -the drunken jamboree at Indian Annie's, Pete and Mrs. Pete moved the -torn dressing-gown, etc., into Simmons' vacated shack. For Simmons -had gone to Victoria in the S.S. _Teaser_, that old scrap-heap known -to every one on the Sound, or in the Straits of Georgia or San Juan -de Fuca, by her asthmatic wheezing. Pete's and Mrs. Pete's etc. -comprised one bundle of rags, and a tattered silk of Jenny's, and two -pairs of high-heeled shoes (much over at the heel) and a bottle of -embrocation warranted to cure everything from emphysema to a compound -fracture of the femur, and a Bible. Pete had knocked Jenny over with -that on more than one occasion. - -The traps that Simmons left in his shack he sold to Pete for one -dollar and two bits, and they were well worth a dollar, for they -comprised two pairs of blankets of the consistency of herring-nets -and a lamp warranted to explode without warning. He threw in all the -dirt he hadn't brushed out of the place during a tenancy of eight -months, and made no extra charge for fleas. But Jenny was pleased. -It was her first home, mark you, and that means much to a countess or -a klootchman. Pete had wedded her at Kamloops and taken her to -Cultus Muckamuck's right off, for there were no other men around -there but old Cultus, and his Mary looked after him if he needed it. - -So now Jenny grew proud for a while, and felt that to have a whole -house to herself and her man was something. She forgave him her -black eye, the poor dear, and she mended the tulips carefully in a -way that would have given the mistress of a sewing school a fatal -attack of apoplexy. She worked the rent together with gigantic -herring-boning like the tacking of a schooner up some intricate -channel with a shifting wind. - -Then she swept the shack and set out her household goods the boots -and the Bible. The boots had been given her by a Mrs. Alexander, -sister to the donor of the dressing-gown, and the Bible (it had -pictures in it) was the gift of a Methodist Missionary who saw she -was very pretty. So did his wife, so everything was safe there. - -The bed belonged to the shack, that is, to the Mill, to the Quins, -and as it was summer there was no need to get better blankets. Jenny -laid the precious tulips on it and the bed looked handsome enough for -Helen, she thought, or would have thought if she had ever heard of -her, and Pete admired it greatly. - -They set out to be happy as people will in this world. Jenny had a -piece of steak cooked for Pete's dinner and she laid the newspaper -cloth very neatly, and put everything, beer, bread and so on, as well -as some prunes, quite handy. - -"By gosh, I'm hungry, old girl," said Pete, as he marched in at noon. - -"It's all ready, Pete," she said, smiling. The smile was a little -sideways, owing to last night. "Sit down and be quick." - -There was need, for the Mill only let up for the half hour. - -"This is work here, Jenny," said Pete, "by the Holy Mackinaw, I -almos' forgot what work was at old Cultus'. Now she goes whoop!" - -But he felt warm and good and kind. - -"I'm sorry I hurt you, gal," he said, "but you was very bad las' -night. Drink's no good. I won't drink no more." - -"You very good to me," said Jenny meekly. "Whisky always makes me -mad. I'm glad we're here. Indian Annie's bad, Pete." - -"Cultus' ole cow," said Pete, with his mouth full, "but now we have -our home, Jenny, my gal, and plenty work and forty dollar a month. -I'm going to be a good man to you, my dear, and buy you big shelokum, -lookin' glass." - -Jenny's eyes gleamed. There was only a three-cornered fragment of -glass nailed up against the wall, and it was hardly big enough to see -her pretty nose in. - -"Oh, Pete, that what I like. Oh, yes, Pete, a big one." - -"High and long," said Pete firmly. - -"Very high," screamed Jenny joyfully. - -"So you see all your pretty self," smiled Pete. "I see one two yard -high. I wonder how much." - -"One hundred dolla, I tink," said Jenny, and Pete's jaw dropped. - -"Never min', we get a good one for five dolla," said Jenny, and she -kissed Pete for that five "dolla" one just as he filled his pipe. -Then the whistle of the Mill squealed "Come out, come out, come out -o' that, Pete, Pe--etc!" and Pete gave his klootchman a hug and ran -across the hot sawdust to the Mill. - -"Pete very good man, I won't kiss no one but Pete," said Jenny. "I -almos' swear it on the Bible." - -She was a human little thing, and Pete was human, poor devil. And so -was George Quin, alas! And the worst of it is that we all are. - -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" - -The sun burned and the water glared, and the Mill, the Stick Moola, -howled and groaned and devoured some twenty thousand feet of logs -that afternoon, and over the glittering river rose the white cone of -Mount Baker and up the river shone the serrated peaks of the Pitt -River Mountains, where Pete came from, and all the world was lovely -and beautiful. - -And that poor devil of a Quin sat in his office and tried to work, -and had the pretty idea of Jenny in his aching mind. - -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" - -Even George wanted to do the square thing, very often. But Jenny's -"almos'" was hell, eh? Tilikum, we both know it! - - - - -IV - -But for the fact that there was too muchee pidgin for everyone, as -the Chinaman said, or hyu hyu mamook as the Siwashes said, many might -have run after Jenny. - -"One piecee litty gal velly hansum, belongy Pitt Liber Pete," said -Wong, who was the helper at the Chinee Trimmer. He said it with a -grin, "Velly nicee klootchman alla samee tenas Yingling gal my know -at Canton, Consoo's litty waifo." - -She was as pretty as any Consul's little wife, that's a solid -mahogany hard wood fact. But with twelve hours work of the sort of -work that went on in the Mill who could think of running after the -"one litty piecee hansum gal" but the man who didn't work with his -hands? - -Wong was a philosopher, and, like all real philosophers, not a good -patriot--if one excepts Hegel, who was a conservative pig, and a -state toady and hateful to democrats. Wong had fine manners and was -a gentleman, so much so that the white men really liked him and never -wanted to plug him, or jolt him on the jaw or disintegrate him, as -they did most of the Chinkies. He returned the compliment, and -sometimes quarrelled with his countrymen about the merits of the -whites, as one might with Americans and others about the children of -the Flowery Kingdom. - -"My likee Melican man and Yingling man," said Wong. "Velly good man -Melican: my savvy. Some velly bad, maskee oders velly good. If -Chinaman makee bobbely and no can do pidgin, Melican man say 'sonny -pitch'; maskee my can do, my savvy stick-mula mamook, so Melican man -and Yingling man say, 'Good Wong, no sonny pitch, velly good.' -Melican gentleman velly good all plopa. What ting you tinkee?" - -Wong was an enigmatic mask of a man, wrinkled wondrously and looking -sixty, though nothing near it, as hard as solid truth, fond of -singing to a mandolin, great at Fan tan, but peaceable as a tame duck. - -He had a kind heart, "all plopa that one piecee man" from Canton, and -one day (not yet) he has his place here, all out of kindness to the -"litty hansum gal belongy Pitt Liber Pete." May his ashes go back to -China in a nice neat "litty piecee box" and be buried among his -ancestors who ought to be proud of him. Blessed be his name, and may -he rank with Konfutse! I preferred him to Hegel. And if any of you -want to know why I refer to him, you must draw conclusions. - -But, as we were saying, who could have full time to run after the -"litty gal" but Quin? - -To make another excursion, and explain, it may be as well to let -Pappenhausen talk. There were two Germans in the Mill, and both -worked in the Planing Shed. One was a man of no account, a -shuffling, weak-kneed, weak-eyed, lager-beer Hans, with as much -brains as would have qualified him to be Heir Apparent to some -third-rate Teutonic Opera-House Kingdom. But Pappenhausen was a Man, -that is to say, he didn't compromise on Lager or weep because he -drank too much. And he could work like three, and he wasn't the -German kind as regards courage. German courage is very fine and -fierce when the Teutons are in a majority, but when they aren't their -courage ranks as the finest discretion, that is, as cowardice nine -times out of ten. Pappenhausen would fight anyone or any two any -time and any where. He could fight with fists or a spanner, or a -pickareen or a club, and he took some satisfying. He was an amazing -man, had been in America thirty years. He said he was a -"Galifornian" and fought you if you didn't believe it. Once he stood -up to Quin and was knocked galley-west, for besides Long Mac there -wasn't a man in Saw-Mill Town that could tackle the Boss. Quin got a -black eye, but Papp had two and lay insensible for an hour. Quin was -so pleased with that, that he put him to work again and stood him -drinks. He actually did. After that Papp, as he was called, stood -up for, and not to, George Quin, and said he was a man, and he asked -what it mattered if he did run after the klootchmen? - -"Dat's der Teufel," grunted the native "Galifornian," "dat's der -Teufel, we all run avder der klootchmen, if we don'd avder trink. -I'm a philozopher, I, and I notizzes dat if it arn'd one ding it's -anoder. And no one gan help it, boys. One man he run avder dollars, -screamin' oud for dollars, and if you zay a dollar ain'd wort' von -'ondred cents of drubble he tink you grazy. I zay one dollar's wort' -of rest wort' a dollar and a half any day. On'y I cain'd help -workin'. If I don'd I feel I braig somedings mit mein hands. Oders -run avder klootchmen; if dey don'd dey feels as if dey would also -braig somedings. I tinks the welt a foolish blace, but in Shermany -(where my vater game from) I dinks it most foolish. And Misder Guin -he run avder Pete's klootchman and bymby Pete gill her as like as nod -and then Mr. Guin very sorry he spoke. I dell you I knows. Life is -a damn silly choke, boys." - -But it was (and is) only a joke to a Democritus of Papp's type. Even -Papp said:-- - -"Bymby I ged a new sood of glose and fifdy dollars and I go back home -to California." - -He said it and had said it. - -"Bymby----" - -Poor Papp! - -It was no joke to Jenny presently that "Misder Guin" ran after her. -But then it is no joke at any time to be the acknowledged belle of -any place, even if it is a Saw-Mill Sawdust Town, and the truth is -that Jenny shone even among the white women, gorgeous in their pride -and occasional new frocks from San Francisco, the Paris of the Coast. -There wasn't a white "litty gal" in the City who was a patch on her: -she was the "slickest piece of caliker" within long miles. Folks who -were critical and travelled, said that there was her equal over at -Victoria, but that was far off, and much water lay between. From the -mighty white-peaked summit of the Rockies, and the wonders of the -Selkirks, down through the Landing and Kamloops and Yale at the end -of the Cañon away to Westminster, she was the prettiest. - -Think of it and consider that she lived in a two-roomed shack with a -decent-looking wedger-off who was a Sitcum Siwash! She got -compliments on the street as she went up and down town. - -"Great Scott, she's a daisy!" - -"By the Great Horn Spoon, and also by the Tail of the Sacred Bull, -she knocks spots off of the hull crowd." - -Such things said openly have their effect. But the tulips on the -dressing-gown did even more, and the high-heeled shoes. She hankered -after things in the streets to which the dressing-gown was but a -faded flower. Quin spoke to her once as she glared into a window. - -"You like that, Jenny?" - -"Oh, my," said little greedy Jenny. - -Quin didn't care a hang if he spoke to the little klootchman in -public. He wasn't in society, for even in the River City there was -Society. They drew the line at squaw-men who went to dance-houses -and so on. But for that, the Manager and Owner of a Mill (or half -one or even a quarter) could have had entrance to the loftiest -gaieties and the dullest on earth. He didn't "give a damn," not a -"continental," for the "hull boiling," said Quin. Jenny was his -mark, you can take your oath. - -She was worth it in looks only, that's the best and worst of it. - -"Oh, my," said Jenny. - -"I'll give it you: it's my potlatsh," said the Manager, who cared -little for dollars when the girls came in. - -It was a "potlatsh," a gift indeed! To get Jenny, Quin would have -done "a big brave's potlatsh" and given away all he owned, horses, -mill, house, and all. That's a fact, and it must be remembered as -Papp said, that "dey also veels as if dey would braig somedings!" - -She got the gorgeous silk of tartan stripes that flared in the window -like a light lightening the darkness, for Quin went in and bought -what is known as a dress length and sent it down to her by his -Chinese "boy." When he met Pete in the road at noon that day he -stopped him. - -"Oh, Pete----" - -"Sir," said Pete respectfully, for the Tyee was so big and strong -besides being a Tyee, which always counts. - -"I have given your wife some stuff to make a dress. She was very -good to my brother and to Mary," said Quin. "She's a very good -little girl." - -He nodded and walked on. He wished Pete would get killed on the top -of a log, but his face was inscrutable and calm as that of any -full-blooded Siwash. Pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious as any -child. If he feared anyone it was Spanish Joe, with his guitar and -his songs. He went home as pleased as Punch by the condescension of -the Boss, and found Jenny laying out dinner. - -The trouble came as quick as it could come. It came right there and -then, when both were as happy as they could be. Jenny fairly -shivered with pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside the -inner room. Real silk it was and new, not a cast-off rag from Mrs. -Alexander, of the Kamloops Hotel. The tulips of the dressing-gown -faded clean out of sight: they died down in their monstrous array. -She saw the Dress, saw it made up, saw the world admire it: heard the -other klootchmen clicking envious admiration. But how was she to -account for it to Pete? She had been kissed by Quin, and she knew he -liked her, wanted her. The big man flattered her senses, he was a -white man, rich and strong. She wouldn't have almost sworn on the -Bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that this silk filled earth and -heaven for her gaudy little mind. She would have to think how to -tell Pete. - -So in came Pete in excitement. - -"Show me what Mr. Quin give you," he demanded. And her unlucky lie -was ready. It fell from her lips before she had a moment to think. - -"He give me nothing; why you say that?" - -Pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line. - -"You damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "I know." - -"It's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said Jenny. "What for you -tink the Tyee give me tings? You tink me a cultus klootchman like -Indian Annie?" - -On his oath he would have sworn one happy moment before that he had -never thought so. Now he thought too much. - -"You show it me or I kill you," said Pete. "I know Mr. Quin he give -you some stuff to make a dless." - -In his rage his words grew more Indian, and his taught English -failed, his r's became l's. So did hers. - -"Damn lie, I have no dless," screamed Jenny. "You no give me -no'ting, you make kokshut my dlessing-gown. I dless like one cultus -klootchman, in lags." - -He ran at her and she fled round the table. The newspaper and the -dinner went on the floor, and she screamed. Then she slipped on the -steak, and went down. As chance had it the table came over on top of -her and she held it tight, so that he could not get at her to hurt -her much. But he kicked her legs hard and then went into the inner -room. - -"No, Pete, no," she screamed. She knew that he must find the dress, -the precious silk, and she forgot all else in her great desire that -it should not be harmed. "I tell you the trut', Pete." - -She crawled from under the table: her hair was down to her waist, her -wretched every-day gown torn from her back: her bosom showed. - -"Oh, Pete, oh, Pete!" - -Her lips hung piteous for the lovely thing that Pete had found and -now held up in horrid triumph. The roll unrolled: he had the -crumpled end in his hand. It was a flag of blazing silk, a tartan to -appeal to any savage. Now it cried for help. - -"You damn klootchman, you," said Pete. "What for Quin he give you -this?" - -He kicked the roll with his foot. The stuff unrolled more and Jenny -cried aloud as though it was her papoose that her savage man ill-used. - -"I don' know why he give it me," she squealed. - -"Him velly kin' man always. Oh, don' tear it, Pete, oh, oh!" - -With his hands he ripped the silk in fragments. - -"You damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," he roared. "You no take -such a ting from Mr. Quin! You look at him lika you look at Spanish -Joe the other day: I see you." - -"You no see me do anyting wrong," Jenny cried, weeping bitterly. "I -don' lika Spanish Joe. 'Tis a lie, Pete. And I no can help if Mr. -Quin give me tings. I a very good woman, on the Bible I swear it. I -quite virtuous; Mr. Quin he no touch me, I swear it. Don' tear it no -more. Pete, oh, don'!" - -He set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty yards into -fragments. The room was full of shining stuff, of red and yellow and -green: the floor was gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his -rage upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her little flower -of love for him seemed to die in her outraged heart, which loved -beautiful things so much. Now she had nothing left, her visions -passed from her. She sat down on the floor and howled aloud, keening -over the death of the beautiful dress. She was no longer full of -pride, and conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor dirty -ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no more thought of than -dirty old Annie and Annawillee, who mourned so sadly the other happy -night. - -"Aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "Hyas klahowyam nika, very -miser'ble, aya!" - -And Pete ran out of the shack leaving her moaning. - -"That make her know what, eh?" said Pete. He worked furiously at the -Mill, without any food, and was very unhappy, of course, though he -knew he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, and in -knocking thunder out of his klootchman. He didn't believe she had -been "real wicked," but when it came to taking presents from Mr. -Quin, and lying about them, it was time to look out. - -"I teach her," said Pete; "give her what for, eh?" - -But he wasn't mad with Quin. It was quite natural for Quin to want -Jenny. Pete knew all the men did. She was so pretty. Even the -Chinamen knew it and said so. Pete was proud of that. "Velly hansum -litty klootchman," said Wong. Why should a man be angry because -another man wants his "litty gal?" No need to "makee bobbely 'bout -that" surely. But the litty girl had to be taught, Nawitka! - -"I give her the stick by-by," said Pete, and he used the wedges and -the maul as if he were giving poor wretched Jenny the stick then. He -worked that day though he hadn't an ounce of muckamuck inside him. -Ginger White said he was as quick as the devil: worth ten of that -swine Simmons. White's nose was gradually resuming its natural -shape, but when he thought of Simmons his hand went up to it. - -Oho, but they all worked, worked like the Bull-Wheel, like Gwya-Gwya -and "him debble-debble," said Wong. - -"No Joss in British Columbia," said Wong; "spose wantee catchee Joss -catchee Debble-Debble. Bymby Blitish Columbia-side an' -Californee-side him allo blong China, then Joss he come, galaw!" - -The "debble-debble"' was in Pete's heart for hours, but there's -nothing like work to get him out, and by four o'clock he was getting -sorry he had kicked Jenny and torn up the "dless." The little -klootchman had been good, he was sure, and she cooked for him nicely -and didn't get drunk often. If she did get too much, it was his own -fault, he knew that. - -"I tell her I'm sorry," he said. - -Aya, yaya, what a cruel world it is, Pitt River Pete! - -The little klootchman was "dying" now and telling the old hag Indian -Annie all about it. And it's only four o'clock and the Mill runs -till six. - -Poor Jenny, with bare shoulders and bare bosom, howled upon the -gorgeous floor of silken rags for a long hour after Pete ran out in a -rage. - -"Aya, yaya, nika toketie dless kokshut, no good. Pete him wicket -man, aya!" - -Oh, think of it! That beautiful green and yellow and red silk so -fine and thick and soft and shining t That "dless" which it contained -as a possibility, that her natural woman's eye put on her pretty -self! Aya, Yaya! Even a dear white woman would be very cross indeed -if her man came in and said, "You damn person, you have a roll of -silk given you by Smith or Brown or Jones," and then tore it up. -Aya, Yaya! How sad for poor Jenny, only nineteen, and so sweet to -look at and with a love of colour. Aya, as I speak I feel "hyu -keely." I could mourn with Jenny and say I'd get her another roll of -silk, for a kiss, perhaps, for the devil's in such a pretty dear. -Tut, tut, it's a sad world and a wicked, and the pretty ones are the -devil, aya, yaya! - -It was quiet enough in Shack-Town in the afternoon and a continual -aya, yaya-ing soon attracted the attention of Indian Annie when she -came from begging up-town past Pete's shack. - -"Aha, oho," said the bundle of wicked rags, once a beautiful -klootchman and a white sea-captain's darling, and yet another's and -another's, ay de mi, as Chihuahua said when he was sad, and others -still in a devil of a long diminuendo and degringolade and a sad, sad -fall, just as if she had been an improper white. "Oho, why Jenny -cly, kahta she cly?" - -In she went, for she knew Pete was wedging-off, and in the inner room -she found a pretty one half naked on the silken rag carpet. - -"Oh, my toketie Jenny, kahta cly? Oh, Lejaub, the pretty stuff all -tole up, yaya? Who done it, Jenny, real kloshe silk all assame white -klootchman have in chu'ch? Who give him, aya?" - -She was down on her knees gathering up the silk in whole armfuls. - -"Dis Pete? Eh, Pete, pelton Pete, fool Pete, eh?" - -Jenny sobbed out it was Pete who had torn it all up, and Annie nodded -cunningly as she stuffed a good bundle of it into her rags. - -"Aha, pelton Pete mamook si'k kokshut, but klaksta potlatsh mika, -nika toketie, who give him you, my pretty?" - -"Mr. Quin give him, and my bad man he say I mesahchie, no good, a -cultus klootchman alla same you!" howled Jenny open-mouthed. - -Annie showed her yellow fangs in a savage grin. - -"Cultus, alla same nika? Oho, pelton Pete, fool Pete!" - -"And he say," roared Jenny like any baby, "that I no good, not -virtuous, and he beat me, and taka silk and tearum lika so! And I -think I make a dless so pretty and now the pretty dless is all lags, -all lags!" - -She roared again and shook with sobs, and Annie got her by the -shoulder. - -"Pete is Lejaub, the devil of a bad man, my pretty. I get you ten -new dlesses for that. I hear Pete no go to mamook but go up town and -dlink whisky at Spanish Joe's white woman's. By-by he come back and -beat you, Jenny." - -Jenny clutched her. - -"Oh, he kick me bad, see, nanitch!" - -She showed her pretty knee with a black bruise on it. - -"That nothin', tenas toketie, by-by Pete come back pahtlum and knock -hell out of you, Jenny," said Annie. Then she bent and whispered in -Jenny's ear. - -"Oh, no, no," said Jenny. She clutched at Annie's skirt as the old -wretch got upon her feet. But Annie turned on her and twitched her -rags away. - -"You pelton, too? Much better be live and with rich good man than -dead with Pete and Pete with a lope on him neck. I go tell Mr. Quin, -him very good man, kloshe man." - -But Jenny implored her not to go to him. And as she sobbed that she -was afraid of Quin the old hag gathered up more and more of the silk -until she had nearly all that poor Jenny wasn't sitting on. - -"You stay. I go see, go think what I do for you. I no go to Mr. -Quin, I promise, tenas toketie." - -And she got away and went straight to the office in which Quin was to -be found, and asked to see him. - -"Quit, you old devil," said the young clerk, "pull your freight out -of this. No klootchmen wanted here." - -She had her ugly old face inside the door and the boy threw the core -of an apple at her. - -"I want see Mr. Quin," she cried, as she dodged the missile. - -"I want see him. You no kumtuks. Mr. Quin see me, I tell you he -want see me. Ya, pelton!" - -The boy knew very little Chinook and missed half the beauty of what -she went on to say to him. But she told him much about his parents -and a great deal about his sisters that would have been disagreeable -even if translated with discretion. By the time she came to a -climax, her voice rose to a shriek that might have been audible in -the Mill itself, and Quin came out in a rage. - -"Get to thunder out of this, you old fool," said Quin, "or I'll have -you kicked off the place!" - -She looked at him steadily and held up a long fragment of the silk -before him. - -"Mika kumtuks okook, you know him?" she asked with a hideous leer. - -And Quin came off the step and went up to her. - -"Where you get it, Annie?" - -"You know," said Annie. "Tenas toketie have him, you give him, ah. -But who tear him, makum kokshut?" - -"Pete?" asked Quin with the devil of a face on him. But Annie walked -a little away and beckoned him to follow. She got him round the -corner and he went with her like a child. He thought he understood. -Annie put out her claw and took his coat. - -"I give you klootchman often, now you give me tukamonuk dolla, one -hundred dolla, and I give you pretty Jenny." - -Quin blew out his breath and bent down to her. - -"You old devil," he said with a wavering grin. - -"Me Lejaub? Halo, no, I give you pretty young squaw, that not like -Lejaub. You give me one hundred dolla, see." - -Quin sighed and opened his mouth. - -"I give it. How you do it, Annie?" - -"Now she hate Pete, him pelton," said the witch; "he beat her, kick -her knee, kick her back, kick her belly too, and tear up si'k in -tenas bits, Mr. Quin. She cly like any papoose, she scleam and make -gleat latlah. He tear up si'k and tear her dless, now she half-naked -on the floo'. That bad, and she pretty and say Mr. Quin give me -dless, kloshe Mr. Quin. She love you, she tikegh mika, cly kahkwa -the si'k yours. You come: she go with you. I make so no one know -tings, if you take her yo' house." - -His house was on the hill above them. There he lived with not a soul -but his Chinese boy. - -"How you make no one know?" he asked. - -"Kloshe, I do it," said Annie. "I say to Pete she say to me she lun -away, and not come back, eh?" - -But as Quin explained to her, the first person Pete would think of -would be the man who had given her the dress. - -"Oh, ya, I know," said Annie. "Kloshe; I very clever klootchman, I -know evelything. She lun away with Shipman Jack this very day and -came tell me so I tell Pete. How that do, Mr. Quin? You tink, eh?" - -But Quin was doubtful. Annie urged her scheme on him and still drew -him further down the road. - -"Pete him once jealous, hab sick tumtum about Jenny with Shipman -Jack, because Jack pinch her behind and she cly out and Pete hear it. -That the other night. I know, I know evelything. I tell him mo'. I -say she often meet Jack befo'. Now you have fire Jack, and he goes -away this day and he now go in _Teaser_ piah-ship to Victolia, I see -him. Ah, velly good, she go with him. I say klahowya to them. I -get Annawillee for a dolla say she say klahowya to them. And alla -time Jenny in yo' house. I bling her this night. You see, all -light. You give me one dolla now?" - -"You'll get drunk, you old harridan," said Quin, who was all of a -shake, "and if you do you'll mamook pelton of me and no get the -hundred dolla. No, I give you all to-night." - -And knowing that it was true that she might get drunk if she had that -dollar she went away without it, back to Jenny. - - - - -V - -It was true enough that Jack Mottram, "Shipman" or sailorman, had -been fired that day a little before noon. To be "fired" is to get -the Grand Bounce, and to get that is to get what everyone understands -when the sack is spoken of. Another way of saying it is to mention -that "he got his time," or perhaps his Walking Ticket. So now it is -understood. Before getting all these qualifications as a free -unemployed seaman he had got drunk early in the morning. This is -nearly always a fatal error and brings trouble anywhere. In a -Stick-Moola running at full time it is liable to bring death. For -death stands handy with his scythe, or perhaps his pickareen, -uplifted in a Mill. Indeed, Jack the Shipman very nearly sent back -to Bouddha, or maybe to Posa, one poor native of the Flowery Kingdom -by landing him one on the "ear-hole." Poor Fan Tang (or something -like it) up-ended and disappeared down a chute, and was so sadly -disgruntled that he limped to the office and denounced Jack to Quin -in a fine flow of Pidgin English and mixed Chinook. - -"Muchee bad bad man belong Tlimmer pukpuk my! My fallee down chute -allo same lumber. My muchee solly, you look see bluise!" - -He exposed his awful injuries to Quin's view. He had parted with -many patches of cuticle in his tumble down the chute. - -"Dat shipman bad man, muchee dlunk," said Fan Tang spitefully, and -when Quin went over to the Mill he found that Jack was indeed "muchee -dlunk," and full of insolence and whisky. - -"All ri', Mr. Quin, I quit. I'm full up of this work. You give me -my money and I'm off to sea. What the 'ell I ever came ashore for, I -dunno! What ho!" - -Tom Willett, a young Englishman, went from the Chinee Trimmer to the -Big Trimmer, and Wong the philosopher took the Chinee Trimmer. - -"Out of this," said Quin, "or I'll smash your jaw." - -That was to Jack, who wasn't so drunk as to take up the challenge. -He went to the office quite meekly after all. He was almost as meek -as one "Dutchman" among ten English. - -"Righto, I'm off to Victoria this very day," said Jack. He drew -fifteen dollars and three bits, rolled up his dunnage, and went to -the wharf where the _Teaser_ steamboat, or "piah-ship," was lying. -He bade farewell to Sawmill Town with much contempt. But Indian -Annie saw him go. He goes out of this history on his way to Hong -Kong with lumber. He got well man-handled by an American mate and -lost much insolence before he sighted Mount Stenhouse. - -Annie went back to Jenny, now moaning sadly with a dirty face, -striped with tear-channels, and told the poor pretty dear a dreadful -tale. Pete was up-town, having got drink in spite of his being a -Siwash, and was ready to kill, said Annie. - -"Aya, I'm very much flightened," said poor Jenny. "What shall I do, -Annie?" - -The procuress stole a little more silk and dragged at Jenny's arm. - -"You klatawa, go away, chahco with me. I hide you, toketie. Pete -wicked, bad man, and get hang if he see you. Come hyak, hyak!" - -She got her into her own den, and hid her in the inner room. Then -she hobbled off to Annawillee, while Jenny sobbed herself to sleep on -the dirty bed. Annie and Annawillee were old friends, for Annie -liked her. When Chihuahua beat Annawillee too much she took refuge -at Annie's till her man calmed down. For love of Annie and a dollar -Annawillee would do anything. - -"I say I see Jenny klatawa in piah-ship with Jack the shipman. -Nawitka, I say it, and you give me dolla?" - -"Ha, one dolla, and one dlink, Annawillee," said Annie, grinning. -"Pete he much solly, and get pahtlum to-night, for I take Jenny away -to Mista Quin. By-by I ask mo' dolla. Nanitsh?" - -Oh, but indeed Annawillee was no fool and saw quick enough. To get -money for helping Quin to Jenny and to get more for not telling was a -fine business! "What you tink, eh?" - -At five o'clock, Jenny dressed in a horrid yellow dress belonging -notoriously to Annawillee, and with her head bound up as if she were -indeed Annawillee after Chihuahua had booted thunder out of her in a -jamboree, crawled with Annie up the hill, and sat behind a big stump -close to Quin's house, which stood alone. Poor Jenny was scared to -death by now, for Annie said terrible things of a drunken Pete, who -was supposed to be sharpening a knife for a pretty throat. - -"You very good klootchman to Pete," said Annie, "and he bad, oh, bad -to you, tenas toketie. Mista Quin him good man, rich and very -skookum. Pete kwass, afraid of Mista Quin. You alla same white -klootchman, good dlesses, very pretty. You no forget poor Annie: you -give her dless and dolla when you alla same white woman in chu'ch, in -legleese." - -Jenny wept bitterly. She still thought she loved Pete, and she was -conscious that she was no beauty in her dirt and the dreadful yellow -rags of Annawillee. - -"I wicked klootchman," said Jenny, "no mo' virtuous, I have shem see -Bible. And I not toketie now, very dirty. How I look now, Annie?" - -"You always toketie, tenas," said the old witch truly enough. "I do -up yo' hair, tenas. By-by you mamook wash yo' face, and be very -pretty. Mista Quin mamook wash every day, him gleat man, skookum -man, very lich, very lich, plenty dolla. Him love you mo' than one -hundred dolla." - -She did up Jenny's mass of tumbled black hair, and wiped her face -with a rag. She wetted it in her mouth. - -"Now you clean," said Annie. "What time Mista Quin come to him -house?" - -She peered from behind her stump, and presently saw Quin come up the -hill. As he passed her she called to him in a low voice. - -"Yahkwa, here, Mista Quin." - -And Quin came across the brush to them. Jenny buried her face in her -hands and her shoulders troubled. - -"I bling her," said Annie. "She much aflaid, hyu kwass, of Pete. He -say he makee her mimaloose, kill her dead, she muchee aflaid, and she -tikegh you, love you always." - -Jenny shook and trembled like a beaten dog. - -"She now very dirty and bad dless, but you mamook wash, and she hyu -toketie. No klootchman here like Jenny. Now, tenas, you klatawa in -house quick." - -She dragged the trembling child to her feet, and then held out her -hand to Quin. - -"You give me the dolla?" - -And Quin gave her the money in notes. She knew well enough what each -one was worth. - -"Now I tell Pete she klatawa with shipman Jack to Victoly, ha!" - -She scrambled down the hill and Quin took Jenny by the arm. - -"Come, tenas," he said in a shaking voice. - -But it was a kind voice after all, and Jenny burst into a torrent of -sobs and clung to him. - -"I have much shem," she said, "I have much shame." - -Even Quin had some too, poor devil. - -They went into the house. - - - - -VI - -By the time that the evening sun, slanting westwards to the Pacific, -which roared on wild beaches sixteen miles away, shone into the -western end of the Mill, Pete had worked the anger out of his heart -as healthy children of the earth must do. The song of the Mill was -no longer angry or menacing: it became a harmony and was even sweet. -Work went beautifully: the logs were sweet-cutting spruce for the -most part, or splendid pine, or odorous red cedar, and one precious -log of white cedar. The saws ran easy and their filed teeth were -sharp: the Hoes said "We can do, we can do," and the Pony Saw piped -cleanly and clear, while the Trimmers, though they cut across the -grain, cut most swiftly, and said, "Gee whiz, gee whiz." Young -Willett was pleased to get the Big Trimmer and Wong most proud to run -the Chinee one, which by its name certainly belonged of old to some -Chinaman, perhaps now in the country of Green Tea and Bamboos, and -forgetful of his ancient toil in alien lands. The engines, too, ran -well and the sawdust carriers did not break down, and no belt parted, -and nobody but Ginger White said much that was uncivil, and if he -went no further than that no one minded him any more than they minded -the weather or the wind. - -So as things went sweetly, Pete's heart grew sweet and he was sorry -he had kicked at Jenny's legs as she lay under the table, and sorry -he had torn up the pretty silk. After all it was natural enough that -Quin should give her something, and it was natural he wanted her. -But of course he couldn't get her, for she was virtuous and had a -Bible, and knew religion, and believed that Lejaub, or the diable, -would take anyone who was not virtuous. Both the Catholic and the -English priests said that, so it must be true. And, if she had -denied having the dress, he owned that he had often frightened her -and it was natural for her to say she hadn't got it, poor toketie -Jenny. He nobly determined to forgive her and say no more about it. - -And then the exultant whistle declared with a hoot that the work was -over for the day, and the engines stopped and the saws whirred and -whined and drawled and yawned and stood still while the workers -clattered out, laughing and quite happy. - -Oh, but it's good to be strong and well and to have work, but to have -none and thereby to get to cease to love it is very bad, oh, very bad -indeed. Let the wise know this, as the unwise and ignorant who -labour know it in their hearts and in their hands. - -"Oho," said Pete as he strode across the yard, "oho!" - -He was nobly determined to forgive. He would go in to Jenny and say, -"Look here, Jenny, I forgive you because you tell that lie, that -kliminwhit. I forgive you, but you be good, kloshe, tell your man no -more kliminwhit." - -He came to his silent shack and didn't notice that no smoke, no -cooking smoke, came from its low chimney. He marched in bent on -forgiveness, and found the front room empty. - -"She still cly about that silk," said Pete uneasily. He hesitated a -moment before he opened the inner door and called to her. - -"Jenny, Jenny." - -Silence answers you, Pete, silence and two empty rooms with a table -upset, and some few rags of dirtied silk still left by the predaceous -fingers or claws of the vulturine Annie. - -"She velly closs, go out with some other klootchman," said Pete. -"Damn, I beat her again." - -It was very hard indeed that he, the Man, should come in ready for -forgiveness and good advice with regard to future lies, and should -find no one meekly ready to accept pardon and to promise rigid truth -in future: it was very hard indeed, and Pete's brows contracted and -his heart was outraged. - -"Now I not forgive," said Pete. "She not here, no muckamuck ready -and I so olo, so hungry." - -He saw the steak that poor Jenny had cooked for his dinner. It lay -upon the floor, as she had lain on it. It was trodden and filthy and -Pete kicked it spitefully. He saw an old rag of a dress that was -Jenny's. It was the one she had discarded for Annawillee's horrid -yellow rag of quarantine, which said, "I'm Annawillee, be wise and -don't come near me." She had changed at Annie's, but Annie brought -it back and put it in sight. For she was a spiteful devil. - -"What for?" said Pete. A dull fear entered his heart which did not -dispossess his anger. "What for: kahta she leave dless?" - -It was a "dless" indeed. But she did not need it then. There were -certain beautiful garments at Quin's house, and there would be more. - -"I'll kick her when I find her," said Pete. He ran out and went -straight to the next shack, to Indian Annie's den. - -He found her and Annawillee, and both were drunk, but not yet too -drunk for speech, or for the discretion of the arranged lie. - -"You see Jenny?" he demanded. - -Annie lifted her claws to heaven and moaned. - -"I so sorry, Pete, Jenny bad klootchman!" - -"What you mean, you old devil?" roared Pete, in horrid fear. - -"I tell you delate, I tell you, Pete. She klatawa with--with----" - -His jaw dropped. - -"She go with Shipman Jack to Victoly in piah-ship," said Annie, -hiccupping. "I see her, Annawillee see her." - -"I see, nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa with Jack," puked Annawillee. -"She klatawa in piah-ship, she go Victoly." - -She was hugging a bottle to her pendant breasts as she told her lie. -But she believed it by now, and kept on repeating "to Victoly, an' to -California in piah-ship with Shipman Jack, inati chuck; acloss water." - -"Oh, God," said Pete. He was a dirty white colour. His lips hung -down. - -"She tikegh Jack velly much," said Annie, "love him very much, and -cly and say him good man, not beat her and tear her dless. She much -aflaid of you, Pete. She cly and go away." - -"She cly and go away," chimed in Annawillee, weeping tears of awful -alcohol. She was so sorry for everyone, and for herself and Jenny -and Pete and all the world. "I cly, I cly!" - -She sobbed and drank, and still Pete stood there, very sick at heart. - -"My pretty tenas klootchman," he murmured, "oh, hell, what I do?" - -"You hab dlink," said Annie, holding him up the bottle. He took it, -put it to his mouth, and drank half a pint of fiery stuff that nearly -skinned his throat. He dropped the empty bottle on the floor and -turned away back to his empty shack. - -"I will kill Jack," he said, "I, I, kill Jack!" - -He saw the world in a haze: the Mill danced darkly before his eyes, -dark against a golden sunset, his brain reeled, and when he came to -his own door he fell inside and lay insensible. - -"Pete dlink too much, he gleedy beast," said Annie. But Annawillee -nursed her empty bottle to her bosom and said foolishly-- - -"I see--nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa, oh, hyu keely Annawillee." - -And the night presently came down, and as the shacks lighted up it -was told among all the Siwashes and the Chinkies and the White Men of -ten Nations that Jenny, pretty Jenny, tenas toketie Jenny, had -"scooted" with Shipman Jack across the water to Victoria, to -California, to China, oh, to hell-an'-gone somewhere! - -"To Hell and Gone out of this," they said. And Spanish Joe sang to -the guitar a bitter little song about someone's señora who fled -across the sea, and Chihuahua grinned at Jack's luck (Annawillee did -not tell him the truth), and the Whites, Long Mac, and Shorty Gibbs -and Tenas Billy and even young Tom Willett, who knew nothing about -klootchmen, though some had their eye on him hopefully, said there -was no knowing what any woman would do. They understood that men -would do what they had a mind to. - -"Anyhow," said Shorty, "she was a dern sight too pretty for a -golderned Siwash like Pete. Someone wuz sure to kapswalla her sooner -or later. If I wuz given to klootchmen, which I ain't, thank the -Lord, I'd ha' put in for her myself." - -But to think of such a coyoté as Jack Mottram picking up the Pearl of -the River! - -"It would sicken a hog," said Shorty Gibbs. - - - - -VII - -Quin might be a Squaw-Man (as indeed he was in his irregular way) but -he lived in comfort, and Sam, his "boy," aged twenty-five, was a -wonder, worth more dollars by far than the days of the longest months -and all he could steal as well. Sam was good-looking and as clean as -a fresh-run quinnat, and he had the most heavenly and ingratiating -smile, and the neatest ways, and a heaven-sent gift of cooking. He -was pleasant to the world and to himself, and he sang little Chinese -songs as he worked and made Quin's house as clean as heaven after -rain. He didn't "hit the pipe," which Wong did, of course, and he -only smoked cigars. They were Quin's and good ones. Not that opium -is so bad as liquor, by the way, though the missionaries say it is. -It is better to "hit the pipe" than to "dlinkee for dlunk," and -that's an all-solid fact. - -Sam was discreet, and he let no one rob Quin but himself. Indeed, he -almost loved Quin, for Quin had good qualities. For example, he -rarely swore in his own house, and he had a way of making little -presents to Sam which were very encouraging. - -"Boss he makee allo tim' litty cumshaw my," said Sam. "He givee my -cigar: he givee my dolla. He givee my close: makee stlong cutsom -givee me all ting he no wantshee. My catchee allo tim' good close, -boot, tlouser, and he speakee my velly good: neber makee bobbely. -Massa Quin velly good Boss, no can catchee better. Supposee -klootchman no good, makee bobbely, he say 'hyack klatawa:' supposee -klootchman good klootchman allo same wifo dat velly good: Massa Quin -velly good and makee mo' cumshaw my." - -And now there was a new klootchman. - -"Ho," said Sam Lung, "ho, he bling 'nodder klootchman. My tinkee -'bout time he catchee new klootchman. He velly lestless, like he got -water topside, clazy. What she like this new klootchman?" - -He put his eye to the key-hole, and then drew up in disgust. - -"Fo, velly dirty, cly allo tim'. She velly litty young gal. After -las' wun he likee catchee young gal. Ha, my tinkee bymby she catchee -wash and look velly pletty. She whitee gal my tinkee when she -catchee washee." - -But poor Jenny was on the floor, still crying as if her little heart -would break. She was not yet able to look up and see the wonder of a -nice clean house, such as she had never been in, in all her life. - -"You're all right, Jenny, my dear," said Quin, "don't you cry. No -one shall hurt you, my girl. I'll give you a good time, my dear. -Now get up, Jenny, and look at your home, and then I'll take you into -another room and find you a new dress. Come, tenas Jenny." - -He spoke quite tenderly and touched Jenny's heart. - -"Oh, but I have shem," she said. - -"You come and mamook wash," said Quin, "and by-by we'll have -muckamuck and then you'll be all right. Come now." - -He lifted her to her feet, and when she felt his strong hands on her -she felt a little better. It was like fate, though she knew not what -fate was. He was strong and kind, and he said he loved her. She -caught his hand. - -"You no beat me?" she cried in a sudden passion of fear and -helplessness. "You no beat me, Mr. Quin?" - -"No, Jenny, no," he said. He turned her tearful dirty face round and -kissed her. - -"Oh, I too much dirty," she exclaimed in great distress. "No bebee -me till I mamook wash." - -She caught sight of herself in a big glass over the mantelpiece. - -"Oh, Mr. Quin, I have shem: I so dirty. You forgive me, Mr. Quin?" - -And Quin laughed a little uneasily. - -"Of course, my dear, now I make a lady of you; you are so pretty, -Jenny." - -He went out of the room and told Sam to make a "plenty hot" bath in -the bedroom. And he put out some clean clothes for her, which he -took from a locked cupboard. Some were new. Most of them had been -got for a Haida girl who had died of consumption two years before. -But Quin had forgotten her. He spoke to Sam when the "boy" brought -in the bath and water. - -"Sam, you no fool, I think," he began. - -"That same my tinkee, Sir," said Sam. - -"I bring another klootchman here, Sam." - -"Where you catchee?" asked Sam with great interest. - -"You mind your own pidgin," said Quin. "Now look, Sam, I no wantshee -anyone know who she is. When they ask you, you say she white woman, -allo same wife, from San Francisco. If you tinkee that not true, -that all right, but if you say so I fire you and give you no dolla. -While she stay here and no one know who she is I give you five more -dolla, moon-pidgin, every month. Now you savvy?" - -Sam stood with his head on one side all the time his master spoke. -He looked as intelligent as a sharp Chinaman can look, and he -answered with decision and a perfect gravity. - -"My savvy that plenty! You catchee one litty gal and no wantshee man -savvy. Dat light, I plenty savvy. My say she numpa one pletty litty -gal from San Flancisco. I savvy plenty and if litty gal stay you -givee my mo' five dolla moon-pidgin. My savvy plenty. Now you -washee her?" - -"Fill the bath, you damn fool," said Quin. - -"All li', savvy plenty," said Sam. "My cookee good dinner for -Missus. Five dolla mo' velly good. My cookee velly good: makee -litty gal stop allo same wifo." - -And he went back to the kitchen, solemn and satisfied, but very -curious to see the litty piecee gal when she was washed. - -It was all an amazing dream for poor Jenny. If it had not been for -the black bruise on her knee she would have thought herself in some -new world. For the house was beautifully built and lined inside with -red cedar. The furniture was as good as any in the City, for the -tragedy of Quin's life was, that he had met a white woman, and had -fallen in love with her three years ago. They were to have been -married, but the woman found out about his past history, his -character as a squaw-man, and threw him over. He had prepared the -house for her. The dead Haida girl Lily had come instead. Jenny -dreamed and wondered and half forgot that she was not good to be -there. Quin was very strong, "hyu skookum," and his house was to be -hers, and he would prevent Pete killing her. As she got into the hot -water the tears ran down her face. But the bath was pleasant, and -she was not too degraded to enjoy the cleanliness of things; and the -hot water eased the tension of her mind, and it seemed suddenly as if -her life with Pete was something very far off, hardly to be -remembered. - -And then she handled the clothes she was to wear, and the mere woman -woke in her heart. Here was linen far better than that she had -helped to wash for Mrs. Alexander before Pete had come and taken her -from Kamloops! It was beautiful linen to her eye, and in spite of -everything the pleasure she found in it was wonderful, for though she -did not know it, her skin was tender and delicate and had always -suffered from the stuff she had worn. - -There were silk stockings! - -"Mista Quin he very gleat man," said Jenny, awestruck. "Much better -than any I ever see, never nanitsh any like 'em." - -When she got them on she took up the dress. It was also silk, but -not like the monstrous tartan the cause of all her woe. It was a -dark red and fine and supple, for Lily had seen it in her last days -at Victoria and Quin had bought it for her, knowing that she would -never wear it. She died with it on her bed: her dead hand touched -it. It made another klootchman nearly happy. - -"I aflaid to wear it," said Jenny as she held it up, "it too -beautiful for poor me. I don't know where I am: I feel silly, all -like a dleam." - -She looked at the big glass and saw herself white clad, and with the -red silk in her hands. Her shoulders were white: her sun-tanned neck -showed how white they were. And the red was lovely. - -She put it on and she almost screamed with pleasure. - -"I 'most like a lady, like Missis Alexander," she cried. And indeed -there was no prettier lady within a hundred miles. - -She stood and looked at herself and trembled. - -"Oh, oh," said Jenny. - -And then she found that the dress fastened up the back. - -"I no savvy how can do it," said Jenny in great trouble. "If I do um -up firs' I no get in and if I no do um up it fall off. How can white -lady do, when she have no one help her?" - -It was an awful puzzle which she could not solve. A worse trouble -was at hand, however, for when she tried to put on the shoes meant -for her they were too small. - -"What I do?" asked Jenny of herself in the glass. "My ole shoes no -good and my foot too big for this little shoe. I have shem go -without shoe and with dless undone. I wis' I had someone help me. -But alla same I very pretty I tink, but I have shame of everything. -I no more good, no more virtuous--" - -Her lip hung down preparatory to her bursting into tears. But Quin -knocked at the door. - -"Muckamuck ready, tenas Jenny," he said. And Jenny murmured that she -would come directly. - -"He very kind man I tink," said Jenny, "I ask him through the door if -he mind I no have shoe." - -The door led straight through into the sitting-room. In her turn she -knocked on it timidly and opened it an inch. - -"Mista Quin, I have shem--" - -"Why, tenas Jenny?" asked Quin. - -"I no can put on shoe," she said. Quin laughed and she shrank back. - -"Come in, never mind," he said as he came to the door and pushed it -open. She bent her head. - -"And please, Mista Quin, I no can do dless up at back. I much aflaid -it fall off." - -Quin came into the room as Sam brought in the dinner. He shut the -door and caught her in his arms. - -"I have shem," she murmured, but he kissed her neck and mouth. "I -have shem." - -He did the dress up at the back and held her away from him at arm's -length. - -"By the Holy Mackinaw, you are a pretty girl, Jenny," he said -thickly. "You bebee me now?" - -The slow tears rolled down her face as she lifted it to him. - -"Yes, Mista Quin, but I have shem," she said simply. - -Sam banged on the door. - -"Chow-chow, Sir and Missus," said Sam, who was much interested in the -"love pidgin;" "Chow-chow all leady, Sir and Missus." - -It was an amazing dinner for Jenny. She had never seen the like save -in the kitchen of Mrs. Alexander's hotel, and if she had eaten -anything half as good, it was when she was a tenas klootchman and sat -outside on the wood-pile with a plate of food given her by the hotel -cook. - -But that Chinese cook wasn't a patch on Sam, who had been nerved to -unwonted efforts by the new situation and by the extra five dollars -while the new "Missus" stayed. He put out Quin's best cutlery and -polished the electro-plate till it shone indeed. The glasses were -like crystal and there was a bottle of champagne, made in San -Francisco (and perhaps very little the worse for that, seeing the -quality of western imported wines), on the full table. - -Jenny gasped and sat down very humbly. But if she looked up she -could see herself in a mirror opposite. It was a very strange and -pretty and abashed creature that she saw, a creature who "had shame" -but was too dazed to feel it greatly. For everything was so fine, -and Quin was a big strong man and white-clad Sam was so polite. "You -hab dis, Missus," or "my tinkee, Sir, Missus hab mo' wine." And the -floor had a carpet, and there were red curtains at the window, -through which she could see the shining mighty river and the far -faint hills of Sumass, lighted by the sinking splendid sun. - -"Oh, my dear, you are very pretty," said Quin when Sam was out of the -room. - -"I tink so too, Mista Quin," she said; "but I have shem to be here. -I know not'ing. I velly foolish klootchman, cultus and halo good; I -tink I very wicked to be here, but I like it allo same, Mista Quin." - -He gave her more wine and her eyes began to sparkle. The world of -yesterday, nay, even of to-day, was far off, further off than the -pure faint hills. - -"You be good to me, Mista Quin?" - -His hard heart was touched. - -"You bet, Jenny, I'll give you all you'll want." - -"Ah, you very big boss," said Jenny. If he could give any human -creature all she wanted he was a very big boss indeed. - -"Yes, my kiddy, you forget all about everyone but me, and I'll act -square to you, on my oath I will," said Big Quin. He pulled her -towards him and kissed her mouth. She flamed scarlet. - -"I lik' heem better'n Pete," she said. "Pete cluel to me; tear my -dless. Now I have better, ah!" - -The dinner came to an end and Sam brought in a lamp as the evening -light faded. - -"That will do, Sam. I don't want you any more," said Quin. - -And when Sam had washed up he went down to a compatriot's in the City. - -"My tinkee he makee love-pidgin now," said Sam, as he went. "Litty -piecee gal velly pletty alla same lady, maskee she no savvy what for -do with knife and fork. Dat not plopa: my tinkee her savvy velly -littee. Bymby my talkee how can do with Missus. My tinkee she no -flom San Flancisco. She makee hair not plopa, allo same lope. My -tinkee my talkee her how can do, my savvy plenty." - -But he told his gossips down below that Mista Quin had got a white -woman up from San Francisco. Indeed he did not know that Jenny was -no more than a quarter-breed Siwash, though he wondered at her -knowing so much Chinook, of which Sam himself was very ignorant, -though he savvied even how to do hair. - -The world of the little Shack-Town by the Mill believed that Jenny -had really fled with Shipman Jack and Pete got very drunk again that -night. - - - - -VIII - -"The Siwash'll be on Jack's tracks," said the Men of the Mill, "for -sure he'll be after him, hyak koolie! What the thunder did the -little klootchman see in Jack! Oh, hell, he warn't nothin' but a -special kind of sea hobo, boys, allers on the go: a blanket-stiff at -sea, that's what. And drink--we should say so! And mean, oh, there -ain't words! If Pete runs into him----" - -Pete wanted blood, that's a fact, but when a man wants blood and gets -liquor the blood stays unshed unless the victim is right handy. That -is also a fact, all wool, and a yard wide. - -Another fact was of great importance, and that is that Pete owed the -Mill dollars instead of the Mill owing him any, and to get across to -Victoria in the Island took silver, t'kope chikamin, in the shape of -dollars. And Pete couldn't swim, not so much as a hundred yards. He -was no Fish Indian. And the Straits are some miles across. - -Pete woke out of his drunk early in the morning and saw three facts -in the light of dawn, saw them come out of the darkness and stand up -before him, just as the Mill did and the tin-roofed shining Cannery -across the River, where Chinamen wallowed in shining salmon for -Eastern consumption. Pete saw the array of facts and at the back of -his Indian brain he had a notion of destiny, as they all have. Jenny -had run: he had "halo dolla," and it was a long swim across the -Straits of Georgia, in spite of all the islands a man might rest at. - -"She hyu bad klootchman," said Pete. "I no care one damn. I take -another by-by. She too much pletty, no sit down, klatawa with Jack." - -There wasn't a drink for Pete that morning, but he lighted a fire and -made some "caupy" or coffee. - -"I go work at Moola alla same," said Pete. "I no dlink, I make -dolla: I get another good klootchman. By-by Jack go to sea, leave -Jenny, she go hell. That all light. She damn bad klootchman." - -So when the Whistle, the great prophet of the strenuous life, yelled -the "Get up" in quick time, he was ready, and as determined as any -Blackfoot at a Siwash stake to show nothing of his torment. The -second whistle that shrieked "Get out" sent him off, and the day -began with the usual preliminary jawing-match in the Engine-room -where fiery monsters ate sawdust. - -"Ha, Pete," said Skookum Charlie, whose big bulk was spread on a -sawdust pile where the glare of an open furnace shone on him. "He -come to wuk' alla same." - -Long Mac with the blue eyes and keen clean American look was there. -And next him was black-a-vised, beady-eyed Chihuahua, far more -ancient Mexican than Spanish, and then Hans Anderssen and Johann -Smit, both seamen. And with them showed the fair and devilish face -of Spanish Joe with the beautiful voice and a soul fit for hell. And -the Engineer, a little Scotty from Glasgow, went about his work with -one Chinee helper as if they were not there, and only said "damn your -jaw," if they got in his way. - -The crowd looked at Pete, who swung in boldly enough with his head up. - -"Hullo," said the crowd with sympathy. But Joe laughed. - -"You' klootchman she pulled up her stakes and quit, eh?" he asked -with a sneer. - -"That so," said Pete quietly. "I tell her to go night befo' las' -night. She no good in fac', bad klootchman, get dlunk, no savvy -cook. Thlow my muckamuck on the floo'. I say go. I tink no -klootchman any good. Jack Shipman soon tire of she." - -"Perfectamente," said Joe, "you spik truth. All women are bad." - -Scotty managed to jam Joe in the pit of the stomach with the handle -of the huge wooden shovel with which he was feeding the greedy fires. - -"Beg your pardon," said Scotty with a grin, "but they arn't all bad." - -"Every damn one," said Joe, writhing. - -"All klootchmen no good, I say," Pete cried once more. - -"You had a mother, lad," said the Engineer severely. - -Pete shook his head. - -"That all light, Mr. Engineer, but she no good neither. She sell my -poo' damn sister to the man at Kamloops that had the ranche Cultus -Muckamuck Quin got now, sell her for two dolla, I tink. And now -Cultus got her too." - -Scotty having no more remarks to make, yanked the whistle lanyard. -It was six o'clock. - -"This is a hell of a country for a mahn wi' ony releegion in him," -said Scotty. - -He turned savagely on his Chinese helper. - -"Now then, Fan, you wooden image, get a move on you: hump yersel', -man, or I'll scupper you." - -The gift of work to unhappy mortals is that they cannot work and be -wholly unhappy, and Pete sucked a grim kind of pleasure out of the -labour that was his, and found some anodyne in it for the aching -wound he bore in his foolish childish heart. That day the labour was -great, for Ginger White had a mind to set the pace and make it fiery. -It was, as the men knew, one of his bad, his wicked days, such a day -as that on which he had driven Pete's predecessor to a standstill. -When Ginger's face was tallow against his fiery beard they knew what -to expect, and got it every time. It was said that on these -occasions he had quarrelled with his wife, but the truth is he had a -vicious nature and a love of work together. It gave him pleasure to -see the great saws do their work, and a greater pleasure still to see -a man turn white and fail. - -But now he had Pete, not Simmons, and the devil himself at the Saws -would not have broken Pete that day. For there was a hard devil in -his heart, and he grinned savagely as he saw White's motions get -every minute quicker and quicker. He nudged Skookum Charlie. - -"This Ginger White have one bad day. The debbel, how he go. You -see!" - -They saw. He cut them wicked slabs, slabs that had an unholy weight, -with all of it in the butt. When they fell they dropped between the -skids and got up and kicked. One struck Skookum on the nose and made -it bleed, another threw Pete. But though they both knew that Ginger -gave it them hot and heavy and wasted wood in slabs to do it, they -made no sign. This was a day that no one would be beaten. All the -men knew by instinct and by knowledge that this was to be a day of -hell, when the cut would be great and Ginger would go home half dead -with his endeavours to work them up. They set their teeth, even as -the saws' teeth were set in another fashion, and prepared to chew the -lumber that he hurled to them. - -The atmosphere was strange, charged, electric, strained. There were -days when the Tyee Sawyer left them slack, and went easy. Now they -jumped, their eyes were bright, they sweated, got alive, moved like -lightning. Each was an automaton; each a note struck by the Player. -And he played, oh, tilikum, he played! - -This was work, tilikum, such as even the Stick Moola hadn't known. -The engines knew it, and the steam gauges told it and the fires, and -the sawdust carriers. Chinamen knew it and shrieked horrid oaths at -each other. The belts knew it and squealed. Scotty knew it and -groaned, for he alone, bar accidents, could stop Ginger's drunken -debauch of labour. - -But the men he played on knew it best and almost cheered him when -they got the pace and found it at first so easy. They were all -young, not an old man among them, Ginger White himself was the senior -of them all. They could love and work and fight and play hell, for -they had youth in them. They had to show it to the song and dance of -the Saw, the song and dance of the flying dust. The engines ran -easy, and their muscles played beneath a glistening moist skin as -with open shirts they did what came to their hands. "Go it, you -devils," and "Let her scoot," and "Oh, hell," they said. - -They smiled and were happy enough, but as the hum increased and the -great skids got full over against the Pony Saw, you might have seen -Long Mac's smile die down into a good settled seriousness, quite -worth seeing. Long Mac had a way of dreaming as he worked, for he -had a power of thought and was sadly intelligent, but when Ginger -started trying them high, he had no time to think, well as he knew -all things a saw-mill man may and shall know. The skids were piled -high, you shall understand, you greenhorns, and he knew how it would -rejoice Ginger White to see that they would take no more, while -everything the wedgers-off tried to sling on the pile rolled -backwards to the very rollers. That would please White: he would -give a shrug of his shoulders as if to say-- - -"What a damned loafing lazy lot I've to do with!" - -"To hell with Ginger," said Mac. He set his teeth. The lumber flew: -he took risks: for swift running in a Mill means risks. Some of the -lumber was shaky, ring-shakes and wind-shakes were in it, and in some -of the wet-shakes fine white gum. When the saw strikes a shake the -loose pieces work out: some are like to touch the teeth of the saw -and get picked up! What that means is that the helper to the Pony -Saw is shot at by jagged lumps of wood: they come by whizzing like a -horrid bullet. Mac and his man watched and at times Mac lifted his -hand and his helper ducked as the Saw said "Phit, phit," and threw -things at him. It was exciting, it made the blood run fast in his -veins to know that at any moment he might be killed, and be so quiet. - -This was the battle of the lumber: for saws kill men and logs, kill -them and maim them, oho, but the day was fine and the fight long! -Down in the boom the man of the Boom, the man with the long pole, who -made the logs swim to their ascent to the Temple, whence they were -dragged by the Bull-Wheel, had his work cut out, but worked. If he -kept Ginger waiting, Ginger would skip over the skids and come to the -open way that led down to the Boom and use sulphurous language. - -"What the--how the--why the--oh, hell, are we to shut down and go -home? Hump yourself, Paul, hump yourself." - -And much worse if it hadn't been that Paul, a thin silent dark man, -was reputed dangerous, and was said to have killed a man in Texas, -somewhere in the neighbourhood of El Paso, where not a few pass up -the golden stairs on an unholy sudden. But the atmosphere down there -is fine, in its way: you shall not believe otherwise, I entreat you. - -It was towards noon when Mac had Ginger beat or near it. Or if not -that, he saw that Mac wasn't to be overcome. The Trimmers, Wong, the -Chinee, and Willett, the Englishman, had the thing down fine, for -Wong knew his business and Willett was at hard as a keg of nails or a -coil of barbed wire. He could claw and sling and work and sweat with -any. - -And still Ginger sent the thing going and again spurted, for Quin -came in! - -"Stand back, clear the track for Mr. Josephus Orange-Blossom," said -the nigger, the coon, the "shiny" (not a Sheeny, by the way) of the -song. That was the way Quin felt. He felt like someone in -particular. Indeed he always did, but now with Jenny at his house, -clad in beautiful clothes and looking "a real daisy," he was very -proud of himself. That's the way the male has, if the truth be said, -men or moose or wapiti, or a lion or a tiger for that matter: or, let -us say, a tom-cat. - -He was full of himself! And all he wanted to do now was to "fire" -Pete and get him out of the place, as was natural. - -Some men would have done it even without excuse, though that is -difficult, but George Quin had some natural or unnatural notion of -justice and couldn't go so far. He watched Pete with critical -half-savage eyes. Was there a glint of pity in them? Perhaps, -tilikum, for a man is hard to know. - -If this was Ginger's day and Ginger's hour when Quin looked in, it -was Pete's day too, for he threw his poor outraged Indian soul into -labour and did, oh, he did very well. Quin saw that he did, he was -pleased with the man, and seeing that he had to pay him, the work -pleased him. Pete's face was hard now and his eyes glittered: his -muscles stood up: his face and neck were wet: they glistened. He -went like a machine: and never made a mistake. He climbed a -five-foot log on the carriage close to the teeth of the saw (the -sawdust was in his hair and it looked white and woolly) like a -cougar, at one bound. He worked up Skookum Charlie in like manner -and made the Siwash like it. - -"Oh, he's good," said Quin approving and yet savage. "Oh, he's----" -and then Scotty yanked the whistle lanyard and the whistle said, -"Knock off, you galoots, galoots, galoo-oots!" - -The men threw up their heads, and most wiped their brows as they -straightened their backs and said "Oo!" They breathed and filled -their lungs and then thought of their empty bellies and started for -the Hash-house. But White, always polite and obsequious, stayed a -while with Quin. - -"We've cut a lot, Mr. Quin," said White; "the boom's nigh empty." - -"More in to-day," replied Quin. "How's your wedger-off doin'? If he -don't suit you, fire him, White." - -"He's the best man I've had this year," said White. He did not -understand why Quin grunted and turned his back on him. If he had -known Pete would have gone that day. - -"What's wrong?" asked White. "Well, I made 'em skip to-day." - -So the men thought as they piled into the hash, and said what they -thought of him and grubbed in anticipation of an afternoon the equal -of the morning. - -"He's a swine but a first-class sawyer, and no mistake, no fatal -error, eh, what? He made us skip and sweat to-day, but never piled -us up! That was what the tallow-faced swine was after, eh?" - -"You bet! Here Fan Tong, or Hang Chow, more chow this way! White's -a swine; oh, he made us skip." - -"'E's a 'oly terror," said Willett. - -"A tough from Terror Flat!" - -"No razor in his boot, though! There ain't no real fight in -Tallow-Chops. Pass the mustard." - -What a good life it was! And the chewing was good enough for a boss -hobo, death on three fine squares or set-downs, and don't you forget -it! - -But Pete grubbed silently in Indian Annie's, who moaned to him about -Jenny. - -"Damn klootchman, I forget her," said Pete. Yet many days passed and -he did not forget. - - -When they were all out of the Mill, Quin stood and stared at the dead -saws without seeing them. - -"It's hard lines: but I can't fire him," said Quin. - - - - -IX - -For the workers, these Bees in a Wood Hive, the days passed swiftly. -Oh, it was wonderful how they passed! The dawn broke up night's -massed army and chased it into the Pacific Ocean, and round the quick -little world, and again fled. The days went round like a wheel, like -a saw. They came up and flowered: they died down and were not. Only -Sunday stayed like a monstrous month, an oppression as all workers -find it, an unnecessary day when every muscle and nerve ask for the -habit of big work. We cursed and groaned on Sunday, tilikum, and if -you don't like to believe it, there's no one will plug you for doing -the other thing. Sunday wasn't an Oasis, it was a desert. On Monday -it was, however, desirable: Tuesday pined for it: Wednesday yearned -for it: Thursday screamed for it: Friday sickened for it and Saturday -hallooed joyfully with it in sight. And by ten on Sunday the Workers -loathed it. - -But the swift days of work were the days. They streamed past like a -mountain torrent. Even sad and sorry Pete found it so. He smote his -wedges with his maul and, lo and behold! a day was dead; and the -stars sang above the hills and the starlight gleamed on the Fraser's -shining flood. He laid his head, his cabeza, on a pillow (unwashed) -and it was day. Again it was night. - -Yet for one the hours were strange and slow. She looked out from the -house on the hill-side and saw the slow sun wheel his team into the -West, as if his horses drew innumerable thousands and hundreds of the -world's big freight. Poor Jenny, now plump and sweet and beautifully -clad, and learned in the delights of hot water (of which Sam was a -kind of prophet, for he loved baths as if he were a Japanese), found -the days slow in spite of baths and clothes and cleanliness. The -poor dear pined a little, as one might who had lived wildly, for the -ruder joys of her earlier life. Things were onerous. She wanted at -certain hours to sit down, to "squat upon her hunkers" and suck at a -pipe, perhaps. A yarn with wretched Annie or Annawillee would have -been pleasing. She even thought of Pete, though she was getting very -fond of her conqueror Quin, who dominated her wonderfully. That was -her nature; for if some conqueror of Quin had come along she would -have gone with him, very likely, as a wapiti hind will follow a -conquering wapiti. And yet who can say? I cannot; for I think she -loved Quin very well indeed, though he denied her the trivial -consolations of Indian bawdry with Annie or mournful Annawillee. - -Somehow I think Jenny was very good. One can't say. She grew -prettier and gentler every day, every hour. Sam admired her frankly -and was very polite. It was his nature. He told Quin quite openly -what he thought, and sometimes gave him good advice. - -"My tinkee Missus heap pletty, Mista Quin," said Sam, "evely day mo' -pletty, maskee my tinkee she velly sad, hab noting to do. Missus -wantche flin, Mista Quin, t'at what she wantchee. No can lead, no -can lite, my tinkee, no can makee dless allo tim'. T'at velly sad. -No likee cookee chow-chow, she say." - -He shook his head. She wanted a friend ("wantchee flin"), that was a -fact, and all Quin could do was to order her more dresses and linen -from Victoria. He got her picture-books (for, as Sam said, "she no -can lead") and talked to her about what she saw there. When he was -with her she was happy. - -"I velly happy at night-time, Tchorch," she said meekly. "But -daytime velly keely, very sad." - -"Tchorch" Quin picked her up in his arms and set her on his knee. - -"Litty gal, I love you, tenas," he answered, mixing the lingoes. -Perhaps he did love her. Quien sabe?--as Chihuahua said about -everything uncertain. - -"You love me, Tchorch?" she asked flushing, "velly much?" - -"Tenas, hyu, hyu, very much indeed, little one." - -"I not mind if the day is sad, then," said Jenny. She regarded him -with big sad eyes, and then looked down. - -"But I not a good woman, Tchorch." - -Quin frowned and grumbled. - -"Damn nonsense, tenas." - -But it wasn't damn nonsense to Jenny. And most especially it wasn't -so on Sundays, though on that day she had George Quin all to herself -and the greedy Mill stood quiet. On Sundays she heard the tinkling -church bells, and when the wind blew lightly from the east the sound -of distant singing came up to her as she stood at the open window. -She remembered what the good Missionary, the "kloshe leplet," had -said about goodness, and badness, and the Commandments. There were -ten of them, Jenny remembered, though she had been to no service ever -since she lived at Cultus Muckamuck's ranche. - -"I velly wicked, Tchorch," she said mournfully. "I blake the -Commandments!" - -"Humph," said George Quin, "don't cry about it, kiddy. I've kicked -'em all to flinders myself. If you go to Lejaub's hyas piah, I go -with you, tenas." - -He kissed her. His bold and ready undertaking to go to hell with her -was really very consoling. His statement that he had broken all the -Commandments comforted her: it showed his good faith. Jenny had a -wonderfully material view of hell, and her imagination showed it to -her as a sawmill in flames. She had seen the Mill at Kamloops on -fire, that is why. Now George Quin was the Manager of the Mill and -the owner and a big strong man. She had a kind of dim notion that he -would be able to manage a good deal even in hell. - -And besides she loved him really. There's no doubt about it, and -even he knew it. - -The big strong brute of a man was very gentle with her, and let her -"cly" a little when she thought of the good missionary (who happened -to have been a very bad man, by the way, though many of them were -splendid) and the wood fires of the diabolical saw-mill of which -Lejaub the devil was manager. - -But he never knew how her feelings worked on her when he was away, -and indeed if he had known there might not have been the trouble that -there was. And he had entirely forgotten that he had a Bible in the -house: the gift of his old mother who still lived in Vermont, far -away to the East. - -The Bible was the source of all the woe that followed when a big deal -in lumber took Quin over to Victoria and kept him there three days. -He had more than half a mind to take her with him, and if her speech -hadn't betrayed her origin he would have done it like a shot. And -when he went Jenny cried as if he were going to cross the Big Salt -Chuck or the Pacific. Though her mother had been a Hydah she knew -nothing of the waters. - -"I much aflaid of Pete," she thought. - -But Quin gave great directions to Sam and he believed he could trust -him. - -"My look see evely ting," said Sam. "Missus all light: my givee good -chow-chow, hot wata, blush dlesses, t'at all light. My no lettee -Missus go out? No, good, my no lettee." - -But he played Fan-tan of course, and couldn't be expected to stay in -all the time, or to understand that the Missus was upset in her mind -about morality. And he knew nothing and cared less about the Bible. -There wasn't the making of a rice Christian in him unless rice was -very scarce indeed, and now he lived on the fat of the land of -British Columbia. - -So the day after she had cried herself to sleep, she came across the -Bible. - -It was not quite a family Bible, and only weighed a pound or so, but -it had a biblical cover of sullen puritanical leather which suggested -that the very bookbinder himself was of the sourest disposition, a -round-head, a kill-joy, with ethics equal to the best Scotch -morality. This binding alone, however, would have had comparatively -little effect on the childish mind of Jenny. But the book had in it -dour and savage pictures of so surprising a lack of artistic merit -that they struck her down at once, poor child. In spite of the lack -of colour the dreadful draughtsman made very effective curly-whirly -flames in a hell which was remarkably like a study of a suburban -coal-cellar, and the victims of his fire and ferocity expressed the -extremest anguish as they fried on eternal grids! Oh, horrors, but -the pictures brought back to the fearful mind of the tenas klootchman -all the dread with which the good (or bad) minister, Alexander -Mickie, had inspired her when she attended Sunday School at Kamloops -and heard him preach in Chinook. For Chinook is no more than a few -hundred words and most of them are very material. So was Mickie's -mind, whether he preached openly or drank in secret, and the hyas -piah of Lejaub, or the great fire of the Devil (Lejaub being equal to -Le Diable), was a hot wood fire to Jenny. She believed naturally -enough in Lejaub much more than in God, for her Indian blood helped -her there, or rather hindered her, and the English God was a far-off -notion to a mind not given to high abstractions. - -So Jenny when she got the picture Bible sat with it in her lap and -trembled. - -"I a bad woman, I go to hell; very wrong for me to love Tchorch!" was -her mind's commentary as she turned the blind pages for some other -picture. - -And every now and again she turned back to the curling flames and -elaborate grids of hell. She traced in some anguished lineaments a -remote likeness to herself. Then she fell to weeping, and weeping -Sam found her. He was sympathetic. On the whole Sam was a very good -sort. - -"Why you cly, Missus?" - -It was in vain for her to say she wasn't crying. - -"Oh, yes, you cly, Missus, but what for you cly? Mista Quin he come -back to-molla." - -He might even be back that night, as Sam knew, though he would not be -till late. But Jenny sobbed and the Bible slipped from her knees -upon the floor. Sam picked it up and recognised it at once. He -snorted as he gave it her back. - -"My tinkee no good lead dis," he said solemnly. "My tinkee all the -stolies in it lies, Missis. My savvy one, two, tree, piecee -Joss-pidgin-man Chinaside, what you callee leplet, my savvy Yingling -word, miss'onary, and he talkee no good. My tinkee him got wata -topside, clazy, pelton you say." - -Out of this difficult hishee-hashee of words Jenny extracted the -notion that in Sam's opinion missionaries were fools, for "leplet" -and "pelton" put together mean that. She shook her head and sobbed. - -"My tinkee no good makee littee Missus cly," said Sam. "T'at book -makee nicee litty gal cly allo time. My see um. No good littee gal -cly: my say it damn foolo book. Mista Quin him velly good man: -plenty chow-chow, dlesses and Sam for washee evelyting. Missus, you -no lead Bible. Him no good. Damn foolo stoly, my savvy." - -But what good was it for a Chinaman to tell her that? - -"Him velly good book, I tink, Sam," she said earnestly. - -"My no tinkee," returned Sam. - -"It belongs to Mista Quin," urged the "Missus." - -"Him never lead him," said Sam triumphantly. "My putty him away and -Mista Quin him never savvy." - -Perhaps that was true. But then was not "Tchorch" wicked too? - -Her lips trembled and she opened the book again at the fiery picture. - -"What t'at picture?" asked Sam, quite eager to see. - -"It's hell," said Jenny, trembling. - -"Ah," said Sam, "t'at Debelo's house. T'at all light. Wong him -velly clever man, him say Debble-Debble here all light, but only -China-side belong God. My tinkee too. Wong say one time no food, no -licee, and evelybody hungly, and makee player to Posa, allo same God, -and nex' day one foot licee all over. T'at China-side, galaw. But -my no can stay: my cookee chow-chow: Missus no cly, Debble-Debble -never take litty gal, Missus." - -But the fact remained that even Sam believed the devil was in British -Columbia (and all America, of course), even if God only thought of -China. On the whole Sam's cheerful intervention did harm rather than -good. Jenny did put the book away and tried not to think of the -"hyas piah," but as the evening came on there was a gorgeous sunset -and even that brought fire to her timid mind. When it was dark she -shivered and was glad to see a light. Then she got out the book -again. - -She was living a very wicked life, oh, yes, the missionaries would -say that. She was Pete's wife and was living with Tchorch! That was -very wrong, it was against the Commandments. - -What ought she to do? - -What was right? - -If only George were back! That is what her heart said, for now she -hungered for him very bitterly, because she felt she would see him no -more. The little girl had gone so far on the burning path of -repentance. She _must_ see him no more: and what she saw in the -gloom was the glow of the Pit itself. She ran to the window and -looked down on the quiet world and the few shining lights of the -quiet city and the star-shine on the great river. But all these were -as nothing to her loneliness and her sudden fear and all the awful -threats of hell that came back to her in such an hour. She fell upon -her knees and tried to pray and found herself murmuring, "Tchorch, -dear Tchorch." He was coming back to her that night and was glad to -come back, for he had no notion, no adequate notion of what a bad man -he was. He loved the tenas klootchman, loved her far better, -perhaps, than the white woman who had scorned him because of dead -Lily's predecessors. - -But Lily was now no more than a dead flower unremembered in some -spring garden. He was going back to Jenny. - -She cried as she prayed to God and said "Tchorch!" George was the -little foolish woman's prayer, and it may be a good one. The name of -the Beloved is for ever a prayer, tillikum. - -It was nearly ten o'clock when Sam looked in. He did not think Quin -would come now. It was late for the S.S. _Yosemite_. - -"You all light, Missus?" he asked. - -And she said that she was all right and Sam went away down to Wong's -shack for an hour's Fan-tan. He hoped to make a few dollars easily, -so that he could go back China-side and buy one "litty piecee waifo" -for himself so that he could have children to attend to his ashes and -his kindly paternal spirit. - -But Jenny saw her spirit, her soul, her body, in the flames. - -She must go back to Pete, and ask him to forgive her. He would beat -her badly, she knew, and he would tear her "dless" from her and speak -things of shame. - -"I have shem," she said. She heard Sam go down the path singing a -high-pitched quavering Chinese song. When he was quite gone she -began to weep, and wept until she was ill. She stumbled blindly -round the room, and went into the bedroom and kissed things of -George's, and the very bed itself, and then went out into the -darkness. In that hour, the poor child forgot how beautifully she -was dressed. She stumbled in light shoes down the path, and as she -went she wished she were dead. For Pete would be cruel. He would -beat her and take her back. - -"I'm very wicked," she said, weeping. George would be unhappy. She -turned with her empty arms outstretched to the hill above her, to the -empty house. George had been very good to her. - -She passed Wong's shack. Sam was in there with half a dozen others, -and they were hard at it gambling. After Wong's came Skookum -Charlie's and then Indian Annie's. The next shack was Pete's. She -sank down in the darkness between the two shanties in a state of fear -and stupor. In front of her was shame and cruelty and behind her the -fires of hell. But she wanted to be good. - -There was no light in Pete's shack. When she saw that, she hoped for -one despairing moment that he had gone away. Yet she knew that if he -had gone George would have told her. Most likely he was with Indian -Annie. He would be at least half-drunk. She felt dreadfully beaten. -There was a roar of bestial silly laughter from Indian Annie's. - -From down the river almost abreast of Lulu Island there came the -sound of a steamer's whistle. It meant nothing to her and Sam did -not hear it. Annie's door opened and Annawillee ran out reeling. -She was going home to Chihuahua and had to pass Jenny, crouching on -the sawdust in silks and fine linen. - -"Oh," groaned Jenny as Annawillee came along crooning in mournful -tones her old ballad that said she was "keely." When she was close -to Jenny she reeled and recovered and stood for a moment -straddle-legs. She hiccupped and in the clear darkness saw Jenny -without knowing her. - -"Who you?" she hiccupped. - -Then she saw who it was, and burst into idiotic laughter. - -"Oh, Jenny klootchman," she screamed. And Pete came out of Annie's -to go home. - -"What's that, Annawillee?" he asked in the thick voice of liquor. -"What you say, eh?" - -Annawillee forgot there was money and drink in Pete's not knowing, -and she stood there laughing--laughing as if her sides would split. - -"Your klootchman Jenny she come home," said Annawillee. And Jenny -groaned as Pete came running. - -Before he spoke a word, he kicked her. - -"You damn klootchman," he said. He took her by the hair and dragged -her along the ground while Annawillee still laughed. And Jenny -screamed. - -"Where's your man now, ha?" said Pete, thickly. "I tink I kill you -now." - -The _Yosemite_ came alongside her wharf as if it were bright day and -Quin leapt ashore. - -As Pete dragged her, Jenny got upon her knees and fell. And again -she half-rose and again fell, and under his brutal grip of her hair -her scalp seemed a flame of agony. She was sorry she had determined -to be good and to repent. She screamed dreadfully and many heard. -Some shrugged their shoulders, for screams in Shack-Town were only -too common. Yet some came out of their houses. Among them was -Chihuahua. Indian Annie came too, and before Pete had got his wife -to his own door, there were others, among them two Chinamen from an -overcrowded shanty further up the road. And still they did not -interfere. Jenny was Pete's klootchman and she had run away. Like a -fool she had come back, and must suffer. There was none among them -that dared to interfere: for they feared a knife. - -And as George Quin came ashore he heard Jenny's screams. "Another -drunken row," he said carelessly as he faced the hill to his lonely -house. He was very glad to get back home to his tenas klootchman, -for he hated loneliness. He said "poor little Jenny" as he walked. - -There was now a crowd about poor Jenny, for more came running, more -Siwashes, among them Skookum Charlie, and more Chinamen. But still -no one interfered, though Annawillee shrieked even more than Jenny. -She implored Chihuahua to kill Pete. But Chihuahua booted Annawillee -and made her howl on her own account. - -"She run way and come back," said Chihuahua. "If she mine I kill -her, carajo!" - -And Pete started kicking Jenny. Once and again she cried out, and -then the last of all who looked on came like a fury at Pete. The -bleared and haggard and horrible old Annie was the one who had the -courage, and the only one. - -"Aya, you damn Pete," she screamed. She got her claws in Pete's long -black hair and pulled him down. She was a bundle of flying rags with -a savage cat in them. If Jenny were killed she would be nothing to -Annie, but while she lived she was worth drinks. And perhaps Annie -loved the little klootchman. Who can tell? - -She and Pete rolled together on the dusty road, and the onlookers -shrieked with laughter. Quin heard it as he climbed. - -"The row's over," said Quin. - -More came out of the huts, and this time Wong, old Wong, the -philosopher was among them. And with him came Lung and Wing, and at -last Sam. The Chinamen stood outside the circle of the Siwashes and -chattered. The first told the others that Pete had killed his wife, -and now was killing someone else. The devilish twisting bundle in -the dusty road revolved and squealed. But Annawillee howled by the -side of Jenny, who lay insensible. Skookum struck a light, and it -shone upon the poor girl. It showed her dress of scarlet, and Sam's -quick eyes saw it. He ran in quickly towards her, though the wise -Wong held him back. Chinamen never join in alien rows if they can -help it. It is wisest not to, and they have much wisdom. Skookum's -match went out. Sam lighted another and knelt beside Jenny. - -"'Ullo, Chinaman," grinned Skookum, "you tink she dead, you tink -mimaloose?" - -Oh, said Sam, this was Mista Quin's Missus right enough. What did -she want here? He called to Wong, who came calmly, unhurriedly. Sam -spoke to him in their own tongue, and then Sam, who was as quick to -catch as Wong was wise to suggest, cried out suddenly that the tenas -klootchman was dead. He took her in his arms and ran with her to -Wong's shack. And as he ran Pete got up from Annie, whom he had -choked into stillness. But his torn face bled and one eye was nearly -on his cheek. He kicked Annie as she lay, and then turned to where -he had left Jenny. - -"Where my klootchman go?" he demanded. - -They told him in a dreadful chorus that she was dead, and he -staggered back against his shack. - -"Where is she?" - -"Wong take her." - -They believed wise old Wong a physician, for Chinamen have strange -gifts. - -"I go see," said Pete. - -"No, you run 'way," said Skookum urgently. He believed Jenny was -dead. - -"Mus' I run?" asked Pete with a fallen jaw. - -"Dey hang you, Pete," screamed Annawillee joyfully. Old Annie sat up -in the road. - -"Where I go?" asked Pete. "I wis' I never see Jenny." - -He burst into tears. They brought him a bottle, and told him to -"dlink." They gave him advice to go down the river, up the river, to -the Inlet, to the Serpentine, oh, anywhere from the Police. - -"I go," said Pete. He drank. - -"I--I--go," said Pete. He drank again, and fell and lay like a log. - -"Now they catch Pete and hang him," screamed Annawillee. Annie -staggered across to him and kicked him in the face. - -"Pig Pete," said Annie. - -Quin came to his empty house and called to tenas Jenny. And then to -Sam. When no answer came he ran through the hall into the empty room -where the lamp was. On the floor he saw the Bible. He understood. -He quite understood. - - - - -X - -There was no doubt at all in George Quin's mind as to what had -happened, and perhaps he was not wholly surprised. What did surprise -him was his own ferocious anger, and the wave of pity that even -swallowed up his wrath. - -"My God!" said Quin. - -There wasn't a man in the City who knew him a little but was prepared -to swear that Quin was a brute, and a devil without any feeling to -speak of. It was said that he had killed Lily, the Haida girl, when, -as a matter of fact, it was his brother, Cultus Muckamuck as the -Siwashes called him, who had done a deed like that. He had treated -Lily well. Her people said so. He had treated them well, the greedy -brutes! - -Now Quin was full of pity, and of jealousy. This Bible had hurt her -poor weak mind, no doubt of that: and it had driven her back to Pete, -perhaps. - -"My God," said Quin again, "where else?" - -He remembered the screams he had heard coming from Shack-Town as he -landed. And as he remembered he found himself running down the hill -in the starlit gloom. He wasn't a very young man either. Quin was -nearly forty: hard and set: at times a little stiff. Now he went -recklessly. - -"If Pete----" - -It didn't bear thinking of, so Quin wouldn't think of it. He was -jealous, hideously jealous. He could have torn Pete asunder with his -powerful hands. He felt his nerves in a network within him, and in -his skin. They thrilled like fire. - -"My poor little Jenny!" - -Why, the fact was that he loved her! When one comes to think of it, -this was a monstrous discovery for him to make. He had really never -loved anyone, certainly not dead Lily, more certainly not that white -woman over in Victoria, though he thought he had. What he felt for -Jenny was a revelation; it made him a saint and a devil at once, as -passion does even the best and worst of men. And Quin had force and -fire, and bone, and muscle and a big heavy head and hands like -clip-hooks. Now passion shook him as if he were a rag in the wind. - -He came down to Shack-Town, and stopped. He was hot but again he -sweated ice. He looked down the road and saw figures moving. - -"Which is the shack?" he asked himself. - -He went past Wong's house, where Jenny lay on a table with ten -jabbering Chinamen around her. He heard a high-low sing-song of -their chatter and cursed his boy Sam for leaving the house as he had -done. - -"I'll kick the damn stuffin' out of him," said Quin savagely. - -He passed Indian Annie's and saw the group beyond it, standing about -Pete's recumbent body. Skookum Charlie was almost in tears to think -that Pete would be hanged. Annie wiped her bloody face with her -skirt. Annawillee, howling curses at Pete, sat by her. - -"What's all this?" said Quin, coming out of the darkness. He saw -Pete, or rather saw a body. He spoke hoarsely. - -"Mista Quin, oh!" said Skookum, scrambling to his feet. - -"What is it?" asked Quin again. "Kahta mamook yukwa? What do you do -here?" - -"Pete him kill Jenny," screamed Annawillee. Quin staggered back. - -"He, he----" - -He pointed at the drunken man. - -"Not mimaloose, him dlunk," said Annawillee, "Jenny with Chinaman." - -Skookum led Quin, the big Tyee, to Wong's shack. - -"If she's dead----" said Quin, looking towards Pete. He opened -Wong's door. - -The room was eight feet by twelve by ten: it reeked of fierce tobacco -and the acrid fumes of "dope." Some of them "hit the pipe," smoked -opium. The smell was China; Quin, who had been there, knew it. With -the odours of Canton were the odours of bad oil. Three lamps ate up -the air. Quin saw a row of whitish masks about the table: some -excited, some stupid, one or two villainous. At the head of the -table was the quiet majestic head of the old philosopher Wong. He -had a great domed skull and a skin of drawn parchment over wide -bones. With a sponge he wiped blood from Jenny's face. Sam held a -bowl of water. He looked anxious and strange. And Jenny's body, in -white linen and crimson silk, fouled with sawdust and blood, lay -there quietly. - -"Is she dead?" asked Quin. - -The philosopher, whose shiny skin declared his love of opium, said -she was not dead. - -"My tinkee she all light bymby," said Wong, "She belongy you, Tyee?" - -"Turn the others out," said the Tyee, and at Wong's word they fled -out of the door, and stood in the dark jabbering about Quin having -taken Jenny. - -Quin turned on Sam. - -"Why did you leave the house, Sam? My tell you stop, you damn thief!" - -Sam, now as pale as Jenny, threw out his hands in urgent deprecation -of Quin's anger. - -"My no go out," he lied, "my stay allo tim' with Missus, maskee she -go out and my no findee. I lun down here, Mista Quin, lun queek, -findee damn Pete hurtee Missus. T'at tlue. My tellee Missus no cly: -maskee she lead Bible and cly. My no can do." - -He wrung his hands. Perhaps what he said was true. Quin felt -Jenny's pulse and found it at last. He saw she breathed. - -"I'll have her home," he said. - -They took the door off its hinges, and Sam with the others carried -her up to the house. Wong went into town to ask the doctor to come -to Quin's at once "chop-chop," and Dr. Jupp came. He found Jenny on -the bed moaning a little. - -"What's this, Quin?" asked Jupp, who knew Quin well enough. - -Quin answered sullenly and told the truth. - -"Tut," said Jupp, "some day you'll get knifed, Quin; why can't you -get married and leave the klootchmen alone?" - -He was a white-bearded old boy, who knew how ignorant he was of -medicine. But he knew men. He went over Jenny carefully. - -"Two ribs broken," he said, "and the small bone of the left arm. And -a little concussion of the brain. I think she'll do, Quin." - -"Thank you," said Quin. - -Between them they made her comfortable after Jupp had sent for -splints and bandages. - -"She's very pretty," said Jupp, For Pete hadn't kicked her face. -"She's very pretty." - -"She's as good as gold, by God!" said Quin. - -"Humph," said Jupp. "I'll come in to-morrow morning early. Shall I -send you a nurse?" - -"I'll sit up with her," said Quin. "You'd only send some cursed -white woman with notions." - -"Maybe," said Jupp, "they frequently have 'em incurably." - -Quin's face was white and hard. He stood up and looked across the -bed. - -"I tell you this little girl is as good as any white woman in town, -Jupp." - -Jupp took snuff habitually; he took some now. - -"Who the devil said she wasn't?" he asked drily. He left the room. - -It was early morning before Jenny became conscious, and even then -Quin had great trouble with her. For she was very sick. There was -no end to his patience. Nor was there any to Sam's. The boy sat -outside on the mat all night. - -"My askee Missus no tellee Boss my go playee Fan-tan," he said -nervously. - -At bright dawn Jenny found Quin half-dozing with his head on the -quilt under her hand. She touched his hair tenderly, and he woke up. - -"Tchorch," she said feebly, with a heavenly smile, "Tchorch!" - -"Yes, little girl," said George. - -"I tink I no go away again, Tchorch. I no want to be good, I want to -stay with you. What you tink, Tchorch?" - -The tears ran down George's face. That's what he thought. - -"I'll kick that damn Pete's head in," said George to himself. - -"I no want to be good. I jus' want Tchorch," said Jenny. - -She closed her eyes and slept. - - - - -XI - -His friends, even including Skookum Charlie, left Pete where he lay. -If a man killed his klootchman and then got pahtlum, or -"blind-speechless-paralytic" on something cousin-german to methylated -spirit, what could be done with him but let him alone till the police -came for him by daylight? Don't forget, tilikums, that none of the -officers of the law could come in Sawdust Shack-Town after dark. -They would as soon have gone to Cloud Cuckoo Town. It was as much as -their cabezas were worth, and that's a hard-wood truth, without knots -or shakes. The last time a constable (under the influence of a good -but uninstructed superior and some bad whisky) did go into Shack-Town -after dark he stayed there in a pool of blood (or what would have -been a pool but for the convenient sawdust) till it was broad -daylight, and he took much patching-up before he got into running -again. After dark we had it to ourselves, Whites, Reds, and all -colours who were of the order of the Mill, or the disorder of it. -The "bulls" or "cops" or "fingers," as hoboes say, kept order in the -orderly uptown streets. - -Skookum "quit" and went home. So did Annawillee, whom Chihuahua -hauled off as he was doubtful of her morals in the dark. But Annie, -whose windpipe was exceedingly sore, went out several times and -booted Pete in the ribs where he lay, as a kind of compensation or -cough lozenge. However, she let up on him at last and went home to -"pound her ear" in the sleep of the just and virtuous. It never even -occurred to her that Pete didn't know anything whatsoever about Quin -being the man who had kapsuallowed or stolen his dear Jenny. -Everybody else knew, Chinamen, Swedes, Lapps, Letts, Finns, Spaniards -and a number of whites of the rougher kind who camped in Shack-Town. -I knew myself. But the man who ought to have known didn't. It was a -sign that life is the same everywhere. - -Pete woke up before dawn, as it seems to be a revenge of nature to -make drunken men wake when they can't find a drink, and when he woke -he hadn't the remotest notion of what had happened to him. He knew -that he had a thirst on him of a miraculous intensity, and when he -moved he was aware that he had a pain in his side which almost made -him forget his thirst. For Annie wore a man's shoes, with heavy -soles to them. And when a man is helpless and his ribs open even a -woman's kicks can do mischief. - -"Oh," said Pete, "ah!" - -He rolled over and groaned, poor devil. And, just as the secret dawn -began to flame, so the red deeds of the night before began to come up -to him. He sat up and his jaw fell. - -"Ah," said Pete, "I tink I--I kill Jenny!" - -There's a crowd of virtuous ones who will imitate Annie and boot him -in the ribs, poor devil. He drank and gambled and played hell and -beat his wife and drove her into the arms of Quin. Even a -missionary, who ought to know something about such humanity, would -disapprove of him. And those whites of high nobility and much money -and great station, who are ready, in like cases, to drag their own -wretched women by the hair of the head through the bloody sawdust of -the Divorce Court, and who hire (at so many guineas and one or two -more) some gowned ruffian to boot her in the ribs, will objurgate -Pete perhaps, poor chap. He had no chance to know better and now the -terrors of the rope and the gallows had hold of him. - -Pete was brave enough, even if he did kick klootchmen. As Ginger -White knew, he was the best wedger-off thereabouts, and could have -got a job at any of the big Mills of the Sound or the Inlet. He -could ride a horse and fight a man of his own weight quite well -enough. Indeed there was nothing wrong with him but the fact that he -was a Sitcum Siwash and given to drink when it was handy. Up at -Cultus Muckamuck's, where it wasn't handy, he was as sober as any -judge and a deal more sober than some out West. He was brave enough. - -But when he thought of being hanged he wasn't brave. He sat up and -wondered why he wasn't in the Calaboose or cooler or jail already. -He looked round fearfully as if he expected to see Jenny's body -there. Then he groaned and felt his ribs. It was odd he should be -so sore. But the oddest thing was that he wasn't already jailed. - -"I don' b'lieve I kill Jenny after all," said Pete. And as soon as -he didn't believe it, he very naturally determined to do it as soon -as possible. He staggered to his feet, and made for his shack, -thinking that Jenny perhaps was there. Of course it was as empty as -an old whisky bottle, and Pete scratched his head. Then the dawn -came up, and just about the time that Jenny was murmuring that she -didn't want to be good but only wanted "Tchorch," he went out again -and ran against Annie, who had also waked up with a thirst and with -an idea that it would ease her throat and her mind if she went out -and had another go at Pete's ribs. - -"Yah, you pig Pete," she said with her jaw out at him and her skinny -throat on the stretch. - -"Why you call me pig, you damn Annie?" demanded Pete, savagely. - -"Because you halo good, no good, damn bad man, try to kill you tenas -klootchman," yapped Annie raucously as she spat. - -"You a damn fool," said Pete. "Jenny she been away from me----" - -"Yah," yelled Annie, "she find a good man, and Mista Quin, he give -her good dlesses, he velly kind to Jenny." - -It was a blow between the eyes for Pete, and he staggered as if he -had been struck. His jaw dropped. - -"Mista Quin, kahta mika wau-wau, what you say?" he stammered. - -"I say she now Mista Quin's klootchman: he velly good to her. By-by -he come and kill you, because you kick his klootchman. Las' night he -say he mamook you mimaloose, kill you dead, you pig Pete," she -squealed, withdrawing into her house, so that she could slam the door -on him if he made a rush. But truly it was the last thing he thought -of. - -"The Tyee take my klootchman!" he said with a fallen jaw, "the -Tyee----" - -The boss had taken Jenny! - -"Dat tlue, Annie?" he asked weakly. - -"Dat tlue, you pig," said Annie. - -Pete made a horrid sound in his throat like a strangled scream and -Annie slammed and bolted her door and got a bar of iron in her hands -as quick as she could move. - -"I kill Mista Quin," screamed Pete. "I kill heem!" - -He ran to his shack on the instinct to find something then and there -to kill the boss with. But he had no weapon, not even a good knife. - -"I kill him all same," said Pete. As the men in the South would have -said he was "pretty nigh off his cabeza." - -He started to work on his shack, and smashed the windows and their -frames and then all the wretched furniture in both rooms. By the -time the house was an utter wreck he felt a little calmer. But -though many heard him none came near. It might be dangerous. Then -at last it was daylight: there was a pleasant golden glow, and the -river was a stream of gold. The tall Mill chimneys began to smoke, -for Scotty's helper fed the fires early. - -"I go to work all same," said Pete, "and I see Quin." - -He ground his teeth and then took a drink of water, and spat it out. -There was nothing that he wouldn't have given for some whisky, but -who ever had whisky in Shack-Town early in the morning? He had to do -without it. And at last the whistle spoke and the sun shone, and the -working bees came out of their hives and went to the Mill. - -There was a devil of a wau-wau going on that morning in the -Engine-Room, for the place was crowded. Some Chinamen even were -allowed to come inside, for they had news to give. The patriarch and -philosopher Wong was interrogated by Mac and Shorty Gibbs and Tenas -Billy (white man in spite of Tenas). - -"Quin--eh, what?" said Tenas Billy with open eyes. - -"He took Jenny! Well I'm damned," said Gibbs. - -"I never reckoned that slabsided cockeyed roust-about Jack Mottram -took her," said Long Mac. "But I own freely I never gave a thought -to Quin." - -"Oh, he was always a squaw-man," said Ginger White. "What was that -talk of a gal called Lily? Wasn't she from Coquitlam?" - -"She was a Hydah, but I never seen her," said another. Papp the -German intervened. - -"She was a bretty gal. I zeen her mit Quin at Victoria; no, at -Nanaimo. She died of gonsumption, boys." - -They had heard Quin had killed her, kicked her when she was going to -be a mother. - -"It ain'd drue," said Papp. "Thad was the odder Quin, him dey galls -Gultus Muckamuck. When I was ub to Gamloops I saw her grave. Gultus -kigged her in the stomag, poor thing, and she died." - -"Is it true Pete killed Jenny last night?" asked young Tom Willett, -who had just come in. - -Wong had told Long Mac all about it and he had told the others. They -all told Tom Willett all about it at once. - -"Pete hadn't better run up agin Quin this day," said Ginger. "I've -lost the best wedger-off I ever struck." - -He saw Skookum Charlie grinning in a corner. - -"And now I've got to put up with Skookum. I guess Pete has lighted -out." - -"Pulled his freight for sure," said Tenas Billy. Then Scotty yanked -the whistle lanyard and the men sighed and moved off. - -And as they moved Pete came in. - -"Oh, hell," said those that saw him. They scented trouble quick. - -There was no doubt there would be trouble. By all accounts Pete had -only just failed to kill the little klootchman, and that he showed up -afterwards, when he knew that Quin had cut him out, was proof enough -of coming woe. - -Ginger White didn't like it. He had no nerve for rows, in spite of -his nasty temper, and to have a murderous struggle between the -wedger-off and Quin, with guns shooting it might be (though gun-play -is rare in B.C.), made him shake. Even if no "guns" came in there -would be blood and hair flying, and mauls and wedges and pickareens, -and perhaps a jagged slab or two. Ginger remembered the huge nose -with which outraged Simmons had decorated him. - -"I ain't goin' to let Quin come in ignorant," said Ginger. At the -very first pause, while they were rolling a mighty five foot log on -the carriage, he shoved his head through the wall to the Engine-Room. - -"Say, Scotty, send over to the Office and let Mr. Quin know that that -swine Pete has turned up to work." - -Scotty nodded. - -"And say he looks mighty odd, likely to prove fightable," added -Ginger. He went back to the lever. - -It was one of his off-days, when he couldn't drive the Mill or the -Saws for sour apples. It's the same with everyone. It's no sacred -privilege of artists to be off colour. And yet in his way Ginger was -an artist. He played on the Mill and made an organ of it: pulled out -stops, made her whoop, voix celeste, or voix diabolique. Or he waved -his bâton and made the Stick Moola a proper old orchestra, wind and -strings, bassoon, harp, lute, sackbut, psaltery and all kinds of -raging music. Now he was at a low ebb and played adagio, even -maestoso, and was a little flat with it all. - -The quick men of the Mill loafed. Long Mac flung off the tightener -and put new teeth into his saw with nicely-fitting buckskin. He took -it easy. So did everyone. The very Bull-Wheel never groaned. Down -below the Lath Mill chewed slowly. The Shingle Mill, though it had -all the cedar it could eat, said at slow intervals, "I cut-a-shingle, -ah," ending with a yawn instead of a "Phit." - -The truth was that everyone was waiting. They loafed with their -hands but their minds were quick enough. Tenas Billy of the Lath -Mill every now and again climbed up the chute to see if bloodshed was -imminent. Shorty Gibbs, the Shingle Sawyer, did the same. The very -Chinamen sorting flooring underneath bobbed up like Jacks out of -Boxes. - -Only Pete never raised his head from his work. When he drove a steel -dog into a log he did it with vim and vice. - -He smashed Quin's big head every stroke. Quin's head was a wedge -under the maul. And it was nine o'clock. Before ten Quin always -came into the Mill and stood as it were on deck, looking at his crew -as they sailed the Mill through forests, making barren the lives of -the green hills fronting the Straits. - -As ten drew on the work grew more slack and men's minds grew intense. -But a big log was on the carriage, one nigh six foot in diameter. -The slab came off, and Pete and Skookum Charlie handled it. Ginger -set her for a fifteen-inch cant and sent her at it. Just as the log -obscured the doorway Quin came in and no one saw him but Skookum. -Pete drove a wedge, and reached out his hand for a loose one. Then -he saw Quin. As he saw him he forgot his work, and the saw nipped a -little and squealed uneasily. Ginger threw up his angry head and -stopped her and saw that Pete saw Quin. - -"Here's trouble," said the men. The Pony Saw stopped dead. The -Trimmers ran back into their casings. There was silence. The Lath -Mill stayed and the Shingle Saw and men's heads came up from below. -They heard Quin speak. - -"Get off that log," said Quin. - -Pete dropped off on the side away from Quin, as quick as a -mud-turtle. As he fell upon his feet he grabbed a pickareen lying on -the skids and ran round the end of the carriage. - -"Look out, Sir," yelled Ginger. A dozen men made a rush. - -Long Mac came over two skids at a time. The only man who was near -enough to do anything was Skookum Charlie, but he feared Pete and had -no mind for any trouble. He was safer on the top of the log. Ginger -took a heavy spanner in his hand and went round the other end of the -log. He was in time to see Pete rushing at Quin, who had nothing in -his hands. Quin was the kind of man who wouldn't have, so much can -be said for him. - -Now Quin was standing at the opening of the great side chute, down -which big cants and bents for bridge-work were thrown sideways. It -was a forty-foot opening in the Mill's wall. It was smooth, greasy, -sharply inclined. At the foot of it were some heavy eighteen-foot -bents for bridge repairing. - -"Ah," said Pete. It seemed to Quin that Pete came quick and that the -other men who were running came very slow. Perhaps they did, for -Pete was as quick on his feet as any cat or cougar. He weighed a -hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and light bone. Quin weighed two -hundred at the least. He wasn't quick till he was hot. - -But Pete's quickness, though it caught Quin, yet saved him. - -Had he been less quick Quin would have stopped his sharp downward -pickareen. But Pete delivered his blow too soon. He aimed for -Quin's head, but Quin dodged and the blow was a little short: instead -of catching him inside the collar-bone and penetrating his lung, the -steel point grazed the bone and came down like fire through the -pectoral muscle. And Quin struck out with his right and caught Pete -on the point of his left elbow. The Sitcum Siwash went back reeling -and Ginger White flung his spanner at him. It missed him by a hair's -breadth and Pete recovered. Before he could make another rush Mac -was within a yard of him. But something passed Mac and struck Pete -on the side of the head. It was an iron ring from an old roller. -The philosopher Wong had flung it. Pete went over sideways, grabbed -at nothing, lost his pickareen, caught his feet on the sill of the -chute and pitched out headlong. He shot down the ways into the bents -below and lay there quiet as a dead man. - -"Are you hurt?" asked Ginger White. Quin's hand was to his breast. - -"A bit," said Quin, as he breathed hard. - -"It was a close call," said Ginger. The men stood round silently. - -Skookum clambered down from the log. He was a dirty-whitish colour, -for he wasn't brave. - -"Pick that chap up," said Quin, "and see if he is hurt. If he is -some of you can carry him up to the hospital." - -Though he pressed his hand tight to the open wound in his breast he -bled pretty fast, and presently sat down on one of the skids. - -"I'll help you over to the Office," said Ginger White, ever ready to -be of service to the Tyee. They went across together while Long Mac -and some of the boys picked up Pete. If it had been a close call for -Quin it had been even a closer one for the Sitcum Siwash. He was as -near a dead man to look at as any man could be. The iron ring had -only caught him a glancing blow and cut his scalp, but when he slid -down the chute head-foremost his skull came butt on solid lumber. -Then he had turned over and struck the edge of a bent with his arm. -It was broken. When Long Mac and three Chinamen carried him to the -hospital, on a door borrowed from the Planing Mill, the surgeon there -found his left collar-bone was in two pieces as well. He had serious -doubts as to whether his skull was fractured or not. On the whole, -when he had made his examination, he did not think so. But he had -every sign of severe concussion of the brain. - -"How did it happen?" asked Dr. Green when they had turned Pete over -to the nurses. - -Mac told him. - -"Humph," said Green, who knew something about Quin, "it is lucky for -Quin that the chap went for him first." - -"You think he'll die then?" asked Mac. - -"He might," said Green. "But he has a skull that's thicker than -paper. They can stand a lot, some of em'. And others peg out very -easy. It's diseases fetch 'em, though, not injuries." - -So Mac went to the Mill again, leaving Pete on his back in a fine -clean bed for the first time in his life. He was very quiet now. - -While Mac was at the hospital they had sent for Dr. Jupp to look -after Quin. When the old doctor heard what had happened he shook his -head. - -"What did I tell him?" - -He found Quin pretty sick, but smoking all the same. He was -partially stripped and he had plastered the wound till help came with -a large pad of blotting paper, which was nearly as primitive as -spiders' webs. - -"Well, I got it, doc'," said Quin. - -Jupp shook his head again. - -"You'll never learn sense, I suppose. Let's look. What was the -weapon?" - -They showed him a pickareen, a half-headed pick of bright steel some -six inches long. - -"Lucky for you it wasn't an inch nearer," said Jupp, "or you would -have had froth in this blood!" - -Quin knew what he meant. In any case it was a nasty wound, for part -of it was ripped open. Nevertheless Quin smoked all the time that -Jupp washed and dressed it, and said "Thank you" pleasantly enough -when the job was over. - -"Go home and lie down," said Jupp. "I'll be up in an hour and see -the cause of the war." - -So Quin, with the help of a clerk in the office, found his way home -to Jenny. As he went he saw Mac coming down the road with long -strides and waited to hear what they said of Pete. - -"Will he go up the flume?" asked Quin, using a common Western idiom. - -"Mebbe," said Mac. "The doc' allowed he couldn't give me a pointer. -He said it was a case of might or mightn't." - -"Damn," said Quin. - -When he got back to Jenny he never told her he was hurt. He didn't -even squeal when she rose up in bed and put her arms about his neck -and hurt his wound badly. - -"I love you, Tchorch. You are velly good to me," said Jenny. - - - - -XII - -In a place like the City on the Fraser, the time being years ago, -years I count mournfully, one can't expect to run against genius in -the shape of surgeons and physicians. But most of the medicine-men -had queer records at the back of them, even in B.C. Now Green, for -instance, though he had some of a doctor's instincts, didn't really -know enough to pass any English examination. He read a deal and -learnt as men died or got well under his hands, and the hands of the -nurses. As a result of this Pete had a long solid time in bed. Even -when he apparently came to there was something very wrong with him. -He didn't know himself or anything else. It took Green part of a -month to discover that he had better ask old Jupp to come and see his -Siwash patient. - -As the result of the consultation they put Pete on the table and -shaved his head and trephined him and raised a depressed patch in his -skull. It was the bit with which he had put a depressed place in a -bridge bent. And then true intelligence (of the Sitcum Siwash order) -came back into Pete's dark eyes, and he was presently aware that he -was Pitt River Pete, and that Jenny his klootchman had run away with -Quin and that he had gone for Quin in the Mill. So far as Pete was -concerned this had happened a minute ago and he was very much -surprised to find himself opening his eyes on two strange gentlemen -in white aprons, and his nose to the scent of chloroform, when an -instant before he had seen Quin in front of him among the finer -odours of fresh sawdust. Pete made a motion to get up and finish -Quin, but somehow he couldn't and he closed his eyes again and went -to sleep. - -When he woke once more he was in a nice bed with a white lady looking -after his wants. He wondered vaguely what a white klootchman was -doing there and again went to sleep. On the whole he was very -comfortable and didn't care about anything, not even Jenny. - -When he woke again, he made the white klootchman explain briefly what -had happened to him. The white klootchman did her best to follow his -wau-wau and gave him to understand that he had had an accident in the -Mill and an operation. And it gradually dawned on Pete that all -these occurrences had caused a lapse of time almost miraculous. -Nothing that the white klootchman said convinced him, however: it was -the scent of the keen autumn air coming down the river from his own -home mountains, the Pitt River Mountains. It was now October and -nearly the end of it, and there was already a winter garment on the -big hills. From his window he could see the far cone of Mount Baker, -white and shining. When he looked a little round the corner he saw -his own hills. The air was beautiful and keen, fresh as mountain -water, tonic as free life itself. To smell it brought him strength, -for there is great strength in the clean scent of things. He snuffed -the air of the upper river and recalled the high plateaus of the Dry -Belt. - -"By-by I go back to Kamloops," said Pete, as he sat in a chair by the -window with a blanket round him. He was still weak, and didn't feel -jealous about Jenny. "By-by I go to Pitt River or Hallison Lake." - -He used to work when a boy for an old storekeeper at Harrison Lake. -That was before he took to the Mill: before he had been to Kamloops. -Old Smith was a pioneer, one of the Boston Bar Miners, one of those -who had hunted for the mother and father of Cariboo gold in Baldy -Mountain. He had been rich and poor and rich again, and even now, -though poor enough, he grub-staked wandering prospectors on shares of -the Dorado Hole they set out to find. - -"Not a bad old fellow, old Smith," said the grubstaked ones. Pete -said the same. - -"Jenny she can go to hell," said Pete. And when he was well enough -to leave the hospital he took a month's wages from the Mill, or -nearly a month's, and went up-river to Harrison Lake. He never asked -for Quin, and didn't even know that he and Jenny had both been laid -up. - -"She can go to hell," he told himself. "I go to Hallison Lake and -by-by to Kamloops, see my sister Maly. Cultus Muckamuck much better -man than Shautch Quin." - -After all Cultus had never stolen his klootchman and smashed his -skull. - -Pete was still very weak when he left New Westminster behind and paid -a dollar or so to go upstream to the mouth of Harrison River's blue -waters. And Smith gave him "a jhob" at small wages but with good -hash. - -Then the East wind blew out of the hills, from the serried dark -Cascades, and from the monarchs of the Selkirks on the Big Bend of -the Columbia and from the giant Rockies beyond that swift clear -stream. Nature closed up her wonderful store, and the Mills shut -down, for the Lower Fraser was fast in heavy ice from way-up down to -Lulu Island and even beyond, and no man and no Bull-Wheel, though it -grunted in its frictions, could get logs out of the Boom. So Long -Paul of the Boom as well as Long Mac of the Pony Saw and Ginger White -of the Great Hoes and all the whole caboodle shut up shop and took to -winter work, which meant growling and groaning and gambling and -grumbling and playing Old Harry, and raising Cain and horrid crops -besides, till frost unlocked the stream and booms again. - -Oh, but the days when the East wind held up and the frost was clean -and clear! The cold clean sun shone like pale fire in a pale blue -sky and the world was hard and bright and white with fierce snow. It -was fine enough in the City, and the boys went coasting down the hill -streets across the main one, and the kiddies thought of Christmas -with such joy as those elders, who had heaps of kids and little cash, -could not feel. Nevertheless even a burdened father of many hoped -while he could when the frost burned in the still air and fetched the -blood to his face. There was health in it: health for Jenny, -determined to love "Tchorch" always, and health for "Tchorch," whose -poisoned wound healed up though it left a horrid scar on his left -pectoral. If only it hadn't meant health for Pete too! - -But it did. If it was fine in the City, how much finer, how much -cleaner, how much more wonderful it was by the edge of a frozen lake, -full of trout, and under the snowy feathery foliage of the firs and -pines and the high pagodas of the majestic antique spruces. Pete -sucked in health and strength like a child and ate his muckamuck with -the determination of a bear at a discovered cache. He put on muscle -and fat, and could leap again. And as he fattened, his mind grew -darker. He missed his klootchman and woke of nights to miss her. -The smile, that was his when he was weak, left him; it was put out by -darkness. And under old Smith's wing in a little shack there was -another Sitcum Siwash, one called John, who had a young klootchman of -his own, and his young klootchman had a young papoose, and they were -all as fat as butter and as happy as pigs in a wallow. This hit -lonely Pete very hard. He was "solly" he hadn't killed Quin, and -took to telling John his woes. - -These woes on being told grew bigger, till they became huge once -more. They were like a drift in a bitter norther, where a log can -begin a mountain that stays all progress. - -"I tink I burn his Mill," said Pete as he lay awake. It was a great -idea. It grew like a fire, and would have come to something -undoubtedly if by an accident old Smith hadn't put a pail of cold -discouragement upon the flame as it twisted and crackled in the hot -mind of Pete. The news came that Thomas Fergusson's store at Yale -had been burnt down, and Smith explained to John and Pete and some -store loafer (there always are store loafers everywhere: if there's a -cracker cask at the North Pole some loafer holds it down against any -South wind) that possibly Fergusson had made money out of the fire by -the means of some very queer magic known as insurance, or -"insoolance" as John and Pete said. They scratched their heads, for -they knew nothing of "fire-bugs," not having read the comic New York -papers. But the fact remained that according to old Smith, to burn -down the Mill might mean to make Quin richer. - -"I won't burn down his damn Moola," said Pete crossly. - -Yet couldn't he do something else? Pete lay half one Sunday thinking -over it, and came to the conclusion that there was a very reasonable -revenge to be had fairly cheap. When he worked at the Mill at -Kamloops he had been told of what one man had done at Port Blakeley. - -"I do it," said Pete savagely. He heard John's klootchman laugh, and -thought again of Jenny. The stronger he grew the more bitterly he -missed her. And yet if she had come back to him now he would have -thrust her out into the frost. - -In this unhappiness of his heart it was natural he should turn to his -sister Mary, up at Kamloops or the back of it, who was Cultus -Muckamuck's klootchman. And after all old Cultus wasn't such a bad -sort. Hadn't they got drunk together, as "drunk as boiled owls in a -pan of hot water"? Cultus was a mean old hunks, and a bit rougher -than his younger brother, but there was none of the high-toned dandy -about Cultus. He would sit on a log with a man, and yarn and swap -lies, and fetch out a bottle and say, "Take a drink, Pete." Oh, on -the whole Cultus was a good sort. If he did whack Mary, perhaps Mary -deserved it. The klootchmen wanted hammering at intervals and a good -quirting did them good. - -"Firs' I go down to the Moola," said Pete, "and I go back to -Kamloops. I make it hot for George Quin when the Moola starts up. I -spoil heem, ah, I spoil heem and Shinger White." - -The hard frost lasted a month and then a quiet and insidious Chinook -came out of the Pacific, a wandering warm West wind, and the ice -relented and released the River. It was not very thick and soon -departed on the ebb and flood of the tides, swaying in loose floes -back and forth. And then the rain began and it looked like a strange -soft winter for a little while. - -"I go now," said Pete. He spoke to old Smith, asking for a day or -two to go down to the City. - -"You ain't thinking of killing Quin or your klootchman, sonny?" said -Smith, who knew all about it. - -"Not me, Mista Smith," said Pete. "She no good, by-by he velly solly -he have her." - -He got an old dug-out and paddled down to the City, and past it in -the dark, when the town was nothing but a gleam of lights in the -heavy rain. In the dugout Pete had a few things borrowed from -Smith's store that Smith did not know he had borrowed. - -"I fix heem," said Pete savagely, as he touched a bag which, held -many pounds weight of ten-inch spikes. "I fix heem and his logs!" - -He went past the City with the ebb, and taking the South Arm was soon -abreast of Lulu Island. There he knew that a big boom of logs for -the Mill was anchored to the shore, ready to tow up when the Mill -boom was cut out. Besides his spikes he had a heavy sledge-hammer. - -"Dat fix heem," said Pete. He knew what he was about. - -"I hope it cut Shinger's beas'ly head off." - -He knew that Ginger had thrown a spanner at him that last day in the -Mill, and, indeed, he believed that it was Ginger, and not old Wong, -who had keeled him over and chucked him down the chute. - -Now the rain let up and some stars shone out. He got close inshore -and felt his way in the shadow of the trees. He let the canoe float, -for he came near where the boom should be. A big patch of sky -cleared and a wedge of the new moon glimmered under rack. His eyes -were keen, and presently he saw the darker mass of the assembled boom -of logs anchored in a little bay. He grinned and went alongside and -made the canoe fast. Then he filled his pockets with spikes and, -taking the sledge, scrambled on the boom. - -Outer log was chained to outer log with chains and heavy clamps. -Inside, an acre of water was covered with round logs, all loose, logs -of fir and pine and spruce. Some were six feet and more in diameter: -some less than a foot. As he trod on one it rolled a little and then -rolled more: he stepped upon it lightly, balancing himself -beautifully, as if he had been a driver on the Eastern Rivers of -wooded Wisconsin or Michigan. The motion he gave to one log as he -sprang communicated itself to others. The logs seemed uneasy: it was -as if he had waked them. He looked for the best, the biggest, with a -pleasure akin to that of the hunter, or some trapper sorting peltry. -He found a splendid spruce and stood on it in triumph. - -"I make heem bad," grinned Pete. He took a spike and set it into the -log with a light tap of the sledge held close to the heft. Then he -stood up and swung the sledge double-handed. He had driven spikes on -a railroad once, though he hated railroading, being by nature a -millman or a ranche hand. The sledge fell on the spike clean and -plumb. The dim forests echoed and he stood up as if the sound -startled him. But after all no one could be near and the City was -far off. He drove the deadly spike home into the beautiful log and -smiled. - -Into that one he put three spikes, then he leapt lightly on another, -a Douglas Fir, and spiked that too. He grew warm and threw off his -jacket. It was a great pleasure to him to work, to feel that his -strength had come back, to feel himself active, lithe, capable. And -revenge was very sweet. - -"Mebbe the saw cut off Quin's head," he murmured. He knew what he -was doing and what would happen. He saw it quite clearly, for once -in a saw-mill, when he was a kiddy, he had heard what happened when a -saw cut on a hidden spike. The wedger-off had told the others how -the great saw struck fire with a horrid grinding squeal. With the -sawdust from the cut came fiery sparks, and then the saw, split in -huge segments, hurtled from the cut. One piece went through the -roof, another skimmed through the Mill like a piece of slate hurled -by some mighty arm. - -Pete knew what he was doing as he killed the logs. He spiked two -dozen before he let up upon them. - -"I fix heem," said Pete. "I fix heem lik' hell!" - -He put on his jacket again and with the sledge in his hands went -towards the dug-out. There were still many spikes in his pockets, -for twice he had renewed his supply of them. - -"I think I drive one more," said Pete, who was drunk with pleasure. -"I tink one more for luck." - -He set the spike in and started to drive it home. Now he was -careless and suddenly he slipped. As he tried to recover himself, -the sledge flew one way and he flew the other. He dropped between -two logs: the one he had been standing on, and one on the boom of -logs. That is, one of the boom logs saved his life, for the heavy -spikes would have pulled him down if he had had to swim for a minute. -As he let a yell out of him and felt a sudden fear of death his hands -caught a chain between two of the outer boom logs. He pulled his -head out of the water and hung on. The stream was bitter cold, for -there was still ice in it. He gasped for breath, but presently got a -leg across the chain. With a great effort he clawed the upper edge -of the log and clambered back to safety. - -"Oh," he grunted, as he lay flat and caught his breath, "that a very -near ting, Pete." - -It was a very near thing indeed. - -But before dawn, as he paddled hard on the flood tide, he was back at -Smith's and fast asleep. - -Next day there was a mighty row about the missing sledge-hammer. - -"I tink some damn thief kapsualla heem," said Pete. - -That week the frost returned once more. This time it lasted till the -early spring. - - - - -XIII - -B.C., as the boys call it, or British Columbia, is most undoubtedly a -wonderful place, a first-class place, even if the bottom falls out of -it periodically and booms die down into slumps and the world becomes -weary. But the odd thing is that it is a country which is, so to -speak, all one gut, like a herring. The Fraser Cañon is the gate of -the lower country and the gate of the upper country. There's only -one way up and down, tilikum, unless you are a crazy prospector or a -cracked hunter. Though the great River itself comes from the North -past Lillooet and by, and from, Cariboo, yet the main line of men and -railroads and wanderers to and fro lies rather by the blue Thompson -than the grey Fraser. - -You meet Bill and Charlie and Tom and Jack and Dick and Harry on the -road. You liquor with them at Yale, where the Cañon opens: you toss -for drinks with them at French Charlie's, you climb Jackass Mountain -with them (or meet them there) and again discuss work and railroading -and sawmills and Mr. Vanderdunk, the Contractor, at Lytton. You run -against your partner or the man you quarrelled or fought with at -Savona. You see Mrs. Grey or Brown or Robinson at Eight Mile Creek. -Very likely you get full up at Oregon Pete's with the man you last -met at Kamloops, or the son of a gun who worked alongside you at the -Inlet. On the Shushwap you tumble up against your brother, maybe, in -a sternwheeler, and at Eagle Pass you give cigars (5 cents Punches!) -to a dozen whose nicknames you know and whose names you don't. - -Properly speaking there are few ways into B.C. Perhaps there are -none out. It is a devil of a country for getting to know every man -jack in it. From the Columbia Crossing, or even from the summit of -the Rockies down to the Inlet, and the City of Vancouver (in Pete's -time mere forest and as thick as a wheatfield), it's the Main Street. - -The fact of the matter is that the whole of the Slope, the Pacific -Slope, is only one Main Street. It begins to dawn on a man on the -Slope, that in a very few years he might know everyone from the Rocky -Mountains down to Victoria and to Seattle and Tacoma and Portland and -San Francisco. Men wander to and fro like damned souls or migratory -salmon or caribou. - -Pete, you know, knew everyone in B.C. by sight, more or less. There -wasn't a shebang on the road he wasn't familiar with. He came on -chaps here and there who said "Klahya" or "What ho!" or "Hell, it -ain't you?" or "Thunder, it's old Pete, so it is." He felt familiar -with the road, with the Cañon, with every house, every loafer, every -bummer, every "goldarned drifting son of a gun" who went up and down -like a log in the tide-way, or round and round like one in a -whirlpool, betwixt the Victoria beginning and the Rocky Mountain End. -When he had been full of Mills and Canneries he used to mosey off -up-country. When he was soaked by the Wet Belt and the wet rains he -pined for the Dry Belt. When the high dry plateaus of the Dry Belt -dried him up, he thought of the soft days lower down, or higher up in -the Upper Wet Belt of the Shushwap. One can swap climate for climate -in a few hours. - -Now the frost of the lower country, of the lower Fraser, with its -intervals of warm Chinook wind and rain, sickened Pete. He put in a -lot of time at old Smith's, but by the end of February he was keen on -climbing higher. Old Smith got on his nerves, good old soul though -he was, and of course Pete couldn't stick to one "jhob." Old Cultus -seemed so good a chap, and Pete thought it would be a fine thing to -put his legs across a cayuse once more and go a-riding, whooping hell -and thunder out of the steers. And he had come nigh to forgetting -Jenny. When he thought of her his face looked devilish, but he -thought of her seldom. - -"She bad klootchman, yah," said Pete. But he couldn't go yet. He -waited for the harder frost to go, for the big ice, then two feet -thick, to break again in the lower river. Then the Mill would start, -and he would hear of the spiked logs. - -"That make Quin sick," said Pete. So he hung on and waited, knowing -he would hear. It couldn't be long. Men from the City said that -things had been tough that winter in Shack-Town. He heard at -intervals about this chap or that: about Skookum, good old Skookum, -and Chihuahua, who had been jailed for a jag which was of portentous -dimensions, leading him to assault a policeman Up Town. The "bulls" -yanked Chihuahua in and he got it hot, officially and otherwise, as a -man will in the calaboose. - -Then the River cracked loudly: the ice roared and broke, and piled -itself up in bars and ridges and grumbled and swung and went away -with the ebb and up with the flood, roaring all the time. - -"Now they start up the Moola queek," said Pete as day by day he saw -less ice. The rain poured down and the river was almost in flood -already, though the winter held up-country, of course. When the -frost broke in the wet Cascades and up in Cariboo, and in the head -waters of the forking Thompson, there would be a proper amount of -water in the Cañon. - -And still he waited. - -But in the Mill they started at last, and came nigh to the end of the -Mill boom before they could get a steamer to tow them up the new -boom. Then they got it, and Pete heard that it was there. - -"I make heem sick," said Pete, still waiting. And the spiked logs -waited. Their time must come. - -It came at last, and of that day men of the Hills still speak. - -It was one of Ginger White's devilish days, when he hated himself and -his kind and was willing to burst himself if he could make others -sigh or groan. He ran the crew of the Mill almost to death, and -death came at last as the day died down and found them running the -saws screaming in logs still cold within. For the winter left the -men soft: they had been half-fed, many of them: they had lived idle -lives, and found work hard on their hands, hard on their muscles. -But Ginger never failed when the devil was in him. The winter was -over: he wanted to work, for he was all behind with money. - -"I'll make 'em sweat, I'll make 'em skip," said Ginger. - -That day Quin was much in the Mill, and he was there when the -lightning struck Skookum Charlie: when the saws spouted fire. He, -too, was glad to get back to labour: to the doing of things. And he -loved the Mill, as many did. - -It was a great log of spruce that carried death within it. High up -above the Saws hung a lamp so that Skookum and his partner could see -the cut as well as feel it. The whole Mill squealed and trembled: -every machine within it ran full blast: the song of the Mill was -great. - -"Oh, heave and roll," said the Bull-Wheel. They got the log on the -carriage, drove in the dogs and Ginger sent her at the eager saws. -He cut the slab off, and then set her for an eight-inch cant and got -her half through, when the lightning came. - -There was a horrid rip, a grinding, deafening crash and streams of -fire came out of the cut log. On top of it was Skookum driving home -a wedge. He drove it deep and deeper, and as the crash came, Quin -stood where he had stood when Pete went for him. There was another -horrid scream as the smashed saw broke and hurled a jagged quadrant -upward from the cut. - -"Oh, Christ!" said those who saw. At Quin's red feet, a bloody -corpse lay, for the saw had sliced Skookum nigh in two, shearing -through flesh and bones, ribs and spine. For one moment he was -helped to his feet by the thing that cut his life out, and he stood -upon the log, with a howl torn out of his very lungs, and then -pitched headlong on the floor. - -There came screams from the far end of the Mill, for another segment -of the saw had flown out straight, and, striking a roller, came up -slanting from it, and disembowelled a wretched Chinaman. He stood -and squealed lamentably and then looked at himself and lay down and -died. - -And all the Mill ceased and men came running even from below. - -"My God," said Quin. - -But Ginger said nothing. Terror had hold of him. He leant against -the deadly log and vomited. Every lamp in the Mill was held up in -two circles, one about Skookum and the other about the Chinaman. -Faces as white as the dead men's looked at the dead. - -That night Skookum's klootchman sat with loosed hair howling over the -body of her good and stupid man. And by her Annie and Annawillee -mourned. - -And many thought of Pete. Among them were Quin and his klootchman -Jenny, who understood the nature of the man who had been her man and -was now no better than a murderer. - -"I done it, I," said Jenny; "if I stay with Pete this no happen!" - -She cried all night and "Tchorch" could not comfort her. Nor could -he sleep till in his rage he cursed her, and came nigh to striking -her. Then she crept into his arms and tried to soothe him, and wept -no more. - -The next day Pete started up-country, for Kamloops. - -"I never mean to kill Skookum," he said with a white face. "I never -mean to keel him. I lik' Skookum." - -The poor fool cried. - - - - -XIV - -The story of the disaster at the Mill followed Pete and passed him as -he made his way to Yale, having screwed a dollar or two out of old -Smith. Indeed he got more than he had a right to, for old Smith -wasn't a man to squeeze a dollar till the eagle squealed, by any -means. The day after the news came of the split saw Pete had boarded -the boat for Yale and was put out at the mountain town in a storm of -rain. And Pete hated the wet as a saw-mill man must, or as one who -had worked in the Dry Belt where the rain is scarce and the fattening -grasses dry. - -At this time the Railroad, the Railroad of all Roads, the longest on -earth, gentlemen, partners and tilikums, was being put through the -hills, through the Rockies and the Selkirks and the Eagle Range. The -woods were full of Contractors, small and big, good and measly, -generous and mean, men and pigs. But above them all towered the -genial, blue-eyed Andy. The men said "Andy" here and "Andy" there. -Andy was responsible if the bottom fell out of the sky, or if the -earth blew up. He was held to account for floods and wash-outs, for -land slides and snow slides, and he took 'em all as they came. The -men said "damn Andy" or "Andy's all right." They got drunk and -denounced him, and perhaps got sober and blessed him. On the whole -they loved his blue eyes even if they damned them. But while he held -the road which he had built, and before it was turned over to the men -in Montreal, the good men and the great scoundrels (there always -being talk of railroad boodlers) who thought the thing out and -financed it, he charged a devil of a rate for passage on it. So -everyone who went East or West went to Andy or some underling for a -pass. Pete did it. There was only one tale to tell. - -"I want to go up to Ashcroft to get a job, Mr. Vanderdunk," said -everyone. Pete said it, and Andy being in a heavenly temper (as he -wasn't when I struck him for a pass) let the Sitcum Siwash through -easily, just as he had done before when Jenny was with him. - -"I want to wu'k on the railroad, Sir," said Pete. When he went off -with the pass he said he didn't want to "wu'k" on any railroad. He -spent a dollar in drink and went on board the train drunk. It was -the first time since the night when he had nearly killed Jenny that -he had been very "full." The smoking car was crammed with men who -had passes: men who wanted to work at the Black Cañon and those who -didn't. Some were bound for Kamloops, some for the work on the -Shushwap, some for Eagle Pass and Sicamoose Narrows, and there was -one farming Johnny or mossback for Spallumcheen. They were all -lively--some full up, some half-full. They yelled and laughed and -yarned and swore and said-- - -"Oh, what are yer givin' us, taffy?" - -They declined to swallow taffy--but they swallowed whisky. An old -prospector gave Pete drink. Then he heard them tell the tale of the -accident at the Mill. - -"Some rotten son of a gun spiked the logs," said the man behind Pete. - -"I heerd they'd found ten logs spiked," said another. "They bin over -'em with an adze." - -"If they corral the kiddy wot done it, he'll wear hemp," said another. - -"Serve him right, damn his immortal," returned the first speaker. - -Pete begged another drink and drank so heartily that the old -prospector said he was a hog. Pete was indignant, but he was nearly -speechless and saw two, nay, three, prospectors, gaunt and hairy men, -who looked very angry. He decided not to fight, and went to sleep, -and slipped down on the floor. The prospector wiped his boots on him -and expatiated on hogs in a whining monotone for forty miles. - -They dragged Pete out at Ashcroft and put him and his bundle on the -dry prairie, where the depôt was. He woke late at night and found -his throat so parched that he could not speak to the darkness that -closed about him. There wasn't a soul in the depôt, and not a shack -or shebang handy. The dread collection of wallows described as a -town was a mile off across the prairie, and Pete groaned as he set -out for the lights of the biggest grog shanty there. He hadn't a red -in his sack, to say nothing of a dime or two-bits, but some -charitably disposed railroader, a Finn it was, gave him a drink, and -he sat down in a corner along with a dozen others and went to sleep. -In the morning he raised another drink, and set off for Kamloops, -just as the railroad work began. He was asked to stop a dozen times, -but he wasn't keen. "I go to Kamloops," he answered. - -He humped himself and got to Sayona's Ferry in quick time, for -someone gave him a lift on the road. He found a sternwheeler on the -point of starting for Kamloops, and knowing the engineer and the -fireman, who was a Siwash too, they shoved him in the stokehold and -made him work his passage. Two hours of mighty labour with billets -of firewood sweated the drink out of him, and by the time they were -alongside the Kamloops shore he was something of a man again. - -He found some tilikums in the town and recited his woes to them, -telling them all about Jenny having quit him to go with Quin, who was -Cultus Muckamuck's brother. He asked about his sister Mary, and -about old Cultus. - -"Cultus pahtlum evly sun, dlunk all the time now," said a Dry Belt -Indian named Jimmy. "Nika manitsh Mary, I see Mary. She very sad -with a black eye." - -Pete was furious. Mary was older than he by five years and had been -a mother to him when their mother went under. If he loved anyone he -loved Mary. - -"I wish I had a gun," said Pete. "I tell Cultus if he bad to Mary I -kill heem." - -He was almost bewildered by a sense of general and bitter injustice. -Hadn't he been a good man to Jenny? Hadn't he been a good worker in -the Mill? But Jenny had left him for the man he had worked for. -Then instead of killing Quin or Ginger White he had killed poor old -Skookum. He hadn't meant to kill him, but if the law knew he would -be hanged all the same. And now poor Mary was having a bad time with -old Cultus. When Cultus got mad, he was very dangerous, Pete knew -that. - -"Mary's a damn fool to stay with him," said Pete. "I tell her to -leave heem. I get wu'k here, in the Mill. She live with me." - -He went to the Kamloops Mill to look for work. They were full up and -couldn't give him a show. But one of the men who knew him gave him a -dollar and that made Pete happier. He raised a drink with it, a -whole bottle of liquid lightning, and he didn't start for Cultus's -ranche that day. - -It was an awful pity he didn't. For Cultus had been in town that -morning and had taken two bottles back with him. He had been -drinking for weeks and was close upon delirium tremens. He had -horrid fits of shaking. - -Ned Quin was ten years George's senior, and had been in British -Columbia for thirty years. He had been married to a white woman, -whose very name he had forgotten. For the last ten years, or eight -at least, he had lived with Mary, whom the previous owner of his -ranche had taken from the kitchen of the Kamloops Hotel when she was -twenty. Now he lived in a rude shanty over toward the Nikola, "nigh -on" to twenty miles from Kamloops. He had a hundred and fifty steers -upon the range, and made nothing out of them. The Mill, in which he -had an interest, kept him going. He wanted nothing better. He was -very fond of Mary, and often beat her. - -Mary was a tall and curiously elegant woman for an Indian or a -half-caste. By some strange accident, perhaps some inheritance from -her unknown white father, she was by nature refined. - -She had a sense of humour and a beautiful smile. She talked very -good English, which is certainly more than her brother did, who had -no language of his own and knew the jargon best of all. Mary was a -fine horse-woman and rode like a man, straddling, as many of the Dry -Belt women do. She could throw a lariat with some skill. She walked -with a certain free grace which was very pleasant to see. And she -loved her white man in spite of his brutality. For when Ned was -good, he was very good to her. - -"Now he beats poor me," she said. Perhaps she took a certain -pleasure in being his slave. But she knew, and more knew better, -that she lived on the edge of a precipice. More than once Ned had -beaten her with the flat of a long-handled shovel. More than once, -since Pete left, he had threatened to give her the edge and cut her -to rags. - -It was a great pity Pete had that dollar given him at the Kamloops -Mill. He got drunk, of course, and only started for the ranche a -little before noon next day. - -It was a clear and cloudless sky he walked under as he climbed the -winding road up from the town by the Lake. There was a touch of -winter in the air and the road was still hard. The lake was quite -blue, beyond it the hills seemed close: the North Fork of the -Thompson showed clear: the Indian reservation on the other side -seemed near at hand. But of those things Pete thought nothing. He -wanted to see his sister, he groaned that he hadn't a cayuse to ride. - -He was five miles out of Kamloops and on the upper terraces of the -country, when he saw someone coming who had a cayuse to ride. Pete -could see the rider from afar: he saw the cattle separate and run as -the man came nearer to them. He saw how the steers, for ever -curious, came running after him for a little way as the rider went -fast. The man was in a hurry. Indeed he was in a desperate hurry. -Pete, who knew everyone between the Thompson and the Nikola, wondered -who it was, and why he was riding so fast. - -"He ride lik' hell," said Pete, as he stopped and filled his pipe. - -Every man has his own way of riding, his own way of holding himself. - -"He ride lik' Cultus," said Pete curiously. "Jus' lik' Cultus." - -For all his thirty years in a horse country Cultus Quin rode like no -horseman. He worked his elbows up and down as he went at a lope. He -usually wore an old ragged overcoat, which flew behind him in the -wind. - -"It is old Cultus," said Pete. "What for he ride lik' that?" - -A little odd anxiety came into Pete's mind, and he held a match till -it burnt his fingers. He dropped it and cursed. - -"What for he make a dust lik' that? I never see him ride lik' that!" - -The rider came fast and faster when he reached a pitch in the road. -He was a quarter of a mile away, a hundred yards away, and then Pete -saw that it was Cultus, but no more like the Cultus that he knew. -The man's face was ashy white and his eyes seemed to bolt out of his -head. As he swept past Pete he turned and knew him, and he threw up -one hand as if it were a gesture of greeting. But it might be that -it was rather a gesture of despair, for he threw his head back, too. -He never ceased his headlong gallop and disappeared in dust on the -next pitch of the descending road. - -Pete stood staring after him. - -"What for he ride lik' that?" he whispered. He wouldn't speak to -himself of Mary. He walked on with his head down. Why did Cultus -Muckamuck ride like that? Why did he ride like that? - -The answer was still miles ahead of him, and if there was any answer -he knew it was to be found where Mary was. There was no light in the -sky for him as he went on. - -And the answer came to meet him before an hour was past. - -He saw others, on the far stretched road before him, and he wondered -at the pace they came. They did not come fast, but very slow. As he -held his hand above his eyes he saw that there were many men coming. -They were not on horseback but on foot. Why did they come so slow? - -"Why they walk lik' that?" asked Pete. He sat down to think why a -crowd of men should be so slow. There were eight or ten of them. If -they went so slow---- - -"It lik'----" said Pete, and then he shaded his eyes again. The men -in front were carrying something. It looked like a funeral! - -But Pete shook his head. There was no burial place nearer than -Kamloops, and if a body were being taken there they would have drawn -it on a wagon. - -"They're toatin' something on their shoulders," said Pete, with a -shiver. It was as if there had been an accident, and men were -carrying someone to the hospital. Pete had seen more than one -carried. He turned a little sick. Was Cultus riding for the doctor? -Was there anyone the old devil would have ridden to help? - -"When he wasn't pahtlum he was very fond of Mary," said Pete -shivering. - -He started to walk fast and faster still. Now the melancholy -procession was hidden behind a little rise. He knew they were still -coming, for a bunch of steers on a low butte were staring with their -heads all in one direction. Pete ran. Then he saw the bearers of -the burden top the hill and descend towards him. His keen eyes told -him now that they were carrying someone on a litter shoulder high. -He knew the foremost men: one was Bill Baker of Nikola Ranche, -another was Joe Batt, and yet another Kamloops Harry, a Siwash. He -named the others, too. - -And some knew him. Pete saw that they stopped and spoke, turning -their heads to those in the rear. One of the men, it was Simpson of -Cherry Creek, came on foot in front of the others. Pete watched his -face. It was very solemn and constrained. He nodded to Pete when he -was within twenty yards. When he came up he put his hand on Pete's -shoulder. - -"We're takin' your sister to Kamloops, Pete," said Simpson. - -Pete stared at him. - -"Mary?" he asked. - -Simpson nodded and answered Pete's wordless question. - -"No, she ain't dead----" - -Pete turned towards Kamloops. - -"Ole Cultus passed ridin' lik' hell, Mr. Simpson." - -The procession halted within a few yards. - -"Damn him," said Simpson, "he's cut the poor gal to pieces with a -shovel." - - - - -XV - -They said to Pete-- - -"Come into Kamloops with us." - -Pete shook his head and said nothing. But his eyes burned. Kamloops -Charlie urged him to come with them, and talked fast in the Jargon. - -"You come, Pete, no one at the house now, Pete. By-by she want you. -She often talk of you with me, want to see you." - -Charlie had worked for Cultus since Pete went away. - -"I come by-by," said Pete. They left him standing in the road. When -some of them turned to look at him before they came where they would -see him no more, he was still standing there. - -"Tell you Pete's dangerous," said Simpson. He was a long, thin -melancholy man from Missouri, with a beard like grey moss on a -decayed stump. - -"He'll hev' a long account with the Quin brothers," replied Joe Batt. - -"Many has," said Bill Baker. Cultus owed him money. Baker chewed -tobacco and the cud. He muttered to himself, and the only audible -word was "dangerous." Above his shoulder the hurt woman moaned. - -And even when they had disappeared Pete stood staring after them. -They had time to go more than a mile before he stirred. Then he -walked a little distance from the road and cached his bundle behind a -big bull-pine. He started the way his sister had come, and went -quick. He had seen some of his sister's blood on the road. - -In two hours he was at the ranche, and found it as the others had -found it, when Kamloops Charlie had come to tell them that Cultus had -killed Mary. The door was open, the table was overturned, there was -broken crockery on the floor. There was a drying pool of blood by -the open fire which burnt logs of pine. Scattered gouts of blood -were all about the room: some were dried in ashes. The dreadful -shovel stood in the corner by the fire. Pete took it up and looked -at it. Many times he had heard old Cultus say he would give Mary the -edge. Now he had given her the edge. Pete's blood boiled in him: he -smashed the window with the shovel. Then he heard a bellow from the -corral in which some of the best of Cultus' small herd were kept up, -some of them to fatten for the railroad. - -"I do that," said Pete. In the stable he found Mary's horse, a good -old grey, but past quick work save in the hands of a brute, or a -Mexican or an Indian. Pete put the saddle on him and cinched up the -girths. He found a short stock whip which he had often used. He led -the horse out, and going to the corrals, threw down the rails. Going -inside he drove thirty cows and steers out. On the hills at the back -of the ranche about fifty more were grazing. Pete got on the horse -and cracked his whip. He drove them all together up the hills and -into a narrow valley. It led towards a deep cañon. There was little -water in the creek at the bottom, but there were many rocks. From -one place it was a drop of more than two hundred feet to the rocks, -and a straight drop too. The mountain path led to it and then turned -almost at right angles. The valley in which the cattle ran grew -narrow and narrower and Pete urged them on. - -Cultus loved his steers and had half-a-dozen cows that he milked -himself when they had calves. Whenever Pete came near one of these -he cut at her with the whip, and urged them all to a trot. They were -lowing, and presently some of the rowdier steers bellowed. They -broke at last into a gallop, and then Pete shrieked at them like a -fiend and raced the old pony hard. - -"I fix 'em," said Pete. - -Now they were in thickish brush, with no more than a big trail for a -path. Pete lashed the grey till he got alongside the very tail of -the flying herd and made them gallop faster still. They were all -dreadfully uneasy, alarmed, and curious, and as they went grew -wilder. They horned each other in their hurry to escape the devil -behind them, and the horned ones at last fairly stampeded as if they -were all wild cattle off the range in the autumn. They went -headlong, with a wild young cow leading. Pete screamed horribly, -cracked with his whip, cut at them and yelled again. The brush was -thick in front of them on the very edge of the cañon. The little -thinning trail almost petered out and turned sharply to the left. -The leader missed it and burst through the brush in front of her. -The others followed. Behind the maddened brutes came Pete. He saw -the leader swerve with a horrid bellow and try to swing round. She -was caught in the ribs by a big steer and went over. The ones who -came after were blinded, their heads were up in the crush: they saw -nothing till there was nothing in front of them. They swept over the -edge in a stream and bellowed as they fell. On the empty edge of the -cañon Pete pulled up the sweating grey, who trembled in every limb. -Below them was a groaning mass of beef. They were no longer cattle, -though one or two stumbled from the thick of the herd and the dead -and stood as if they were paralysed. - -"I wis' Ned was there," said Pete, as he turned and galloped back -down the beaten, trampled trail. "I wis' I had him here. I serve -him out." - -He rode as hard as the wretched grey could go to where he had left -his bundle. He picked it up and turned the horse loose. Perhaps it -was hardly wise to ride it into Kamloops. It was night before he got -there. He found Kamloops Charlie in town, drinking, and reckoned -that no one would find out for days what had happened to the cattle. -He told Charlie that he had stayed where he was left, and had at last -determined to come into town. - -"Kahta ole Cultus?" he asked. - -But Cultus had taken steamer, having caught it as it was on the point -of leaving. Pete saw Simpson at the hotel and spoke to him. - -"Your sister says as it warn't Cultus as done it," said Simpson. -"That's what she says: she allows it was a stranger, poor gal!" - -They said she would live. But those who had seen her said it would -be best if she died. One side of her face was dreadfully injured. - -"She must ha' bin' mighty fond of Ned Quin," said Simpson. "She's -the only one araound ez is, I reckon." - -He stood Pete a drink. Pete told what he had told Kamloops Charlie. - -"I tho't you'd kem along bymby," said Simpson. "I'm sorry for the -poor gal, so I am. There's them as don't hanker after any of you -Siwashes, Pete, but I maintain they may be good. But dern a nigger, -anyhaow. You'll be huntin' a job, Pete?" - -Pete owned sulkily enough that he was hunting a job. - -"Then don't you stay araound hyar," said Simpson. "Barrin' sellin' a -few head o' measly steers there ain't nothin' doin'. When the -railroad is through, the bottom will fall out of B.C. fo' sewer. You -go up to the Landing: things is fair hummin' up to the Landing, an' -Mason hez gone up there to start up a kin' o' locomotive sawmill at -what they calls the Narrows. You hike off to the Landing and tackle -Mason; say I named him to you, Pete, and if he ain't full-handed -you'll be all hunkey." - -He stood himself another drink, and grew more melancholy. - -"A few measly steers in a Gawd-forsaken land like B.C.! Don't you -hanker arter revenge agin Ned for mishandling Mary. Revenge is sweet -to the mouth, Pete, but it's heavy work on the stummick, ondigestible -and apt to turn sour. If it hadn't been that I hankered arter -revenge (and got it) I'd ha' bin now in Mizzouri, Gawd's kentry, whar -I come from. A few head o' weedy miserbul steers! You leave Ned -alone and I'll be surprised if he don't leave you and Mary alone. To -half cut off a gal's head and her not to squeal! I calls it noble. -Ned will be sorry he done it, I reckon. You go up to the Landing, -boy." - -And Pete did go up to the Landing. - -And Ned, the poor wretch, was very sorry "he done it." - - - - -XVI - -Ned Quin hadn't been down in the coast country for years. Indeed, -the last time he had been in New Westminster he had gone there by -coach. Now it was a new world for him, a world of strange hurry and -excitement. B.C. was in a hurry: the people of the East were in a -hurry: the very river in the roaring Fraser Cañon seemed to run -faster. And he, of all the world, was the one thing that seemed to -go slow, he and his train. He was sober now, and in terror of what -he had done. - -"By God, they'll hang me," he said. They hanged men for murder in -British Columbia, hanged them quickly, promptly, gave them a short -quick trial, and short shrift. - -"I wish I was over the Line," said Ned, as he huddled in a corner -seat and nursed his chin almost on his knees. Across the Line they -didn't hang men quick, unless they stole horses and were exceedingly -bad citizens who wouldn't take a clean cut threat as a warning. "I -wish I was over the Line." - -And the 49th Parallel wasn't far away. Yet to get to it wasn't easy. -He had galloped from what he believed a house of death with no money -in his pocket. He had borrowed from the skipper of the sternwheeler, -which took him from Kamloops to the Ferry, enough to pay his fare -down to Port Moody. He must go to George's to get more. - -"They'll catch me," said Ned Quin, "they'll catch me: they'll hang me -by the neck. That's what they say--'by the neck till you are -dead'--I've heard Begbie say it, damn him!" - -Yes, that was what Judge Begbie said to men who cut their klootchmen -to pieces with a shovel. - -"I--I was drunk," said old Ned. "Poor Mary." - -She had been as good a klootchman as there was in the country, sober, -clean, kind, long-suffering. He knew in his heart how much she had -endured. - -"Why didn't she leave me?" he whined. Whenever the train stopped he -looked up. He saw men he knew, but no one laid his hand on his -shoulder. Few spoke to him: they said that it was as clear as mud -that he was rotten with liquor and half mad. They left him alone. -He wanted them to speak to him, for he saw Mary on the floor of his -shack. He saw the shovel. - -"Pete will find her," said Ned. "He said he'd kill me if I hurt her. -He'll take her horse and ride to Kamloops and tell 'em, and they'll -telegraph and catch me, they'll catch me!" - -At Port Moody he saw a sergeant of police and felt a dreadful impulse -to go up to him and have it all over at once. He stopped and reeled, -and went blind. When he saw things again the sergeant was laughing -merrily. He looked Ned's way and looked past him. - -"They don't know yet," said Ned. He got a drink and took the stage -over to New Westminster. A postman with some mail-bags sat alongside -him. A postman would naturally hear anything that anyone could hear, -wouldn't he? This postman didn't speak of a murder. He told the -driver bawdy stories, and once Ned laughed. - -"Good story, ain't it?" said the pleased postman. - -They came to the City late, and as soon as they pulled up Ned slipped -down on the side away from the lights, and went down the middle of -the street towards the Mill. He knew that George now lived in a new -house and wondered how he should find it. He didn't like to speak to -anyone. But by the Mill he found an old Chinaman and spoke to him. - -"Boss live up there," said the Chinaman. "You tee um, one plenty big -house, velly good house." - -He pointed to George's house and Ned followed the path he indicated. -Ten minutes later he knocked at the door and it was opened by Sam. -But he was not let in till Sam had satisfied himself that this was -really the brother of the Boss. He went to the door of the -sitting-room, opened it just enough to put his head in, and said---- - -"One man, alla same beggar-man my tinkee, say he wantee see you, Sir. -My tinkee him velly dlunk. He say your blother. My tinkee t'at not -tlue." - -But George ran out and found the beggar man shivering on the steps. - -"Ned, why, what's brought you?" - -The hall was dimly lighted and he couldn't see Ned's face. But by -his voice he knew he was in trouble. He trembled. - -"George, I've--I've killed Mary," he said in a dreadful whisper, -"help me to get away." - -"You--my God," said George. He took the wretched man by the sleeve. -"You've done what?" - -"Killed Mary," said Ned shivering. "For God's sake help me over the -border or they'll hang me." - -He broke down and wept. George stood and looked at him in the dim -light. Sam could not pass them to go back to the kitchen, and -waited. The sitting-room door was ajar. Someone inside moved. - -"Who's with you?" asked Ned. - -He knew nothing about Jenny. But George forgot that he knew nothing. - -"Go in," he said, "it's Jenny." - -He thrust Ned inside and turned to Sam. - -"Sam, boy, you savvy no one has come. If anyone ask you say no one. -You savvy?" - -"My savvy all light, my savvy plenty," said Sam doubtfully. "My -tinkee him your blother all light, Sir?" - -"Yes," said Quin. He stood with his hand on the handle of the door -after Sam had returned to the kitchen. - -"My God," said George again. He went into the room. - -When Ned had gone in he failed to recognise Jenny, and thought she -was a white woman. She was nicely dressed, and now her hair was done -very neatly. Sam had taught her how to do it. When she stood up, in -surprise at the unexpected entrance of Ned, it was obvious even to -his troubled eyes that she was near to becoming a mother. She gasped -when she saw him. - -"Oh, Mr. Ned," she cried. He looked dreadful: his clothes were -disordered, ragged; his grizzled beard and hair unkempt and long. He -looked sixty, though he was no more than fifty, and his eyes were -bloodshot. - -"Who are you?" asked Ned sharply. - -"I'm Jenny," she murmured, looking abashed and troubled. - -And then George came in. When Jenny saw him she cried out-- - -"What's the mattah, Tchorch?" - -There was matter enough to make her man pallid. But he was master of -himself, for he had to look after the poor wretch who now fell into a -chair by the fire and sat huddled up in terror. - -"I'll tell you by and by," said George. "Give him a drink, Jenny -girl, and give me one. I've got to go out." - -She brought the whisky to him. He poured some out for Ned, who -swallowed as a man, who had thirsted for a tropic day, would swallow -water. George took some himself. - -"Sit quiet, Ned," said George. "I'll be back in half an hour, Jenny!" - -She followed him to the door. - -"Don't let him move. If anyone calls, say I'm out, dear." - -"What's the mattah, Tchorch? He looks very ill," she murmured, with -her hand on his shoulder. George told her what Ned had told him, and -Jenny trembled like a leaf. - -"Poor, poor Mary!" she sobbed. "Oh, the cruel man!" - -"Oh, hell," said George, and Jenny controlled her tears. - -"What you do, Tchorch?" - -"I'm going to get someone to take him across the other side," said -George. "I must, I must." - -He ran out and down the hill path, and Jenny went back reluctantly to -the room where the murderer sat. He was shivering, but the liquor -had pulled him more together for the time. He wanted to talk. How -was it that Jenny was here? He remembered he had seen Pete on the -road. - -"I saw Pete to-day," he said suddenly. - -Jenny stared down at the floor and answered nothing. - -"I'm a wretched man, girl," said Ned; "did George tell you?" - -Jenny did not reply, and Ned knew that she knew. He burst into tears. - -"I've killed Mary," he said. His face was stained with the dust of -the road and the tears he shed channelled the dirt. He looked -dreadful, ludicrous, pathetic, hideously comic. "I--I killed her -with a shovel. She was a good woman to me, and I got mad with drink. -I'll never touch it again." - -He looked eagerly towards the bottle on the table. He had taken some -more when the others were out of the room. - -"I've killed her, and they'll hang me, Jenny! Where's George gone?" - -The tears ran down Jenny's face. - -"He's gone to get someone to take you away, Mr. Ned!" - -They might come any moment and take him away! There was quite a big -jail in the City. - -"I--I saw Pete this morning, no, yesterday. I don't know when," said -Ned. "When did you come here, Jenny?" - -Jenny said it was long ago. She dried her tears for shame was hot -within her. And yet joy was alive within her. She loved Tchorch! - -"I couldn't leave Tchorch now," she said to herself, as Ned went on -talking. "I'd rather he killed me. Poor Mary!" - -If Pete had been brutal, Mary had always been kind. She hated Ned -suddenly. - -He took another drink and sat crouched over the fire. Every now and -again he looked round. At any noise he started. Perhaps the police -were trying to look into the house. Jenny could have screamed. It -seemed hours since George went away. Ned muttered to the fire. - -"Mary, Mary," he said in a low voice. He and Mary had been lovers -once, for when she first went to him he was a man, and she was quite -beautiful. Across the dark years he saw himself and her: and again -he saw her as she lay in blood upon the earthen floor of his shack, -what time he had run out and taken his horse for flight. - -"They'll hang me," said Ned, choking. - -And there were steps outside. He sprang to his feet and hung to the -mantel-shelf. - -"What's that?" he asked. The next minute they heard George enter the -house with some other man. - -"It's the police," screamed Ned thinly. He believed George had -denounced him. And George put his head inside the room and beckoned -to him. Ned ran to him stumbling. The door closed on them and Jenny -fell upon her knees. Then she sank in a heap upon the floor. She -had fainted. - -In the hall was someone Ned did not know. But George knew him and -knew that he was a capable strong man. He was Long Mac of the Pony -Saw, as strong as he was long. In the winters he hunted, and knew -all the country round about. - -"Take him across the river to-night, and away by Whatcom to-morrow, -Mac," said George; "do your best." - -Mac never did less, whether it was for evil or for good. On the -balance he was a good and fine man. But he cared nothing for the Law -and had a curious respect and liking for George Quin. - -"I'll do that," said Long Mac. He took Ned by the arm, and Ned -without a backward glance shuffled into the darkness. - -George went in to Jenny and found her unconscious on the floor. He -sprinkled cold water in her face, and she moaned. - -"Poor little woman," said George. "Oh, but it's hard lines on these -poor squaws. If I died what'd happen to her?" - -He knew their nature and knew his own. - -"But Mary's dead," said Quin. "Better for her." - -Yet Mary wasn't dead, though Mac was dragging a whining, puling -wretch of a man on a dark trail to a country where there's a very -poor trail indeed cut for the slow and burdened army of the Law. - - - - -XVII - -Next day the Pony Sawyer was wanting at the Mill and no one knew what -had become of him, the finest and steadiest man in the place. George -White was pleased to hear of it, for it was always his notion that -Quin would some day fire him and put Long Mac at the lever of the -Hoes. - -"Ah," said Ginger, "we never can tell: some crooked business, I -dessay! They crack up M'Clellan 'sif he was a gawd-a-mighty, but to -my tumtum he ain't nothin' extra." - -He put Shorty Gibbs from the Shingle Mill in Mac's place, and found -his usual pleasure in piling poor Shorty up. For of course Gibbs, -though he understood the Pony, couldn't run that lively animal at -Mac's pace. When Ginger stood up and groaned publicly at Shorty, the -new man was cross. It led to a scene at last, but one which only -puzzled the others. For Shorty Gibbs was one of the very quietest -men who breathed. He said he hated rows like "pison." When Ginger -came round to him the second time and said "Oh, hell," Shorty had had -enough. He stopped the Pony carriage and walked over to Ginger. He -nodded to him and said-- - -"Say, see here, Ginger!" - -Ginger was an uninstructed man, he was very hard to teach. - -"Get on with your work," said Ginger. - -Shorty was up to his shoulder. He lifted an ingenuous face to the -sawyer. - -"Ain't you bein' rather hard on a new hand, Ginger?" he asked -politely. And Ginger White mistook him, altogether. He swore. What -happened then the other men missed; it was all so quiet. - -"Look here, you red-headed bastard," said Shorty in a conversational -tone, or as near it as the clatter of the Mill would allow, "look -here, you slab-sided hoosier, if you as much as open your head to me -agin I'll rip you up from your fork to your breast-bone. See!" - -And Ginger saw. - -"You can't bull-doze me," said Shorty, becoming openly truculent, -"any more than you can bull-doze Mac, you white-livered dog!" - -White was never brave, but since the saws had killed Skookum his -nerve was bad indeed. There were spikes in every log for him by now. -He went back to the lever without a word and ran so slow that Gibbs -got a chance to clear the skids. - -By the time Gibbs knew what was what with the Pony, Mac returned. He -had taken Ned somewhere to the neighbourhood of Seattle and left him -there. He went to see George Quin the moment he got into town. And -by that time there was news from Kamloops. - -"I've planted him with an old partner of mine that runs a hotel back -o' Seattle," said Mac. "Jenkins will keep him away from too much -liquor. I rely on Jenkins." - -George thanked him. - -"But after all," said George, "I hear that the woman isn't dead, Mac, -and what's more she lets on that it wasn't my brother that hurt her." - -He looked at the sawyer. - -"Good girl," said Mac, "but he did it right enough, Sir; he talked of -nothing else all the way across." - -"But if she dies what she says won't be everything," said George. -"It's best he should stay. Thank you for going with him. Gibbs is -taking your saw." - -"Hell he is," said Mac pensively; "has he had trouble with White?" - -But Quin hadn't heard of it. Just of late White hadn't gone to the -office with so many complaints. Since the spiking of the logs Quin -had been less easy to deal with. He was troubled in his mind about -Pete, and about Jenny. If Pete had spiked the logs, as Quin -believed, he was capable of anything. And poor little Jenny was -about to be a mother. It wouldn't be more than a month or two now. - -Until Jenny had come into his life in real earnest, the Mill, the -Stick Moola, had been the man's whole desire. He loved it amazingly: -there wasn't a plank in it he didn't love, just as there wasn't a job -in it that he couldn't do in some fashion, and no fool's fashion -either. He had run the old Moola "good and strong," caring for -everything, seeing that it had the best of everything. There wasn't -a makeshift in it: it was a good Mill and Quin was a good manager. -An accident of any kind hit him hard. For accidents there must and -will be when saws are cutting lumber. To have a man killed troubled -him, even if it were a sheer accident. But to have a man killed by a -spiked log was very dreadful to him. It was the more dreadful that -he had provoked the spiking. It shook Quin up more than he had ever -been shaken. It broke his nerve a little, just as it had broken -Ginger's. And by now he was very fond of Jenny, even if he cursed -her, as he sometimes did. He dreaded this devil of a Pete, who -wasn't the kind of Siwash that one found among the meaner tribes, the -fishing, begging Indians. He had some red and ugly blood in him. He -got on Quin's nerves. - -And then Mary was Pete's sister. If she hadn't been he would never -have known Jenny, and if he had given Pete a job it would have been -like giving it to any Siwash. Now Pete would be more than ever down -on them both. George began to think it worth while to find out where -Pete was. He sent up to Kamloops to ask. At the same time he sent -word to the hospital that Mary was to have anything she wanted. -There was a deal of good in George Quin, and somehow little Jenny -brought it out. - -The poor girl in the hospital knew there was good in him. And in the -old days there had been good in Ned. Even now she loved him. When -they asked her how she had come to be injured, she declared that it -was not Ned who had done it. She said that as she lay swathed in -bandages before she knew how much she had been hurt. She said it -with white lips that trembled when she had seen herself for the first -time in the looking-glass. Perhaps few women would have been so -brave, for she knew that henceforth no one would look on her without -strange white bandages to hide the wound which her mad-man had made. -For she had been beautiful, and even now there was beauty in her eyes -and in the sunken cheek and curved chin that had been spared. But -henceforth she went half covered in white linen, since none but a -doctor could bear to look upon her without it. - -"It wasn't Ned that did it," she said to the Law when it came to her. -"It was a stranger." - -And everyone knew better than that, unless indeed too much liquor had -made Ned a stranger. - -"I want to see Ned," she murmured. And yet she was very strong. A -weak thing would have died. But she loved life greatly, though she -wondered why. She made one of the nurses write to her man saying -that she wanted him. That brought Ned back from Seattle. George -received him sullenly. Jenny refused to see him. - -"Watch out for Pete," said George when his brother went up-country. - -"Pete, oh, to thunder with Pete," replied Ned. - -"Look out for him," repeated George. - -"You ain't wanting me to be scared of a Sitcum Siwash, are you?" -asked Ned angrily. "Perhaps you're scared of him yourself. You took -his klootchman anyhow. It's more'n I did." - -George Quin was afraid of him. Many who knew his record would have -said that he was alike incapable of fear or love, but some might have -known that love for the mother of his first and unborn child took the -courage out of him and made him full of fears. Now he was always -"watching out." - - - - -XVIII - -Difficult to think of anything at the Landing, Sir, but what was -going on! Give you my word it was hurry; it hummed, and hissed and -sizzled and boomed. The forest fell down before the axe and saw: -felling axe and cross cut; and shacks arose, shacks and shanties and -shebangs, drinking shanties, gambling shanties, stores which sold -everything from almonds to axes, and all that comes after A right -down to Z. - -The Landing's in the Wet Belt. It rains there, it pours there, the -sky falls down. Sometimes the Lake (it's on the Shushwap, you know, -close to the head of it) rises up in dancing water-spouts. It was -once a home and haunt of bears (and is again by now likely), but when -Pete stepped ashore from the hay-laden lake wagon called the s.s. -_Kamloops_, it wouldn't have been easy to find a bear or a caribou -within earshot. The Street, the one Street, was full of men. There -were English, French, Germans, Dutch, Swedes, Norwegians, Russians, -Finns and Letts, mixed with autochthonous Americans with long greasy -hair (Siwashes who lived on salmon) and other Americans of all sorts. -It was a sink, a pool, a whirlpool, it sucked men up from down -country: it drew them from the mountains. To go East you had to pass -it: going West you couldn't avoid it. - -Men worked there and drank there and gambled there. There were -Chinamen about who played the universal Fan-tan. There were Faro -tables: Keno went there: stud-horse poker had its haunts and -votaries. The street was a mud channel: men drank and lay in it. By -the Lake they lay in piles, and more especially the Swedes did. They -are rousing drinkers "and no fatal error." - -There was night there, of course, for the sun couldn't and wouldn't -stay to save them oil, but as to peace or quietness, the peaceful -quiet of a human night, there was no such thing. Sunday was rowdier -than other days, if any day could be rowdier. If a man wanted work -he could get it. Devil doubt it, work was to be had at fine prices. -Bosses employed men to come and pretend even for two and a half a -day. They dragged men in and said, "Take my dollars, sonny, and move -some of this stuff." Men worked and took the dollars and gave them -to the stores and gamblers. It seemed impossible that there could -ever be a lack of work. You could get work on the grade, tilikum; -you could have a little contract for yourself, my son. You could -drive a team if you could handle horses and mules over a toat road -that would make an ordinary driver weep: why, there were all kinds of -work, with axe and saw and pick and shovel, and bar and drill and -wedge and hammer, and maul and all sorts of other tools. It was a -concert truly, a devil's dance of work, and of hurry and scurry and -worry. - -Why, tilikum? - -Because the railroad was being put through and coming to an End, to -two ends, to two Ends of Track, now closing up rapidly. Once the -work had been spread over four thousand miles, away by Montreal and -Quebec and the Lake of the Woods and the Great Lake Side, and away to -Winnipeg and Medicine Hat and Calgary and the Rockies. Now the work -narrowed to a few hundred miles, to a hundred; to-morrow, perhaps to -fifty. All the world of the road was rammed and jammed and crammed -into a little space, as if it were but the Gulf of Athlone. Men -thrust each other aside, it was elbow work, jostling, it was a high -old crowd. Betcher life, tilikum, it was a daisy of a time and place -that dark-eyed Pete stepped into out of that old scow of a -stern-wheeler. - -The Town scooted: she hummed: she sizzled. What ho, and let her rip! -That was the word. The soberest men grew drunken on mere prospects: -there was money in everything: no one could miss it: dollars grew on -trees: they lined the roads: they could be caught swimming in the -Lake. Men lived fatly: hash was good and none too dear, after all. -"For hayf a dollar" one could get piled up, get stodged, pawled. - -"Oh, come in and Eat," said one house. - -"We give the best Pie," said another. Pie fetched the men every -time. Your worker loves his pie: there's a fine lumberers' song -about Pie which is as popular with the men of the Woods as "Joint -Ahead and Centre Back" is with Railroaders. They all gave good pie -at the Landing. You bet, tilikum. - -Pete, in all his born days, had never seen or heard or dreamt of such -an astonishing hubbub, such go, such never-let-up, as he saw at the -busy Landing. He was a stunned, astonished Siwash for a while and -wandered around with his eyes out of his head, feeling lonely, -stranded, desolate. And then he found that he knew men here and -there and everywhere. Some of them slapped him on the back: some -said "Howdy": some said "Hev a drink, sonny!" Men were generous: -they felt they were millionaires or on the way to be: it was a fine -old world. Pete smiled and smoked and drank in this house and that -and forgot for awhile all about Mason, who was supposed to be running -a little saw-mill in the woods, that Missouri Simpson had told him -of. Pete put his woes into the background; he couldn't hear or see -them at the Landing for quite a while. There was truly a weakness of -revenge in him. If either or both of the Quins had followed him up -and said: - -"Look hyar, Pete, come and hev a drink and let's talk about these -klootchmen----" - -Why, it is at least possible that Pete would have drunk till he wept -and have taken dollars to forgive them about Jenny and Mary. He had -a weakness in him, poor devil, as so many have. - -But when finally he did get work in a big stable helping the head -stableman who looked after some of the C.P. Syndicate's horses, he -found many who remembered or had heard, or had just learned all about -Jenny and Mary. That's the best or the worst of B.C., as I said some -time ago, everyone knew everyone and all about them. They talked -scandal like a lot of old or young women: told you about this man's -wife or that: they raked up the horrid true story of Ned Quin's -killing one poor klootchman by kicking her. They asked Pete for -information about Mary. When some were drunk they mentioned Jenny. -They never gave poor Pete a chance to forget, and over and above the -mere mischief of drunken scandalous chatter, there were one or two -who hated the Quins. Neither of them hesitated about downing a man -by way of business, though of late years Ned had been no more than a -shooling no-good-sort of man all round. So one or two said: - -"Say, Pete, you ain't let up on them Quins, hev you? Them Quins are -two damn smart-alecks, that's what they are! I say they're mean, oh, -mean ain't the word. I hear Ned Quin cut your sister to slivers with -an axe. Is it true?" - -They got him crying about Mary and Jenny, and presently it was -understood that Pete had forgotten nothing. All he was after was a -few dollars. Why? "Well, to tell the trewth, tilikums, I believe, -straight, that the boy's idea is to kill one or both o' them Quins -and then skip across the forty-ninth Par'lel and away." - -They put that into Pete's head: told him it was easy to skip out. -They knew better. But one man, named Cumberland, who had been done -in a deal by George and done pretty badly, cheated, in fact, and -outfaced, egged the boy on daily. Cumberland had all the desire to -be "a bad man" without the pluck, or grit, or sand to be an imitation -of one. But he never forgot. - -In all the fume and roar of this short-lived Town it was easier to -get money than to save it. Everything cost money, cost dollars; "two -bits" was the least coin that went, and that's a quarter of a dollar. -Pete had an Indian's thirst, and drank more than was good for him. -If it hadn't been that the rush of work handling hay-bales, sacks of -oats, maize, flour, mats of sugar, cases of dynamite, and tools and -all the rest, sweated the alcohol out of him he would have got the -sack promptly, the Grand Bounce. As it was he stayed, being really a -worker, and as nice a boy to work alongside as one could wish. - -"Pete's a clever boy for a Sitcum Siwash," said the Boss. For clever -in the vernacular of the West means nice. They quite liked him, even -though the real white men looked down on him, of course, as real -Whites will on everyone who isn't White. But he had his tilikums -even there, an Irish Mike who hadn't learned to look down on anyone -and would have actually consorted with a nigger, and another -half-breed, originally from Washington Territory and by his mother a -D'wamish, or Tulalip, of the Salishan, but educated, so to speak. -They both looked down on the Indians of the Lakes, who caught salmon -and smelt wild and fishy, like a bear in the salmon-spawning season. -Oh, yes, Pete had his friends. But no friend that was any good. For -D'wamish Jack was a thick-headed fellow and the Micky always -red-headed for revenge on everyone. - -"I'll stick 'um," he used to say. He was going to stick everyone who -disagreed with him. He had an upper lip almost as long as an -American-Irish caricature. When he was drunk he moaned about Ireland -and Pete's woes and his own. - -With such partners in the hum of the Town it wasn't a wonder that -Pete didn't accumulate the shekels, or pile in the dibs or the -dollars, or the t'kope chikamin. He had as many cents to his name by -the time it was high summer as when he came to the Landing. And then -he struck a streak of luck, as he said, and as D'wamish Jack said and -as the Mike said. He went one Sunday into a Faro lay-out, run by an -exceedingly pleasant scoundrel from Arizona, who was known as Tucson -Thompson. You will kindly pronounce Tucson as Tewson, and oblige. - -There wasn't another such a man as Tucson in the Town, or the Wet -Belt, or the Dry Belt, or all B.C. He was born to be a gambler and -was really polite, so polite that it was impossible to believe he had -ever killed anyone when you were with him and quite as impossible to -doubt it when you went away and thought of him. He was nearly fifty, -but as thin as a lath, he could talk like a phonograph, tell stories -like an entertainer, and the few women in the town held the belief -that he was exceedingly handsome. He wasn't, but he had a very -handsome tongue. When he lost, if he did lose, he didn't seem to -mind. When he won, he appeared to take the money with some regret. -At the worst he did it as a pure matter of business: he gave you so -many cards, and you gave him so many dollars. He said he ran a -straight game. There wasn't a man in the Town equal to saying he -didn't, and when one understands that no one is allowed to kill -anyone else in British Columbia for saying he is a liar, it will be -understood that there was more to Tucson Thompson that lay on the -surface. He inspired respect, and required it with a politeness -which was never urgent but never unsuccessful. - -He had his lay-out in the back-room of the Shushwap House, where they -sold "Good Pie," and said so outside in big letters. - -It was there that Pete acquired what he looked on as a competency. -It was two hundred and fifty dollars, a very magnificent sum. -Whether Tucson really ran a straight game, or thought it was about -time to give himself a great advertisement, cannot be said, but this -time Tucson or the straight cards let Pete in for a mighty good -thing, which turned out a bad thing, of course. The only point about -it was that Tucson didn't get the cash back again, as he might very -reasonably have expected, seeing that gamblers are gamblers, and that -a Sitcum Siwash doesn't usually hang on to dollars till the eagles on -them squeal in anguish. - -And the reason of this was that someone from Kamloops, a storekeeper -on the look out for business at the Landing, was in the gambling -shanty when Pete raked in his pile. He slapped Pete on the back -first of anyone and took him on one side. - -"Say, Pete, old son, hev you heard about your sister?" he asked. - -"Heard what?" asked Pete. - -"She's outer the hawspital." - -"Have you seen her?" - -The storekeeper nodded. - -"She's dreadful hurt, Pete," he said with horrid unction. "I saw her -the day she kem out. She's wropped up all one side of her face, like -a corp, all in white. They say Ned Quin cut half her face off." - -Pete's face was as dreadful as his sister's. - -"Where is she?" - -"She's gone back to Ned," replied the storekeeper. "She would go -back: it warn't no good arguin' with her. Mrs. Alexander offered her -a job in her kitchen, bein' a good old soul, but Mary would go back -to him, she would." - -Pete stood him a drink and then took one himself and then another. -He flatly refused to play any more. But he spent ten dollars on the -crowd. The more he drank the soberer he seemed to grow. The liquor -hid the tension in him, and the excitement of the game. Mary was cut -to bits and was back with Ned! He chewed on that as he drank. The -storekeeper got hold of him again. - -"Some enemy o' Ned's got home on him, Pete, and no fatal error," said -he, with his eyes fixed on the young fellow; "some enemy got home on -him and no fatal error." - -"What?" said Pete. - -"They ran his cattle, some fine fat steers and a few good cows, into -the cañon back of his place, and killed most of them." - -Pete grunted and looked on the floor. - -"He allows you done it, Pete. But there ain't no evidence you done -it, boy. The men araound Kamloops allows it sarves him right, Pete. -Ned Quin ain't a single friend araound Kamloops. The poor girl! She -used to be so pretty. I reklec' her as a little girl: there warn't a -tenas klootchman araound ez' could hold a candle to Mary, bar your -wife Jenny. I heerd George Quin hez give her dresses and rides her -araound in a carriage, Pete." - -There were many times when the Kamloops steamer left the Landing at -night. She couldn't keep to times: she came and went when she was -full or empty. The owners of the cranky old scow, turned into a -sternwheeler, coined money out of her, though her steam-chest leaked -and she shook as she went. Now she tooted her horn, blew her -whistle. It was nigh on to midnight, but there was a high white moon -above the hills, and on the quiet lake a moon's wake shone. Pete -thrust the storekeeper aside and went to the door. - -"Hullo, Pete, old chap, where you goin'? Halo klatawa, you son of a -gun!" said many. But Pete paid no attention. His wife was riding -around in carriages with George Quin, and Mary had gone back to Ned. -He ran down to the wharf where the steamer lay and jumped on board as -she backed off the shingle. - -He saw the fairy lights of the Landing die down, and then the steamer -rounded a point and the Landing saw him no more. - -"I'll kill em' both," said Pete. He could not see the quiet wonder -of the night and the glory of the moon above the peaceful pine-clad -hills. He saw poor Mary in a shroud, and Jenny laughing at him from -the side of George Quin, who also smiled in triumph. - - - - -XIX - -What the storekeeper told Pete was true enough, but such a man as -that could know nothing of the deep inside of things, and the heart -of such a strange woman as Indian Mary was hidden from him and all -like him. It was hidden from herself, even when she knew she was -maimed and disfigured, for still in spite of her bitterness and grief -she yearned to go back to him who had hurt her and made her very -dreadful to see. She had given herself to him once for all, and her -heart was steadfast to the man he seemed to be when he took her to -his house. Even then she had known his history, and had not been -ignorant of his cruelty to a little dead woman who lay with an unborn -child in the cemetery at the back of Kamloops town. When they first -met he was grieving, as even such as Ned must, for the deed that made -him lonely, and he was doing his poor best to keep away from drink. -In those days he was a handsome man, taller and finer looking than -his brother, and he captured Mary's heart. She was taken, as women -can be taken, by seeing a strong man grieving, and she believed that -he was more unfortunate than evil. For ten years she had hoped -against hope, and now knowing that it was almost hopeless, was yet -faithful rather to the dead man within him than to the wretch that he -was. - -"I must go back to him," she said. She could do no other. - -And yet when he came to the hospital, and asked for her, she fell -into a deadly tremble of sickness and would not see him. He had made -her hideous, for though white linen hid her face, she could see -beneath it, and knew. The man would hate what he had done, and hate -her to whom he had done it. He went away mournfully, and for once -went out of Kamloops quite sober, carrying no liquor. But before he -went he was spoken to by the same sergeant of police whom Pete had -feared after he had destroyed the cattle, and Ned was sick of heart -to be so spoken to. - -"It's lucky for you the gal didn't die, Quin," said the sergeant. -"We'd ha' hung you high for it. She allows you didn't do it, but we -know better. Run straight and keep sober, or we'll have you yet. -You're a disgrace to a civilized community, a disgrace to a civilized -country, Sir, that's what you are, you damned cayoot!" - -Ned Quin had to take that and chew on it. And once, as he knew, he -had been a man. He cried as he rode back to his ranche. He met old -acquaintances who would not know him, and when he got back home to -find it lonelier than his worst imagination, he feared to face it. -Even the corrals were empty. The cattle that he had loved were dead: -the cañon stank with them. One solitary cow lowed near the shack: -Mary's horse was on the hill behind it with horses that belonged to -Missouri Simpson, one of those who that day had met him on the road -without the salutation that any stranger would get in a hospitable -and kindly land. - -He "hung it out" for days without drinking. He worked all he could: -he rode over to the Nikola and rounded up a few head of steers that -hadn't been handy when Pete drove the rest to death. He mended the -broken fences of his corrals: he cleaned up the cold, neglected -house. He cleaned up Mary's blood, and shivered as he scraped the -earthen floor of the signs that were so nearly those of murder and of -death. - -He suffered agonies at night-time and still struggled, perhaps in his -last fight against alcohol. - -And when he had been alone a week Mary came back. She could not help -coming: her heart was a mother's, seeing that she had no children, -and the poor thing she loved was her child. She was lonely without -him. Perhaps he would be kind now, perhaps he would forgive her for -being so hideous. For one side of her face was still beautiful: both -her sorrowful eyes were lovely. She left the hospital, and never -entered a house in town. She went out at night lest they should see -her, and faced the hill-road, as it wound up the hills at the back of -the town, in a starry darkness. Her strength was not much, but she -had enduring Indian blood in her veins, that blood that helps poor -squaws to carry loads their lordly men will not touch: that blood -that helps them to suffer uncomplaining: that blood which, in their -male children, helps to endure, if need be, the dreadful torture of -the hostile fire and stake. She went swiftly through the night, and -long before dawn came over the last hill in the trail which led to -the desolate ranche where her steadfast heart lay. Under the stars -and a faint fine glow that was the dawn, she saw the little shack, -and then her heart and limbs failed her. She sat down and cried -softly for her sad life and her tortured love, and her lost beauty -under the shroud of white linen over her right cheek and jaw. Would -he be kind to her, or would he hide his eyes and drive her from him? -She knew nothing but that her sad heart needed him, even him, rather -than any kind and gentle man that lived. She rose up trembling but -set forward on the trail, and at last came to the house. A little -chill breeze blew down from the hills, and a cloud hid the faint rose -of dawn, so that it was full night as she crossed the threshold. For -Ned, sleeping uneasily and afraid of the very house, had set the door -open. She stayed and heard him move in the bed. She reached out her -empty arms, but not to any God. She reached them to her wretched -child, her man. And then Ned woke. - -"What's that?" he cried aloud. He saw a dark figure against the -lucid night beyond the door. - -"What's that?" he cried again. His voice shook. - -"It's Mary," said the ghost he saw and feared. - -"Oh, you----" he cried. She heard him shake. "Have you come back?" - -She fell upon her knees by the bed. - -"Yes, Ned." - -He reached out a hand to her. It was cold as ice: for the blood had -gone to his heart and brain. - -"You've come back--to me?" - -He knew it was a miracle, and, brutish and besotted as he was, he -felt the awful benediction of her presence. - -"To me!" - -To him, to a man who had cursed her life at its springs, who had -given her no joy, who had cut her to pieces by their bed and warm -hearth! She had come back. - -"If you want me," she murmured. - -He shook and trembled. If he wanted her! He wanted nothing but her: -she was the world to him. - -"If I want you!" - -He clutched her hands and kissed them. She felt the hot tears run on -them. He wept for her, the poor man wept. She dragged herself close -to the bed and tried to speak, tried to tell him that she was so -altered. She spoke as if he had nothing to do with it: as if she had -been smitten by some strange accident, by some disease, by some -malignant and most unhappy fate. He heard her whisper. - -"I'm, I'm not pretty now," she sobbed dryly. "Ned, I'm not toketie -any more!" - -For once, perhaps, he suffered more than she did: for that time he -exceeded her grief, because this was his deed. He groaned. - -"But if you want me!" - -"I want you, Mary," he screamed suddenly, "no one else, dear Mary: -oh, what a wretch I am!" - -The best of him, long hidden, long concealed, in a drought of tears, -came up at last. He hid his head in the pillow and cried like a -child. She sat upon the bed in an urgent desire of maternal help and -held his head between her hands. - -"Poor Ned!" - -She took him at last in her arms and murmured to him gently. - -"Oh, oh, my man, my Ned!" - -He felt the linen on her face and shivered, but spoke no more. She -lay down by him and, overcome by her strange pure passion and the -fatigue of the miles she had travelled to come to him, she at last -fell asleep. - -Then the slow dawn grew up over the clouds, and came in colour across -the sunburnt hills and entered their home. Ned sat up in bed beside -her and saw her dear face covered by its shroud. - -"Help me, oh, God!" said the man. - -And perhaps help might come, not from any God, but from the deep -heart that prayed to the spirit of man which hides in all hearts and -only answers to prayer, if it answers at all to any pleading. - - - - -XX - -Though the railroad, the mighty railroad, the one and only Railroad -of the Big Admiring World, was the chief topic of talk from Montreal -to the Pacific, and not least so in little Kamloops by her blue river -and lake, yet there was time for talk of other things even there. -The men cackled and chattered in saloons and out of them, as is the -fashion in sparsely inhabited countries as well as in suburbs, of all -the windy ways of men. Like dust was the talk lifted up, like dust -it fell and rose again. And the boys often talked of Ned, who, it -seemed, had struck a new streak of virtue and avoidance of liquor. - -"'Twas nip and tuck with him and the law," said one, "and he's still -scared." - -"True 'nough, Indian Mary nigh payssed in her checks. One more cut -and she'd ha' bin mimaloose. They say so at the hawspital," said -another. - -"I wonder if he's done with Pitt River Pete, yet," wondered a third. -"D'ye think he druv them steers into the cañon?" - -"Who else? No, Ned Quin ain't through with Pete. Now I like Pete, -he's a first-class Siwash, not bad by no means. And I never cottoned -to Ned. He's got religion now, eh? Oh, shucks!" - -So the fates and men disposed of things even at the time that the -_Kamloops_ sternwheeler came sweeping west through the quiet waters -of the lakes and the quick stream of the connecting river, bearing -Pete and his strange fortunes. - -He fell instantly among such thieves of reputation, such usual -slanderers of hope in sorrowful men, and heard the worst there was to -hear, made better by no kindly word. Perhaps they knew well in their -hearts that reformation was a vain thing: they scorned Ned's efforts -to be better, and made the worst, as the world is apt to do, of all -he had done. They drew frenzying pictures of Mary with the half-hid -face: they told Pete of her sad aspect, and related, in gross -passages of bloody words, exaggerations constructed out of stories -from the hospital of mercy. - -As if their incitements were insufficient, the coast talk of George -and Jenny came up stream to him. - -"Him and her's havin' a hell of a good time, Pete. He took your -pretty klootchman over to Victoria as bold as brass, as if he was -Lord High Muckamuck and she my Lady Dandy oh! Druv her araound in -carriages, little Jenny as we knowed in Mis' Alexander's kitchen: she -ez praoud ez any white woman, dressed to kill, and no fatal error. -He's giv' her silks and satins like as if she wuz his wife, and she -gigglin' happy. I say it's a dern shame for a man to kapsualla a -chap's klootchman. Bymby he'll throw her over, chuck her out. And -they say she's got a kid now, and it ain't yours, Pete." - -There was love of offspring deep in Pete's heart, hidden from himself -till this moment. He ran out of the shanty into the street. - -"There ain't no need to fill the boy up the way you're doin'," said -one of the loafers uneasily. "If ain't no good to make him so ez -he'll murder them Quins." - -The others laughed. - -"None of us is stuck on the Quins," they declared. "And if Pete is -burro enough to bray too loud and kick up his heels, forgettin' he's -only a Siwash, they'll fill him up with lead. And even in this yer -British Columbia, which is a dern sight too law-abidin' for a man, we -reckon that self-defence is a good defence sometimes. Here's the -worst of luck to Judge Begbie, anyhaow." - -Next morning Pete rode on a hired horse towards the Nikola, being -full of liquor ere he set out with a bottle in his pocket. He had -tried to buy a gun, a six-shooter, but there are few in most British -Columbia towns, and those who wore them by habit, in spite of the -law, were not sellers. When a man has carried a "gun" for years he -feels cold and helpless without it. That's one of the facts that are -facts, tilikum. - -But Pete didn't care. There were such things as shovels, said Pete -furiously. - -It was a heavenly bright morning, and the far distance of the warm -hills, rising in terraces above the Lake, shone clear and warm. Such -is the summer there, so sweet, so tender, so clear, and every day is -a bride of kindly earth. - -Pete rode hard and saw nothing but the wan aspect of his sister, and -the giggling jeer of Jenny, clad in scarlet and bright shame. - -The good brown earth with the lordly bull-pines scattered on rising -hills was very fair to look upon. On the higher levels of the -terraces were pools of shining lakes: some shone with shores of -alkali and some were pure sweet water. - -Pete, riding a doomed man however he wrought, drank no pure water -with his heart. He sucked bitter water from the bitterest lakes, -poor fool, going to do his duty, as his Indian blood said, and as -much white blood would have said as well. - -The sun, unclouded as it was, shone without the fierceness of the -later summer. The grass, though it was browned, had still sap within -it. - -Pete rode half-drunken, with fire within him. - -And then at last he topped the rise that hid Ned's shack. He saw a -woman by the shack, and with his eyes discerned even from afar that -she wore white linen on her head. But he could not hear her sing. -And yet poor Mary sang: it seemed that out of her sorrow there had -grown so great a joy that song would come from her wounded healing -heart. - -Pete rode down the trail. So in fine weather among the hills a storm -may break. So may a cyclone, a tornado, approach a city. So may -fire burst out at quiet, sleepy midnight. In one moment there was -horror in the happy and repentant and praying home where Ned and Mary -had come together once again. - -"Oh, Mary," said Pete. He came riding fast. She looked up, did not -know him, and looked again, and knew him. She called to Ned, who -came out at the sound of galloping. - -"It's Pete," she cried, but Ned stood there stupidly. In his great -repentance and his new found peace he could not believe in bitter -enmity, in war or in revenge. - -There is a power of strange madness in the Indian blood, diluted -though it be. Under the maddening influence of liquor the nature of -the Indian flowers in dreadful passions, forgetful of new -circumstances, oblivious of punishment and of law. None knew this -better than Ned Quin, and yet he stood there foolishly, with a -doubtful smile upon his face, a smile almost of greeting. He was -even ready to forgive Pete for what he had done. He felt his heart -was changed, and without a touch of religion or creed this was a -natural and sweet conversion. But Mary tugged at his arm, for she -knew. - -The whirlwind came down on them: Pete rode at him and, ere he -awakened and turned, rode him down. Ned fell and was struck by the -horse, reluctant to ride over him, and Pete leapt from the saddle. -He saw Mary with her hands up, but chiefly saw the white shroud on -her face. He forgot her, forgot his horse, and only remembered that -one of the brothers he hated lay sprawling before him, half stunned, -raised on one hand. With a club, a branch of knotted fir, that he -seized on, he went for the man and battered him. Mary flew at him, -and he sent her headlong with a backward motion of his left arm. She -reeled and fell and got upon her knees, screaming with bitter rage at -her brother. But she was weak, and though she got to her feet again, -she fell once more. She saw Ned bleeding, saw him fall supine, saw -his empty hands open and shut: she heard the blows. - -"Oh, God," she cried. Within the shack there was a shot-gun. It -stood in the corner, there were cartridges handy. She crawled for -the house, and got on her feet again and staggered till she reached -it. She found the gun and the cartridges, threw the breech open, -rammed one in and closed it. The possession of the weapon gave her -strength. She ran out, and Pete saw her coming, saw the gun go to -her shoulder. With the club in his hand he ran at her as quick as he -had been in the Mill. And as he nearly closed with her she fired. -He felt the very heat of the discharge, was blinded by it and by the -grains of powder, and fell unhurt, save for a burnt and bloody ear. -Mary struck him with the butt and knocked him senseless: he lay -before her like a log. She dropped the gun and ran to Ned and fell -upon her knees. She lifted his battered head and prayed for his -life, and even as she prayed she believed that he was killed. There -was no motion in him; her trembling hand could feel no heart-beat. -She heard her brother groan. - -"He's killed him," she screamed, "he's killed him!" - -She laid her man down with his head upon a sack that lay near by. -She turned to Pete with blazing eyes and saw the man she believed she -had slain sitting up and staring about him foolishly. From one car -blood ran: his white face was powder-scorched. - -"You devil," said his sister, "you've killed my man, the man I loved; -oh, you wicked beast, you cruel wretch, you pig----" - -She screamed horrible abuse at her brother, dreadful abuse and -foolish. - -"They'll hang you, hang you, hang you!" - -She yelled this at him as she stood before him like a fury. The -words went by him like a breeze: they entered his ears but not his -brain: he was still stupefied, half unconscious. He turned away and -was violently sick. She pitied him not and was remorseless. She -took him by the shoulder and shook him. He turned a foolish and -wondering face at her, with some dawn, a very dim dawn, of -consciousness in him. - -"I'll get you hanged," she said. He heard the word "hanged" and -again "hanged" and wondered sickly what it meant. She ran from him -and he watched her. She went to the horse which stood some twenty -yards away. The animal started and walked away and she stopped and -spoke soothingly to it, using low words and bidding it be gentle. -She went round in a circle and got upon the other side of it, and at -last the horse stood still and let her grasp the bridle. Pete -wondered what horse it was and why she was catching it. She brought -it to the shack and slipped the bridle reins over a post. - -He saw her use incredible strength and drag Ned Quin into the house. -She cried aloud and sobbed most dreadfully. She put her man in the -shadow, laid his head upon a pillow and covered his wounded face with -white, even as her own was covered. She shut the door and came out. -Pete still sat upon the ground with both hands outspread behind him. -She said that he would be hanged, again she said it. He saw her get -upon his horse and ride away towards the road. Where was she going? -Who was it that was going? What was this woman going for? - -These were horrible problems, but he knew, as a man knows things in a -nightmare, when he cannot move, that their solution concerned him. -They concerned him seriously. He struggled to solve them. It seemed -that he spent years, aye, centuries, in the bitter attempt and still -he saw the woman astraddle on a horse go up the rise to the north. -This was a woman, oh, God, what woman?--a woman with a white cloth on -her face, a ridiculous fierce figure who had said "hanged!" What was -"hanged"? What did it mean? And why did she say it to him? What -was he for that matter, and who was he? He struggled hard to -discover that. So far as he could see, he was an unnamed, peculiarly -solitary speck of aching, struggling matter in a world of pain. So -they say the disembodied may feel. His senses were numbed: they sent -foolish messages to him, messages that warned him and alarmed him -without being intelligible. He knew that he was in some great -danger. He saw a house, but did not know it; a gun, but could not -say what it was and why it lay there in the pounded, trodden dust. -Something wet dripped from his head: he put his hand up and saw blood -upon it. Whoever he was, he was hurt in some way. He sighed and -still saw the woman. Now she disappeared. It mattered very much. -Why was she leaving him? He spoke suddenly. - -"What's my name?" said Pete. - -If he could only get that. On that point hung everything: he felt -sure of that. Now he knew he was a man; he had got so far. But what -manner of man he could not tell. How silly everything was! He -groaned and grinned. Then he started. - -"My name's Pete," he said suddenly. "It's Pete!" - -This was the clue: this the end of the tangled cord of things. It -was, he felt, utterly idiotic and alarming to know so much and no -more. It was infinitely annoying. He said "I'm Pete, am I Pete, I'm -Pete, eh!" and then sat staring. He wanted some kind of help, but -what help he did not know. The task of discovering what all things -were from what seemed the primal fact of all, that he was called -Pete, appeared hugely difficult. He cried about it at last. And -then some chickens came round the corner of the shack, and pecked in -the dust. A big rooster came after them and stood upon a log, and -whooped a loud cock-a-doodle-doo! It was a natural sound. Pete knew -it and stared with sudden intelligence at the brilliant bird upon the -log. Of a sudden the whole veil over all things was lifted. He knew -who he was and why he was there and what he had done! Above all he -knew what the word "hanged" meant. It was his sister who had said -it. He got upon his knees and staggered till he could hold on to the -house. It was a help to hold on to something while he thought. - -"Hanged," said Pete. He had killed a man. Where was he? It was Ned -Quin. But if he had killed him how had he got away? - -"I won't be hanged," said Pete. "I won't. She's gone to tell 'em -I've made Ned mimaloose, killed him. I'll stop her!" - -That was a very clear idea, and the notion satisfied him for a while -as he swayed to and fro. But how? The woman with the white linen -had taken his horse. It was again a hard problem, but since he knew -who he was, things were very much easier, though they were still a -struggle. He didn't know how he got there, but presently he found -himself in the stable, leading out Ned Quin's horse, a lean and old, -but still sound, sorrel. It was wonderful to find that he had a -horse already saddled and bridled. He didn't know that he had put -the saddle on and cinched up the girths himself. - -"Now I'm all right. That kloshe," said Pete. He almost forgot in -his satisfaction what he wanted the horse for. But presently he -remembered that he had to stop that woman (his sister, was she?) from -going somewhere. Was there such a place as Kamloops? Very likely -there was. Then he saw the gun. - -"She shot at me," he said with feeble indignation, "I'm bleeding." - -He wept again. - -And suddenly he saw all things as clear as day. He had killed Ned: -she had shot him and then she had said she would go into Kamloops and -denounce him. There wasn't any time to lose. He "hung up" the horse -and picked the gun from the ground. He went to the house and opened -the door. It was very dark inside and the outside sun was now -burning bright. He stumbled across something and only saved himself -from falling with great difficulty. What had he stumbled over? He -peered on the ground and as the pupils of his eyes dilated he saw a -body stretched out with a white cloth over the face. He trembled. - -"It's--it's Ned," he said, shaking. "They'll hang me!" - -He wanted to lift the white cloth but dared not. He went round the -body to the shelf where he knew the cartridges were kept. He put a -handful in his pocket and then went out with his eyes straight before -him. But he still saw the white cloth. When he was outside he -loaded the gun in both barrels and clambered on the old sorrel with -great difficulty. As he rode he swayed to and fro in the saddle. - -But he had to catch Mary, had to stop her. That notion was all the -thought in him. It helped to keep him from falling off. Yet he rode -like a drunken man, and the landscape reeled and shifted and danced. -The big bull-pines swayed as if there were a great wind and the road -was sometimes a double track. Yet far ahead of him he saw a figure -on a horse. It must be Mary. He clutched the gun and the horn of -the saddle and spurred the old sorrel with a solitary Mexican spur -which he had borrowed in the town. And as he rode the world began to -settle down before him at last. Though his head was splitting he -rode without his hat. It lay in red dust by Ned's house. - -At first he went at a walk, but presently he urged the sorrel to a -reluctant lope. The figure before him loped too. He saw he made -little headway. He put the sorrel into a gallop and knew that he -gained on her who now hated him. It was unjust of her: what he had -done was for her, not for himself. Ned had hurt her horribly. Pete -couldn't understand her. She appeared to love the man who had cut -her down. It was foolish, strange. - -And she meant to have him "hanged." That was the last spur to him: -his vision cleared and became normal. The shifting planes of the -terraced land in front of him sat down at last. He drove the spur -into the sorrel brutally and set him at a furious gallop. He knew -the horse that Mary rode was tired: it was not much of a cayuse at -any time. He saw her plainly now. - -And then she looked round and saw a horseman coming furiously. What -horseman it was she knew not. Yet it might be Pete, though he was -disabled. She made her horse gallop: she flogged him with a heavy -quirt that hung to Pete's saddle. - -But the man behind her gained. She saw him coming in front of a -cloud of white dust. She looked back through dust. But perhaps it -wasn't Pete. - -Then she knew the action of the old sorrel, and panic got hold of -her. It was Pete. Yes, that was certain. She screamed to her -horse, and struck him hard. Now she heard above the sound of his -hoofs upon the road the following echo-like thud of the sorrel as he -crept up to her. She topped a little rise and raced down hill -recklessly. Behind her now there was a moment's cessation of the -following sound. Then she heard it again and looking back saw Pete -come down the hill. He was within a quarter of a mile of her and she -was not yet half-way to Kamloops! - -She was his sister and an Indian. She was usually merciful to -animals in spite of that: merciful and kind. But now she feared for -herself, and the deep nature within her flowered as it had done when -she sought Pete's life. She flogged the horse till she was weary and -then pulled out a little knife she carried and stabbed it through the -hide just behind the saddle. It was a bitter and cruel spurring. -Under the dreadful stimulus her tired horse responded and galloped -furiously. But the old horse behind her was the better animal: he -answered that gallop of his own accord and was emulous, eager. - -She heard Pete's voice, she turned and saw him creeping up to her: -she saw he had the gun. She looked at him over her shoulder as they -galloped: his face was dreadful to see: part of his ear was hanging -loose: the blood was on his neck and shoulder. She saw him open his -mouth: he was speaking: telling her to stop! - -But he had killed her man! She believed it! She would not stop. - -Now he crept further up to her, and her old horse was urged on by the -following thunder of near hoofs. She turned from her pursuer: he saw -nothing of her face but the white cloth. She heard him cursing -awfully. He called her foul names: he screamed insults. Though she -kept her eyes upon the road she saw dimly that he was ranging up -alongside her. - -"Stop," cried Pete. She answered on her horse with the quirt: she -had dropped her knife a mile back. Behind the saddle there were -blood marks. She was in a whirlwind: the sun burnt: the dust rose: -she saw cattle run across the road. Beyond that slope Kamloops lay: -through a fold of one of the terraces she saw a patch of the lake -away to the east: yonder was the crystalline and azure Thompson. In -front, the dark stained hill beyond the river and beyond Kamloops -rose more clearly. Then she heard nothing of what he said: she saw -his furious face, saw the blood again, the flapping cartilage of his -ear, and then she saw him lift the gun. This then meant death! But -when the explosion burst upon her like a blow, she felt the horse -throw up his head, and knew that they were both falling. She saw, -even as she fell, the one clear picture: the horse with his bleeding -neck outstretched and his legs failing: the white road: the radiant -prairie: the tall brown trees: the splendid river. Then the earth -rose at her: she pitched headlong, and rolled over motionless. - -On the road the wounded horse lay, lifting up his head as one aghast -at death. He made no sound: the blood poured from the burst arteries -and his head sank back. - -Pete never looked behind him as he threw the gun away and went at a -merciless gallop for the last level mile before the uplands opened on -the valley of the Lake. He cursed his sister and Ned Quin and -himself. How could he get away? - -Before he got to the pitch of the road he turned in his saddle and -looked back. He saw the dark patch that the dead horse made. He saw -the cattle coming to find out what the unusual spectacle meant, for -their curiosity was insatiable. Some already stood, staring and -tossing their heads, in a half-circle round Mary and the horse. - -Soon all the world would be in a circle round the victims! Where was -he to go and how was he to act? He pulled up suddenly and put his -hand to his aching head. If he went into Kamloops as he was, with a -horse all flaked with foam, and with his own ear bleeding, all the -little world of the town would be agog to know what had happened. - -And yet if he hid till dark, some would find Mary, perhaps dead, upon -the open road. Someone might go to the shack and discover Ned. It -was hard to know how to act. He remembered for the first time that -he had a bottle in his pocket. He asked advice of that: it sent him -flying down the road to Kamloops. It was best to risk things, best -not to wait, not to dodge or to hide. His only chance was to get -down to the coast and out of the country. To get north to the -Columbia and then to Sand Point through Kootenay, practically the -only alternative route out, was impossibly dangerous. And as he rode -he saw a steamboat coming down the river from the Lakes. If he rode -hard he might catch it and get away before a word was said. As he -rode he bound up his head and ear with a big coloured handkerchief. -It was red enough to hide the oozing blood. - -It was an hour or more after noon when he rode into Kamloops. He -came in at a lope and took on a careless air, calling "Klahowya" to -some of his tilikums as they passed him. He even saluted a mounted -policeman and went by him singing till he came to Alexander's, where -he had got his horse from. He had to explain how he came back on Ned -Quin's instead of the one he hired. But the stableman, who knew he -had hired out a wretched crock, was easy enough to satisfy. - -"That damned kieutan fell with me," said Pete, swaggering, "fell at -an easy lope and burst my ear. I left him at Ned Quin's, sonny, and -Ned'll bring him in to-molla and fetch out this old sorrel. Here's -four bits for you." - -He had paid the hire before he took out the horse that now lay dead -upon the road. He heard the steamer's whistle at the nigh wharf and -ran to catch her. In ten minutes he was on his way down stream to -the Ferry. - -He knew it would be, or so easily might be, "a close call" for him. -And yet there was nothing else to do but to risk it. As the cool air -of the river struck him he shivered. For he thought he had killed -Ned Quin and, now that the heat went out of his blood, chilling the -fever of revenge in him, he began to be very much afraid. - -But he took a drink. - - -Far back upon the road the cattle ringed round Mary's body and the -body of the horse, and a million flies blackened the pool of blood -and drank against the dust that soaked it up. The cattle to leeward, -smelling the horror of a spilt life, tossed their heads uneasily and -challenged strange death, that horror of which their instincts spoke -to them. Some to windward came closer and blew at the flies. They -rose in black swarms and settled again. From a distance other cattle -marched to the wavering ring about this wonder. Some came running. -One of the inside steers touched Mary's body with his horn. She -moaned and lifted her hand. The steer ran backwards, snorting, -backing on others, who horned each other angrily. Then the steers -crept up again to Mary and blew at the dust in which she lay. - -But this time she rose to a sitting position, and the ring of cattle -with their lowered heads retreated from her. - -She wondered where she was, and how she came to be there. Then she -saw the dead horse, and the gun that a cow smelt uneasily. She -remembered that Pete had killed Ned, and that he had perhaps tried to -kill her. She scrambled to her feet and the cattle jostled each -other to get away from her. She staggered as she stood: for she had -no strength, and all desire of life had gone out of her. And with -that there came a sickness of the notion of revenge: it would only be -trying to revenge herself on the inexorable destiny which was hers. -Pete had killed her man and had gone. She would go back to her dead. - -Overhead the sun burnt as she staggered on the road, the long, -endless, wearying road, so like to life. She went at a foot pace, -and the miles were weary endless spaces without hope. For her man -was dead, and Pete was a cruel madman, and there was nothing left for -her. Yet still she walked, like some painful hurt creature returning -to its lair. She ached in every limb: her head seemed splitting: the -physical torture of her being dulled her mind. And as it seemed to -her only the sun of all things moved swiftly. It was drawing on -towards evening when she came to her house and stood outside the -door. Her knees trembled: she clutched at the latch and door-post to -prevent herself falling. - -Inside was her man dead: her man who had been so good and so cruel. -She began to weep and opened the door, letting the westering sunlight -in. The next moment she screamed dreadfully, for the place where she -had left him was vacant! - -"Oh, Ned, Ned!" she cried in a most lamentable voice. And yet within -her murdered heart there sprang a faint poor flower of hope even as -she cried. If he had been moved was it not that someone had come and -taken him away? Then--then, oh, God, perhaps he was not dead! Her -brain turned: she reeled again and clutched at the table and held to -it. - -"My God, listen to me, be merciful, where is my man, the man I love?" - -She wrestled with the dark gods of fate whose blinded eyes knew not, -nor cared, whom they trod down upon the dusty roads of earth. - -And then she heard a rustle in the room, as of something stirring! -She prayed that this was true: that she did not hear amiss and that -when her eyes opened she would see Ned once more. - -She heard a groan and ran to it blindly and found her man there, on -the bed, their bed, still alive, though half blinded, blood-covered -and hardly conscious! - -"Ned, Ned!" - -In her mad desire for revenge she had left him, believing him dead. -She fell beside him with a scream that was no more than a sigh, and -when she became conscious again after that awful shock of joy, she -found his wounded hands seeking hers. She heard his hurt mouth -whisper for water. For the little good that came with all the evil -she thanked her God very humbly and brought the man water. He spoke -to her and did not know that she had been away from him. He knew not -how he had reached the bed, or come back to life and to her. He was -very weak and gentle. - -"My dear," he said feebly. She washed his wounds and bound them up. -She cried softly over his pain, which was so much less than her own. - -"I've been a brute to you," he mumbled. "But God help me I'll be -that no more." - -"You've always loved me," she said. It was true in spite of -everything. - -"Yes," said old Ned. Then he fell asleep and woke in an hour and -wandered a little in his talk. But she soothed him into peace again -and he rested quietly. Yet she could not leave him to get help till -next morning, and when she went over to their nearest neighbour, -Missouri Simpson, he was away from home. It was noon when he -returned and rode into Kamloops for the doctor. He told the police -what had happened, and found that someone had already brought into -town Ned's gun and told them of the horse. They telegraphed to all -stations to the Coast to hold a certain Sitcum Siwash, known as Pitt -River Pete. But by that time Pete was in hiding on the south side of -the Fraser, over against the Mill, with a canoe, stolen from a house -near Ruby Creek, where he had left the train. For it seemed to him -that he could not escape if he went further. That he had not been -arrested yet was a miracle. - -"They'll catch me and hang me," he said with a snarl. - -He felt sure they would and he had something to do before they did. - -As he lay in the brush, across the river, he tried to pick out the -lights of the house, high upon the hill, in which Jenny and George -Quin lived. - - - - -XXI - -The news that one Pitt River Pete was wanted by the police, by the -"bulls," spread fast through the town and into Shack City. As soon -as they heard, and as soon as Indian Annie was chuckling grossly over -the possible delight of seeing Pete hanged, the police came down and -searched every hole and corner in the sawdust swamp. They routed out -Annie almost the first of the lot, and she screamed insults at them -as they searched her den. - -"Kahta you damn plisman tink I hide Pete?" she yelled. "Pete hyu -mesachie, him damn bad Siwash; if him come I say 'mahsh, klatawa, go, -you damn thief.' Oh, you damn plisman, what for you make mess my -house? You tink Pete him one pin I hide him lik' dat?" - -They bade her dry up and when she refused they took her by the scruff -of the neck and bundled her outside. She sat in sawdust and yelled -till they left her shack and searched the others. They found -nothing, of course, but they found out one thing, and that was the -readiness of most of the men of the Mill, Siwashes or Whites, to give -away Pete with both hands. For they, at any rate, were certain that -it was he who had spiked the logs and killed poor old Skookum -Charlie. And since he had killed a Chinaman, too, all the men from -the Flowery Kingdom were ready to do the same. Old Wong said so to -the "damned plismen." But as the Chinamen relied on the police to -save them from abuse and injury, they were even readier to help than -the Siwashes. - -"Supposee we savvy Pete, we tellee you allo tim'," said Wong. "My -tink Pete damn bad man, spikee logs, killee my flin Fan. Fan velly -good man, my flin, and Pete spoilum 'tumach,' killee him dead. All -light, we come tellee." - -There wasn't a doubt about it, that if Pete turned up in Shack-Town -he would be given away, and though the police went away empty-handed -they had high hopes of nailing him shortly. - -They had had a considerable pow-pow that morning in the Engine-Room -before work started up and there wasn't a soul found there to say a -word for Pete. This was natural enough. - -"A man that'll spike logs ain't a human being, boys," said Long Mac -seriously. - -"Killing his own tilikums," said Shorty Gibbs. "It was horrid seein' -pore old Skookum!" - -"The Chinky was horridest," said Tenas Billy. "I picked him up." - -"So you did," said Shorty. "But what d'ye think Pete's doin'?" - -"He'll be on the scoot." - -"To be sure, but where?" - -"Oh, to hell and gone out of this." - -"That's your tumtum. It ain't mine by a mile. If he's been spoilin' -Ned Quin's face what'll he do 'bout George, eh?" - -Mac intervened. - -"Waal, boys, these Injuns are a rotten crowd. You can't bet on what -they'll do. Some o' them don't care a damn if their klootchmen quit. -I know, for I've run with 'em on the Eastern Slope o' the Rockies and -on the plains. Sometimes they will though." - -He told a ghastly tale. - -"Pete's a holy terror, that's what," said Tenas Billy. "I never give -him credit for sand, I admit, but he has it." - -"Sand be damned," said Long Mac; "he hasn't sand. It's only Injun -temper. I know 'em. They ain't sandy in the way we speak of it, -boys. Bein' sandy is bein' cool. Pete don't do notion' unless he's -mad. None of 'em do, at least none of these fish-fed coast Injuns. -They's a measly crowd." - -The men chewed on that. - -"Nevertheless," said Shorty, considering the matter fully, "I'd -rather be me than George Quin with Pete loose on the tear. The man -that spiked our boom and hunted old Cultus Muckamuck's steers into a -dry cañon and then hammered him to pulp with a club mayn't have sand, -but he's dangerous." - -"He's the kind of Johnny that'd fire the Mill," said Ginger White, -who so far had held his tongue. - -"White's on the target," said Mac as the whistle blew. But he forgot -about it when the song and the dance of the day commenced. There's -fine forgetfulness in work. - -Quin was as foolish as the rest of them. That is to say, he talked -to the police and came to the conclusion that Pete wasn't likely to -be on hand now and for ever after. He knew what Mac knew and -despised the average Coast Indian. It was true enough they weren't -up to much unless they were "full," full, that is, of liquor. And a -man like Quin knew by instinct the weakness there was in such as -Pete, in spite of his now bloody record. For Quin had a fine square -jaw and Pete hadn't. But then Quin was incapable of underhand night -work. And he didn't know that Pete was like a rat in a trap, as a -criminal is in British Columbia. And there was another thing. He -knew that Ned wasn't dead, by any means. It never occurred to him -that Pete believed he had killed Cultus and must be desperate if he -wasn't out of the country. - -"I wish the swine was dead," said George Quin. "I believe I'd marry -Jenny." - -She had twined herself round his heart, and when he saw her nursing -the one child he had ever been father of he was as soft as cream with -her. Not a soul about the City would have believed it was George -Quin if they had seen him with his naked boy in his arms. Only the -Chinamen knew about it, for Sam told them, being delighted, as they -all are, with male offspring. They really sympathised with the big -boss as they thought of their own wives far away in "China-side" and -the children some of them hadn't seen. Old Wong wept secretly, for -he had worked and gone home to marry a wife, and she had died. It -wasn't likely he would ever make enough money to buy another, unless -he got it by gambling. He was as bad at that as old Papp, the -German, who still hadn't made sufficient to go home to "California," -in spite of all his work, and those muscles which made him feel as if -he would "braig dings" if he didn't toil. - -Yes, tilikum, George Quin, "Tchorch," was happy, as happy as he could -be. - -And Jenny was nearly as happy as she could be. Her child was a gift -from heaven, even if heaven frowned as it gave her the beautiful boy. -She never saw the Bible or the horrid pictures and she saw instead -the scripture of the child's pure flesh hourly and read the dark -language of her man's heart. He adored what she had given him, and -she knew, as a woman may know, that underneath his awkward roughness -and his careless ways, sometimes not wholly gentle, there was real -love for her and the wish to be good. And when he sat with her and -smoked, she caught the paternal look of full satisfaction that he -feigned to hide from himself. What a boy it was! - -He was as fat as a prairie chicken, and as full of life as a -fresh-run salmon. How pink he showed in hot water: how he squealed -like a dear little pig and kicked his crumpled dimpled legs! Was -there ever such a boy before? - -"Oh, Tchorch, see," said Jenny. She showed him the baby's thick dark -hair. The child was a garden of delight that she cultivated all day -long. - -But she never forgot "Tchorch," who had been so good to her, and had -taken her to Victoria and driven her about in a fine carriage: who -had showed her the world. If she had only been his wife the whole -earth could have offered her nothing. - -And yet behind her was the dark shadow of Pete. George never spoke -of him, and if he had known that Sam did he would have kicked the -Chinaman from the house to the Mill. Yet it wasn't Sam's fault, -though he was a chatterbox and always ready for "talkee" at any time. -Jenny asked him about things. She knew that men said it was Pete who -had spiked the logs. Sam told her of the death of his poor -countryman. She wept bitterly about Skookum, who had always been a -kind, thick-headed chap, very good to his klootchman. She had now -taken up with another who wasn't good to her. - -"Poor old Skookum," said Jenny. Oh, it was dreadful of Pete. And -yet it was her fault. - -But she had her boy! Oh, not for anything, not for life or heaven or -all the round world contained of good, would she have parted with her -child and George's. She hadn't lived before. And now "Tchorch" -loved her so much more. He was so satisfied, so content to sit and -smoke. Her Indian blood was happy to see her man sit solemnly and -puff the clouds into the air without a word. - -Now she knew of the search for Pete, and knew what he had done, just -as she knew what wicked Ned had done to poor Mary. She hated Ned, -and was sure he was utterly bad. Nevertheless, Mary had gone back to -him. That she knew was natural. - -"Poor Mary loves him," she said, "but she has no baby!" - -If the sky was clear, it was for her little boy: when the breezes -blew they were for him: the beauty of the river was his: the -loveliness of stars and the goodness of her milk were the gifts of -God, who was not angry with her but only sorrowful because she was -not married. - -"He would marry me if----" - -Oh, yes, if Pete were dead! She could not say it, but could not help -the bad thought rising within her. To be married to George! She -trembled to think of it. - -In her heaven Pete was the dark cloud. Perhaps her constant thought -of him put it into George's head to say, as he did say, very suddenly -that same night-- - -"I wish I could marry you, tenas!" - -She crept to his knee, and laid her head on his hand. She got more -beautiful every day, more gentle, more tender. - -"There's not a spark of vice in the little woman," said her man, with -tears in his eyes. He said he was a damn fool and spoke gruffly next -time. But she understood her Chief, her great man, and was pleased -to serve his gruffest speech. - -"If only that cursed Siwash was dead," said George. - -But if he wasn't he would either be in the "pen" for years or would -be seen no more on the Fraser River. That seemed certain. - -And still George was uneasy. It was impossible to say where the man -was. The belief of the police that he had escaped out of the country -went for nothing. British Columbia might be a mouse-trap, but it was -a handy place for holing up in, and the brush alongside the river -would have hidden a thousand. George had a talk about the matter -with Long Mac, who was the only one of the workers in his Mill who -had brains beyond his daily task. - -"What do you think, McClellan?" asked the Tyee. - -Mac's eyes showed that he could think. - -"He's a dangerous skunk, that's my tumtum, Mr. Quin," said Mac. He -told him what Ginger White had said and Quin frowned heavily. - -"Fire my Mill!" - -The Mill was his life, and till Jenny had borne him a child it had -been his true and lasting passion. There was a fascination about it -and the work of it that he loved. The scent of the lumber: the sound -of the saws: the rush of the work: the hustling of the men, made -something beyond words. The Mill was a live thing, warm, strong, -adequate, equal to its work. It filled Quin's alert, strong mind. - -"Fire my Mill!" - -That was Long Mac's "tumtum," his thought, his notion. - -"If he ain't really skipped out, that's what a cuss like Pete would -do to you, Sir," said Mac. "He's made a holy record for himself, -ain't he? We know he spiked the logs and killed poor Skookum, and -there ain't the shadder of a doubt he fixed your brother's cattle. -And then he's laid him out, and started off down here. They traced -him to Ruby Creek, and it's tol'ble sure he kapsuallowed a canoe -there. But no one's got on his tracks. It's bad luck there's been -such a mighty poor salmon run this year, or he'd ha' been seen on the -River." - -As it was, the lordly tyee salmon, the quinnat, had been making a -poor show in the Fraser that year, as he will at intervals, more or -less regular. The canneries were fairly frozen out and shut down. -The river was empty of boats and men. - -"I'll set another night-watchman on," said Quin. "There's something -in what you say, McClellan. The police are damn fools, though." - -"I'll take a night or two at it myself, if you like, Mr. Quin," said -Long Mac. - -"You're the very man," replied Quin. - - -That night Pete got his hidden dug-out into the water. But his chief -thoughts were not of the Mill. - - - - -XXII - -It was all very well for George Quin, who had brought all the trouble -on himself by running after other people's klootchmen, to say the -police were fools, but as a matter of fact they had done as much as -could be expected of them, and perhaps more, seeing that Quin wasn't -very popular with them. His Mill with its Shack-Town gave them more -trouble than the whole of the City, and within a year two "damn -plismen," as Annie called them, had been laid out cold with clubs in -its vicinity. And nobody had gone into the penitentiary for the -murderous assaults. Nevertheless they had searched every likely hole -and corner for Pete, from his old native hang-out, Pitt River, down -to the Serpentine and beyond it. They had beaten the brush along -both sides of the Fraser, North and South Arm and the Island. And, -indeed, they came within a throw of the dice of catching Pete. One -of them missed him and his canoe by a hair's-breadth, and the Sitcum -Siwash had been about to cave in and show himself when the man turned -aside. - -As it was, the very search for Pete worked him up to desperation just -as he was beginning to get cold on revenge and to think rather of -escape. If the police were so keen as to search the brush and go up -and down the river, how was he to get away? Like most of his sort he -didn't know the country, and would have been puzzled to get even as -far as Whatcom. And even if he did there would be someone waiting -for him. And to go down stream in the dug-out would be to run right -into a trap, like a salmon. His rage began to burn in him again, and -to this was added hunger. He had over a hundred dollars in his -pocket but hadn't eaten for four-and-twenty hours. He would have -given his soul for a square meal and a long drink, and as hunger bit -him he knew that if he lingered any longer mere famine would induce -him to give himself up. Then he would be hanged, and get nothing -more than he had got already as the price of his neck. When the -second night fell he was wholly desperate. - -"I fix heem to-night, or they catch me," said Pete. "One ting or the -other, Pete, my boy!" - -If he only could get a drink! With a drink inside him he would be -equal to anything. He wondered if he dare trust any of his old -tilikums of the Mill. He thought of Chihuahua and of Chihuahua's -klootchman, Annawillee, and then of old Annie. They would give him -away for a dollar; he knew that, and very likely there was a price on -his head. If poor old Skookum hadn't been killed he would have done -anything for him. Pete was very sorry he had killed Skookum, very -sorry indeed. - -But he kept on thinking about that drink. If there was one woman or -man in Shack-Town who always managed to have liquor in her shanty, it -was old Annie. - -"I'd choke her for it," said Pete, as he shoved off in his dug-out -and paddled lightly against the last of the flood coming in from the -great Pacific. "I'd choke her for it." - -The night was moonless and cloudy and as dark as it ever gets on the -Fraser in summer. There was even a touch of an easterly wind about, -and the faint chill of it made him shiver. Without a drink he felt -almost hopeless. - -"I try," said Pete in sudden desperation. The lights were out all -over the town. Hardly a solitary lamp starred the opposing darkness -of the hill above the river. The world was asleep. There was only a -moving lamp in the Mill. He knew it belonged to the night-watchman, -a sleepy-headed old German, once a worker in the Planing Mill with -old Papp. But since he lost his hand he had been made night-watchman. - -"I give heem plenty light by-by," said Pete. He slanted across the -river and came to an old deserted rotten wharf a little above the -Mill. There in the black shadow he ran his canoe ashore and stepped -into the mud. He crept silently to where the shore shelved, and, -climbing up, thrust his head out between some broken flooring of the -wharf. The world was quiet as a tomb. There was even peace in -Shack-Town. Whether he got that drink or not he had business there -that night. Though Chihuahua most likely wouldn't give him a drink, -Pete meant to make the Mexican help him. For at the back of -Chihuahua's shanty, which was only a one-room hiding hole, there was -a little outhouse. In that Chihuahua always kept some kerosene. - -Pete slipped across the road like a shadow, dodging among the piles -of lumber as he went. His senses were as alert as a cougar's. And -the sawdust under foot made his steps soundless. On the other side -of the road he waited to be sure that no one moved. There was only -one light in Shack-Town, and it was at Annie's. That meant that she -was either awake or had fallen asleep drunk on the floor, forgetful -of her lamp. Perhaps she had a bottle, said Pete thirstily. He felt -cold and nervous and forgot about the kerosene. He ran lightly -across the road and came to Annie's. He had a sheath knife in his -belt. It had once belonged to Jack Mottram, but Pete had stolen it. -He had no intention of using it on Annie, that is unless he had to, -of course. He carried a heavy stick in his hand. - -He looked into Annie's window, which was naturally enough foul within -and without. He saw nothing at first but the dim light of the lamp, -but as everything was quiet he rubbed the glass of one pane with his -cap. Then he saw that Annie was lying on the floor, a mere bundle of -rags. Was that a bottle by her? - -You bet it was, tilikum! Pete knew a bottle when he saw it. Perhaps -by good luck it wasn't empty. He shortened the club in his hand and -tapped lightly on the door with it. Annie never moved. He pushed -the door open, and still she didn't move. He crept in like a cat -until he could reach out and touch the bottle. It lay on its side -and the cork was out. Nevertheless, a bottle can hold quite a good -drink in it even on its side. It was as full as it could be in such -a position, and careless of the silent woman he drank it to its fiery -dregs. Hot life ran through his veins. It was fire: such fire as -makes murder light and easy. He grinned happily and put the bottle -down again by Annie's limp hand. - -His life ran warm within him and all his desire of vengeance grew in -alcohol as grass will grow in a warm rain of spring. - -He found the kerosene in Chihuahua's little den, and started, not for -the Mill, but for George Quin's house. - -"My klootchman, ha," said Pete fiercely. "She have a papoose!" - -The papoose slumbered in his loving mother's arms. By her side big -George lay. The night was so sweet and quiet. If George could marry -her he would. Oh, wonderful, sorrowful world that it was. And here -was the world within her arms and within her reach. - -"I just love Tchorch and baby!" - -She woke and slept. Oh, heavenly night and heavenly day when baby -slept, or waked, or stared solemnly, as Indian blood will and must, -at the strange hard world that meets its wondering eyes. - -The summer had been warm and rainless, everything was dry with the -good warmth of summer. The brush showed brown: the paths were white: -the lumber, whether in stacked piles or in framed houses, was ready -for fire. A spark would light it: a single match might cause a -conflagration as it would in a dry forest of red cedar or the -resinous spruce. - -And Pete carried kerosene. He drenched a southern wall of boards -with it and laid against the wall dry brush and pieces of sawed -lumber that lay about from the building of the house. He knew the -wood must flame like tinder. If it ran unchecked for a minute it -would take the river to put it out. And it was high above the river. -He grinned and lighted a match. - -The next minute he was running down the hill like a deer. In less -than a minute he dropped, still carrying the half-emptied kerosene -can, through the hole in the wharf. Then he waited and saw a warm -blaze high upon the hill. - -"That fix heem and her," said Pete, intoxicated with his deed and -with the alcohol. "That teach heem, damn Shautch Quin, heh! I kill -his blother, heh, and burn his house!" - -His heart was warm within him as fire. It seemed so good to be -revenged. Now they would wake, and perhaps would not escape. All -the world would wake and go up there, and then the Mill would be left -alone. Already the flame on the hill was so fierce that many must -see it. - -And, indeed, many saw it, and some came running and there was a -growing sound of men, and far off he heard men call. And then from -up above there came the sound of firearms, used as an alarm. By this -he knew that Quin was up. - -"I fix heem and now I fix his Mill;" said Pete hoarsely. He had -forgotten all they had told him of the scheme by which a man pays a -little so that he shall not lose all. What did it matter? The Mill -was Quin's, and he loved it. Pete knew that. - -As all the town woke he dropped down stream in his canoe and came to -the Mill. - -It was built, as all such are when they border on a river or any -water, partly on the land and partly on great piles sunk in the river -bed. The wharves, where scows and steamboats and schooners loaded -the lumber, were even further towards the deep water. At high tide a -boat could pass underneath them all, and get beneath the deep shadow -of the Mill. There fish played constantly, schools of little -candle-fish, the oolachan that the fur-seals love, that is so fat -that when it dries it drips oil. And there were places in the Mill -that dripped oil, as there are in all works where machinery moves -swiftly, and bearings are apt to grow hot. For many years the Mill -had never ceased to run, save when heavy frost fixed the moving river -in thick-ribbed ice, and it was saturated with all that burns. In -every crack dry sawdust lay that was almost explosive: the bearings -of belts were fat with oil. Pete knew it would burn like tinder, -like dry, dead resinous spruce, like the bark of red cedar. - -As he moved in the darkness, over the sound of the lapping water he -heard the sound of the waking city. Where so much was built of wood, -fire was dreadfully interesting. He knew the world would wake and be -upon the hill. Now he saw the glimmer of the fire he had lighted -show a gleam upon the water under the sky. He laughed to himself -quietly, and, holding on to a pile, listened. Was there anyone above -him on the floor of the Mill? Or had even the watchman run to Quin's -house to help? He knew how fire drew a man, how it drew all men. - -There was no sound above him. He ran his canoe into deeper darkness -and left it on the mud and climbed straight among crossing interlaced -timbers to the first floor, where the Shingler worked and laths were -made. He moved lightly, his feet in silent mocassins, and entered -the dark hole under the Chinee Trimmer. Above him was the chute by -which matched-flooring came down to the Chinamen, who carried it to -the Planers and the machines that worked it. He heard the hum of a -far-off crowd and saw the light of the burning house. He climbed -into the upper Mill. And as he thrust his head out of the chute at -the left hand of the Trimmer, then idle in the casing, he saw the -house itself through the great side chute of the Mill, down which he -had fallen the day he struck Quin with the pickareen. - -The Mill was empty. He looked round cautiously and then leapt out -upon the floor. There was sufficient light for him to see by, and he -saw that some man had at least taken precautions against him. There -were buckets of water here and there: there was even a hose-pipe with -a pump, a force-pump. There was another hose coming from the -Engine-Room. These things showed him he had been feared: they showed -him it would be hard to get away. But he had no time to think. With -a savage grin he pulled out his knife and sliced the hose into -pieces. He capsized the buckets as they stood. Then he fetched his -oil-can from where he had put it, close to the Pony Saw, and emptied -it at a spot which he chose, because the oil would run upon the -sawdust carrier and go down past the fine cedar dust from the -Shingler. Below the Shingle Mill was the water. He knew exactly -where to find the spot where the oil would drip into the river. He -ran back to the chute by which he had ascended and as he slipped into -the chute he heard someone call. - -"Hallo, Dutchy, Dutchy!" said a voice. - -But Dutchy, the old one-handed German watchman, did not answer. Pete -heard him who spoke break out swearing. - -"Goldarn the old idiot, I believe he ain't here," said the voice. It -was the voice of Long Mac, a man to be feared, a strong man, a keen -and quick man, a man with brains and skill and grit. - -Pete heard him enter the Mill and run upstairs, and he knew that in -another moment Mac would know someone had been there, although old -Dutchy had done what he should not have done, and had left the Mill -to go to the other fire. There was no time to lose. He went -silently for the canoe, and found it, got into it, and worked his way -to the space under the Shingle Mill. Now the light of the burning -house was bright upon the lip of the river, running on the first of -the ebb against a warm Chinook wind. - -He heard Mac burst out into blasphemy. He had found no Dutchy, but -cut hose instead. And then old Dutchy came running. He heard Mac -curse him. - -"What did I tell you, you old fool? Didn't I say look out lively -here! That swine's about now, by God! He's cut the hose, maybe -lighted the Mill already!" - -"Ach, mein Gott, mein Gott," said Dutchy, "I haf not been afay von -minute." - -"Oh, to hell," said Mac. - -He found the capsized buckets and burst out again. He spoke rapidly, -and Pete, as he clutched at a pile, caught but a word or two. - -"Run--police--boat!" - -He understood what this meant: if he didn't do it now, he would have -no time. At the sound of old Dutchy's steps on the boards as he ran -overhead Pete struck a match and lighted dripping kerosene. The -flame circled on a patch of board, and burnt blue and flickered, -drawing upward through a crack. The Mill was fired! - -"I fix heem," said Pete; "if they catch me I fix heem all the same." - -He thrust his canoe for the open water and then stayed aghast. It -seemed that the world was very light. His lip fell a little. And he -heard a voice speak overhead, a voice which was like a bow drawn at a -venture. - -"I know you're about hyar, Pete," said Mac in a roar like that of a -wild beast. "I know you're hyar!" - -He didn't know, but his instincts and his knowledge told him the -truth. Underneath him somewhere lay the incendiary. In some dark -hole or corner the beast of fire was hidden. Pete's heart stood -still and he knew what a fool he had been to meddle with aught on the -upper floor. - -And he heard the light crackle of his new fire. - -"Come out, you hound," cried Mac. And then the flame caught the -sawdust carrier and Mac saw the creep of light under a crack and knew -the Mill was fired--fired irredeemably and beyond hope. He pulled -his gun and shot down through the floor at a venture, and by a -wonderful chance the bullet cleared any beam and struck the water -close by Pete. The Siwash let go and thrust the dug-out into the -stream. - -And in the Mill the fire was like an explosion. It ran along the -carriers and the ways of the belts and reached out into inaccessible -corners where lay the warm dust of years and grew up through a -thousand cracks like red-hot weeds at the breath of spring in a -tropic garden. - -"Oh, my God," said Mac. The breath of the fire choked him: he ran -back from it: it burst up about him: to escape he leapt over it, but -before he got to the great Chute the flame spurted from beneath the -Big Hoes and licked at the teeth of shining steel. Then it played -about the Pony Saw and far off under the Bull-Wheel it grew up and -danced. Then it went like a fiery creeper, like a red climbing rose, -and touched the dusty roof. In the next moment the body of the Mill -was fire. Mac went back, missed his footing and slipped headlong -down the chute, even as Pete had once fallen. He rose with a shout -which was half a shriek, for he had dislocated his shoulder, and -folks running in the road to the lesser fire, turned to the greater -and saw the Mill ablaze. - -And out in the river Pete was paddling hard. But the lamp that he -had lighted was a very bright one, that made the river suddenly a -golden pool and shone afar off on the other side of the white roof of -the Big Cannery. One man on the wharf saw him and called to Mac, who -came fast. - -"By the Lord, that's Pete," said Mac, "that's Pete and my shoulder's -out. Get a boat, boys, get a boat! There's one under the wharf at -the other end. Get a boat and go after him!" - -But to go out on the river at midnight after a killer and an -incendiary from mere love of the law or even of hunting was beyond -those who heard the man from Michigan speak. - -"Oh, hell, not me! Tain't my funeral," they said. And then Quin -came running to them. He was white as the ashes of his house would -be on the morrow, but he saw what Mac and the others saw. That must -be Pete on the river! - -"He's got us, Sir, he's got us," said Mas. - -Even in that moment Quin saw how he held his arm. - -"You're hurt?" - -"I fell down the chute, Sir, the fire almost caught me." - -The flames roared now. The inside of the Mill was a furnace. Fire -played fantastic games on the high sloping roof. - -"There's a boat----" - -"I know," said Quin. - -"These hoosiers ain't game," said Mac. - -A bigger crowd of those who weren't game to tackle wild beasts -gathered round them. Faces were white in the glow of the fire. - -"At the house, Sir----" - -"They're all right. I'll go after him," said Quin. He ran, and Mac -cried-- - -"Take my gun, Sir----" - -But Quin did not hear him. He ran round the end of the Mill and was -lost. - -In another moment they saw him in the boat out upon the river. Pete -went out of sight. The crowd watched till Quin was out of sight, too. - -"What's the bettin' we'll see either of em' again?" asked a man in -the crowd. - -The odds were against it. - - -"I fix heem all right," said Pete. - - - - -XXIII - -It was Jenny who first wakened in the house on the hill, for she -slept lightly as a young mother does. And yet when she woke, sleep -was not wholly out of her eyes and mind, and it seemed to her that it -was morning, and that Sam, her good Sam, was up betimes in the -kitchen. She heard the fine crackling, at first a mere crepitation, -of the crawling flame, and felt comfortable as one does at the notion -of the good creature fire, the greatest servant of man. Deep in the -hearts of men lies the love of it, for fire has served them through -the innumerable generations of their rise from those who knew it not. -A million ancestors of each have sat by brave flames in dark -woodlands and have warmed themselves and found comfort in all the -storms of the open world. For the house is the fire, the covering of -the fire, and the hearth is the great altar, where a daily sacrifice -is made to the gods. - -She fell asleep again. - -And then she smelt smoke and roused herself suddenly and saw a -strange light outside in the darkness. The fire flickered like a -serpent's tongue, and she saw it, and her heart went cold. For the -servant becomes a tyrant, and the god is oftentimes cruel to his -people. She clutched the child, and with her other hand caught hold -of George. She cried to him aloud, and even before he was awake he -stood upon the floor, knowing that some enemy was at hand. And even -then the red enemy looked in at the window and there was the tinkle -of broken glass. - -"Oh, this is Pete's work," he said. But he said it not aloud. "Get -up, girl. Come, tenas," he cried. He opened the door and found the -house full of smoke. Below, he heard the work of the fire. And the -outer wall below the window was one flame. - -"This is Pete's work," he said. And he said to himself-- - -"What of the Mill?" - -Jenny clutched the baby to her bosom, and he slammed the door to. It -was not the first time he had met fire and he understood it. He -wetted a handkerchief and tied it over his own mouth. There were -some who would have wondered at his swiftness, and the cool courage -of him in so threatening a fight. He bound wet rags across the brave -lifted mouth of Jenny, and the child cried as he did the same for -him. Then he caught her in his arms and rushed the stairs, and as he -ran he called aloud, "Sam, Sam!" - -The smoke was pungent, acrid, suffocating, and the heat of the air -already cracked the skin. Out of the smoke he saw licking tongues of -flame, flame curious and avid, searching, strenuous, alive. One -tongue licked at him and he smelt, among all the other odours of the -fire, the smell of singed hair. He heard the crying of the child, -its outraged mind working angrily. Jenny whimpered a little. Her -hand was steel about him. He rushed an opaque veil of blinding -smoke, interpenetrated by lightnings, and bull-headed burst in Sam's -door. He heard the boy cry out. But they were saved, if it were not -that Pete stood outside to kill those whom he had driven from their -shelter. That might be; Quin knew it. And yet he could not go -first. Sam caught his arm. - -"Oh, oh, Mista Quin!" he cried, "oh, oh, velly dleadful, my much -aflaid." - -Sam had pluck enough, as he had more than once shown when some white -young hoodlums of the town had small-ganged him. But when fire is -the master many are not brave. - -"Open the window," said Quin. Outside to the ground was a drop of -twelve feet. But the ground was hard. Quin put Jenny down by the -window and got a blanket from the boy's bed. - -"Out you go first, Sam," he said. - -But Sam, though not "blave" and "velly much aflaid," knew it was the -right thing for the "Missus" to go first. - -"Oh, no, Mista Quin, my no go first. Missus she go and litty chilo. -My not too much aflaid." - -He trembled like a leaf all the same. - -"Get out of the window chop-chop," said Quin in a voice that Sam had -only heard once before when he had dared to be insolent. He sprang -to the window, and, clutching the blanket that Quin held, he slid to -the ground. - -"Now my catchee Missus," he said exultantly. And with the fire -beneath the boards of the room, Quin had no choice. He tied a quilt -round Jenny's waist and lowered her and the child till Sam could -touch her. He let go, and sliding down the blanket, which he had -made fast to the frame of Sam's bed, he, too, reached the ground -safely. And people came running up the hill. Whether this was -Pete's work or not they were safe. But their house was a torch, the -flames soared above the gambrel of the roof. - -Jenny sat upon a rock, clad only in her nightgown, with the quilt -thrown about her shoulders. Her home was burning and all their -beautiful things were destroyed. She could not cry, but her heart -wept, and the child was her only comfort. She knew well enough that -this was Pete's work, she felt it in her heart. - -And a crowd gathered. There were many from the City: those whose -work it is to put out fires, and some of the police. There was a fat -saloon-keeper whom she knew by sight and the old boss of the Farmers' -Home. With them were many Siwashes from Shack-Town: among them the -wedger-off who had replaced Pete. She saw old Papp, the German from -"California," and Chihuahua, with his beady eyes flashing, and his -teeth all a-grin. With him came his klootchman, Annawillee, the one -who always sang the song of the mournful one, also called Annawillee. -Then there were Chinamen in wide flapping pyjamas, old Wong, the wise -man, and Fan-tan and Sam Lung, and Quong. They made a circle about -her and the fire, and chattered in Chinese, in Chinook, in Spanish, -for now Spanish Joe, the handsome man, came up and palavered with -Chihuahua. She felt their eyes upon her. She had "shem" that they -should see her, for she was not Quin's wife, and his child cried upon -her knees. She hid her bare feet under the nightgown. Sam stood by -her. She saw Quin speak to the police, to the firemen. Any help was -vain. Then Long Mac ran up the hill, as light as a wapiti on his -feet. He said but a word and ran back. But it was a wise word, -though too late. - -"Send someone down to the Mill, Quin. If this is Pete, it won't -satisfy him. I'll get a boat and go on the River." - -"Do," said Quin. "I'll see this through and be with you in a minute." - -But the swift minutes passed, and before they gave up all hope -(though Quin never had hope) and before he could say what should be -done with Jenny, someone cried out suddenly-- - -"The Mill, the Mill!" - -As if they had been turned on their heels by some strange machinery -the big crowd turned and saw a running light in the Mill. It was as -if the crowd of workers danced with lamps: as if there were some -Chinese Feast of Lanterns in its dark floors. Then the flickering, -dancing lights coalesced and they saw flames flow out, and flow down -and climb up. - -"The Mill!" said Quin. - -Bad enough to lose his house, his home, which now he loved, but to -lose the Mill was a thousand times worse. The house was but a new -thing and the Mill was old. Thousands of days he had watched the -work and heard its song: not a board of it, not a rafter, not a stud -or beam or scantling or shingle that wasn't his delight. It was part -of himself, the thing wherewith he worked, the live muscles with -which he toiled: his spirit extended to it: he ran it with his steam, -with his belts, with his mind, his energy. - -"Oh, my Mill!" - -Barefoot as he was, being clad only in his shirt and trousers, he -leapt down the hill and never felt his wounded feet. Jenny saw him -go, saw the crowd break and waver, saw it turn and flood the lower -hillside, moving down. Their lighted faces turned from her, she saw -them run. - -"Oh, Tchorch, oh, Tchorch!" - -But George never heard her feeble cry in the torrent. He had -forgotten her and the boy. - -And when she could again see for her tears she was alone save for -Sam, her faithful Sam, and Annawillee and Indian Annie, the last to -climb the hill. Even Chihuahua had gone and all the Chinamen. She -saw Wong departing last of all. The fire drew even the philosopher. -She heard Annie speak to her. - -"Ho, tenas Jenny, toketie Jenny, dis your man, mesachie Pete. -Evelybody savvy Pete done um, Jenny. Oh, what peety toketie house -mamook piah, all bu'n, all flame." - -"Oho, hyu keely, hyu keely," moaned Annawillee, "pletty house mamook -piah. Mamook nanitch you' papoosh, Jenny, let me see papoosh." - -These were foul and filthy hags, and now Jenny knew it. She cried -and Sam did not know what to do. - -"Missus, you no cly," he said despairingly. But still she cried, and -Annie sat down by her. - -"Where Mista Quin klatawa? Ha, Moola mamook piah all same yo' -toketie house, tenas. Now you got halo house, you come mine, Jenny." - -And Annawillee lifted the quilt from the baby and saw it. - -"Hyu toketie papoosh, hyu toketie, ha, I love papoosh, Jenny's -papoosh." - -"What I do, Sam?" moaned Jenny. The Mill was in a roar of flames. -It lighted the town and the river and the white canneries across the -wide red flood. - -"Oh, you come down to sto'e," said Sam. Where else could she go but -to the store? Why hadn't the big boss told him what to do? For -everything outside the house Sam was as helpless as the very papoose. -He hated and loathed the Siwashes and their klootchmen. They were -dreadful, uncleanly people. It was his one great wonder in life that -"Missus" was a Siwash klootchman. - -"You come down to sto'e," he said. - -"You come my house, Jenny," said Annie, who thought if she gave Jenny -shelter she would get more dollars from Quin, who lately had refused -her anything. "You come my house, tenas." - -But Sam held her tight and helped her on the difficult path. Her -feet were bare and so were his. Neither Annie nor Annawillee had -mocassins on, the soles of their feet were as hard as horn. - -They went down the hill slowly, and still the old hag said-- - -"You come my shack, tenas, bad for papoose to be out night." - -Every stick and stone of the path was lighted for them. Jenny's -heart was in ashes for the grief of "Tchorch," who so loved his Mill -and his house. All her beautiful clothes were burnt. Perhaps Pete -would kill him even now. - -"Oh, where is Tchorch?" she cried as they came to the bottom of the -hill. And the wavering crowd kept on saying where he was. - -"The boss is on the river." - -"Went in a boat, pardner----" - -"Oh, but he was mad! I wouldn't be the Siwash----" - -"I don't hanker none to be Quin if Pete gets him. Pete's a boy, -ain't he? Solid ideas, by gosh----" - -"See, there's the Planin' Mill goin' up the flume!" - -"'Tis a mighty expensive fire, this. Eh, what?" - -"Licks me Moolas don't burn mor' off'n, pard!" - -"Well, we're out of a job, tilikums." - -The crowd moved and swayed and moaned. They cried "Oh!" and "Ah!" -and "See!" The Mill was hell. Old Dutchy sat on a pile of sawed -lumber with his lighted lamp on his knees; the poor doddering fool -trimmed the wick and cried. Jenny heard old Papp speak to him in -German. - -"Sei ruhig, alte dummkopf." - -And Papp went on in English. - -"Dain'd your vault, old shap, iv so be Pete wanded to purn ze Mill, -he vould purn it all same. If I had him I vould braig him lige a -sdick, so!" - -There was no pity for the man who had spiked the logs. They would -have hung him if they had had hold of him. They would have thrown -him on the fire. Then the front of the Mill fell out. The crowd -surged backwards, and Jenny was near thrown down. Old Papp fell -against Sam, and both went down. Annie and Annawillee caught hold of -Jenny and her papoose, and dragged her to their shack. - -"That all light, tenas. You come. I give you a dlink, tenas. Here, -Annawillee, you hold papoosh." - -She snatched the baby from Jenny's weakening arms and Annawillee ran -on ahead with him. - -When Sam recovered his feet Jenny was gone. - -"Oh, where my Missus, where my Missus?" roared Sam, blubbering. - -"What's the infernal Chinaman kickin' up such a bobbery about?" asked -the scornful crowd. - - - - -XXIV - -The canoe in which Pete had set out in his great adventure was both -heavy and cranky, and no one but a Siwash of the river or the Lakes -would have paddled it a mile without disaster. But he had been bred -in the sturgeon-haunted water of Pitt River, and knew the ways of his -craft and could use the single-bladed paddle with the same skill that -he showed with the maul and wedges on a great sawlog. Now as he left -the light of the fired Mill behind him he knew (or feared) that he -had not left his enemies behind him as well. The whole of the Mill -would be his enemies. That he was sure of: he remembered poor old -Skookum Charlie. He understood the minds of those he had endangered -as well as the heart of such a man as Quin. And if Quin himself had -escaped from the fire of the house he would be on the river! That -Pete was sure of in his heart. And his heart failed him even as he -swept outward on the first of the ebb, which ran fast, being now -reinforced by the waters of the big river fed by the melting snows of -a thousand miles of snow-clad hills. - -This was, indeed, the nature of the man, as Long Mac knew it. He was -capable of fierce resentment, capable of secret though unsubtle -revenge, but he was not capable of standing up like a man at the -stake of necessity; not his the blood of those nobler Indians of the -Plains who could endure all things at the last. His blood was partly -water, of a truth, and now it melted within him. - -"They catch me fo' su'e," said Pete. His muscles weakened, his very -soul was feeble. What a fool, a thrice-sodden fool, he had been to -cut the hose in the Mill. But for that they might not have known he -had fired it. But Long Mac knew, and perhaps Long Mac himself, who -had nerves and muscles of steel, was out after him in the night. Oh, -rather even Quin than that man, whom Quin himself treated with a -courtesy he denied to all the others who worked for him. - -But now the light of the Mill faded. On both sides of the river were -heavy shadows: the great moving flood was but a mirror of darkness -and a few stars that flicked silver into the lip and lap of the -moving waters. Pete knew the ebb and current ran fastest in the -middle of the stream, and yet to be out in the middle meant that he -would be seen easier, if indeed he was pursued. He could not make up -his mind whether to chance this or not. He sheered from the centre -to the banks and back again. And every now and again it seemed to -him that it would be wisest to run ashore, turn his dugout loose and -take to the brush. And yet he did not do it. He was weak, now that -fear was in him, and the alcohol died out of him, and he felt renewed -pangs of hunger. To wander in the thick brush would be fatal. They -would renew their search on the morrow: every avenue of escape would -be guarded. And hunger would so tame the little spirit he had within -him that he would give himself up. - -"They hang me, they hang me," he said piteously, even as Ned Quin had -said it. But there was none to help him. The very men who had been -his brothers, his tilikums, would give him up now. - -He cursed himself and Jenny and Quin and the memory of Skookum -Charlie. He took the centre of the river at last and paddled hard. -It was his only chance. If he could but get out to sea and then run -ashore somewhere in the Territory, among some of the Washington -Indians who knew nothing of him, he would be hard to find. The very -thought of this helped him. He might escape after all. - -And then his ears told he was not to escape so easily. He heard the -sound of oars in the rowlocks of a boat. Or was it only the beating -of his own heart? He could not locate the sound. At one moment it -seemed to him that after all it was but someone further down the -river and then it seemed behind him. If it were down stream it might -be only some stray salmon boat doing its poor best in a bad year. -Even they would say they had met him. He ceased to row and sheered -across towards the darkest shadow of the bank. - -And, as he sheered inwards, from behind the last bend of that very -bank there shot a boat which was inshore of him. For Quin knew the -river below the City as Pete did not, and he had kept in the -strongest of the stream, which sometimes cut its deepest channel -close to the shore. He was but a hundred yards from Pete when the -Sitcum Siwash saw him and knew it was Quin. - -Here the great river below the Island, where North and South Arms -were one, was at its widest. And by the way his enemy came Pete knew -that his hour had arrived. Though he paddled for awhile in sheer -desperation he knew that his wretched heavy dug-out had no chance -against a light boat, driven by the strongest arms in the City, -perhaps the strongest in the whole country. And Quin was an oarsman -and had loved the water always. The wretched fugitive changed his -tune even as he strove in vain. - -"He fix me, oh, he fix me----!" - -Hot as he was with paddling, the cold sweat now ran down his brow and -cheeks. He felt his heart fail within him: he felt his muscles fail. -Yet still he strove and kept a distance between himself and Quin that -only slowly lessened. For now Quin himself slackened his pace. He -was sure he had the man, and yet it needed coolness to secure him. - -To Quin, Pete had become the very incarnation of the devil, and he -was wholly unconscious now that he had ever wronged him. The fact -that he had stolen Jenny from him was but an old story. And Pete had -brought it upon himself. No one but Quin in the whole world could -have known (as Quin did know) that any kindness, any decency of -conduct, in Pete would have secured Jenny to him against the world -itself. She was pure faithfulness and pure affection, and malleable -as wax in any warmth of heart. But Pete had been even as his -fellows. He should have wedded some creature of the dust like -Annawillee, to whom brutality was but her native mud. And Jenny was -a strange blossom such as rarely grows in any tribe or race of men. - -It was not of Jenny that Quin thought. He forgot her very danger -that night and forgot his own. He even forgot his child. He -remembered nothing but the burnt Mill, nothing but the spiked logs. -Oh, but he "had it in" for Pete! - -"He's burnt my Mill," said Quin. In spite of any help the loss would -be heavy, but it was not the loss that Quin thought of: it was of the -Mill itself. So fine a creature it was, so live, so quick, so -wonderful. Rebuilt it might be, but it would no longer be the Mill -that he had made: that he had picked up a mere foundling, as a -derelict of the river, and turned to something so like a living thing -that he came to love it. Now it was hot ashes, burning embers: the -wind played with it. It was dead! - -There was no sign of red fire behind them now, but the fire burnt -within Quin. The fire was out in Pete. He wished he had never seen -Jenny, never seen the Mill, never played the fire. He went blind as -he paddled, ever and ever more feebly. If Quin had called to him -then the Siwash would have given in: he would have said---- - -"All right, Mista Quin, I'm done!" - -That was his nature: the nature of the Coast Indians, as Long Mac -knew it. There wasn't in him or his tilikums, pure-blooded or -"breeds," the stuff to stand up against the bitter, hardy White, who -had taken their country and their women, and had made a new world -where they speared salmon, or each other. He knew he had no chance. - -But Quin never spoke, even when he was within twenty yards of his -prey. - -The terror of the white man got hold of Pete, and the terror of his -silence maddened him anew. There was not so much as a grunt out of -his pursuer. Pete saw a machine coming after him. It was not a man, -it was a thing that ran Indians down and drowned them. So might a -steamer, a dread "piah-ship," run down the dug-out of some poor wild -Siwash in some unexplored creek. Quin was not a man, or a white man, -he was the White Men: the very race. There had always been a touch -of the wild race in Pete: an underlying hint of the wrath of those -who go under. He had avenged himself, but it was still in vain. The -last word was, it seemed, with the deadly thing behind him. - -Of a sudden Pete howled. It was a horrid cry: like the cry of a -solitary coyoté on a bluff in moonlight on a prairie of the South. -The very forests echoed with it, as they had echoed in dim ages past -with the war-whoops of other Indians. It made Quin turn his head as -he rowed. It was just in time, for with one sweep of his paddle Pete -had turned his canoe. The next instant it ran alongside the boat, -and Pete with one desperate leap came on board with his bare knife in -his hand. He fell upon his knees and scrambled to his feet as Quin, -loosing his oars, got to his. The capsized dug-out floated side by -side with the boat. - -"I fix you," said Pete. Even in the darkness Quin could see the -white of his eye, the uplifted hand, the knife. The boat swayed, -nearly went over, Pete struck and missed, staggered, threw out his -left arm and Quin caught it. The next moment they were both in the -river, fighting desperately. - -"I fix you," said Pete. They both mouthed water and Quin got his -right wrist at last. But not before a blow of Pete's had sliced his -ribs and cut a gash that stung like fire. - -Both of the men could swim, but swimming was in vain. Both were -strong, and now Pete's strength was as the strength of a madman who -chooses death in a very passion for the end of all things. He seemed -as if made of fine steel, of whip-cord, of something resilient, -tense. There was in him that elasticity which enables the great -quinnat to overcome the awful stream of the Fraser in its narrow -Cañon. It was with difficulty, with deadly difficulty, that Quin -held the wrist that controlled the knife. He knew that he must do -that even if he drowned. It was his last thought, his last conscious -thought, just as Pete's last thought was to free himself and find -Quin's heart. - -They sank, as they struggled, far below the surface of the flood. -Quin held his breath till it seemed that he would burst. His lungs -were bursting with blood: his brain fainted for it. He struggled to -preserve his power of choice, for it appeared better to be stabbed if -even so he could breathe. But even as he fought he was aware in some -cool and dreadfully far-off cell of his brain that though he let go -he would not yet rise. It was a question of who could last longest. -As he was drowning he remembered (and recalled how he had heard the -saying) that the other man was probably as bad. He even grinned -horribly as he thought this. Then he saw Jenny and the child. The -vision passed and he saw the burning Mill. He heard Mac speak, heard -the roar of the flames, and the murmur of the crowd. Then he came to -the surface and knew where he was, knew that he was alive but at -handgrips with Death himself. He sucked in air, filled his lungs and -rolled over, and went under once again. - -When consciousness is past there is a long space of organized, of -purposed, instinctive struggle for life left in a man. So it was -with Quin. He knew not that he slipped both hands to Pete's right -wrist: he was unaware that when they once more rose Pete howled as -his wrist snapped. Even Pete did not know it: he knew that he was a -fluid part of nature, suffering agony and yet finding sleep in agony, -sleep so exquisite that it was a recompense at last for all the woes -of the world. And he was all the world himself, one with the river, -one with the night and the great darkness which comes in the end to -all. Pete sighed deliciously and sank, and rose and sank again, into -the arms of one who was perhaps his mother, perhaps his dear Jenny -whom he now loved so tenderly. - -And a blind creature, still unconscious, unknowing, hung on to Pete's -wrist. That was what Quin thought. But what he hung to was the -boat, capsized but still floating, which had gone down stream with -them. He was in a cramp of agony: if he could have let go he would -have done so, but something not himself, as it seemed, made him hold -on. He still fought with the dead man who rolled below him at the -bottom of the river. - -Then he came back to the knowledge that he was at least alive. Yet -at first he was not even sure of that. He was only sure that he -suffered, without knowing what it was that suffered. It seemed -monstrous that he should be in such agony, in all his limbs and body -and brain. But he could not distinguish between them for a long time -after he was able to discern, with such curious eyes as an infant may -possess, the fact that there were lights in the dim sky. That was -the first thing he named. - -"Stars!" he said doubtfully. - -And then he knew that there was such a creature as a man! He gasped -and drew in air again and with it life and more far-off knowledge. -He remembered the Mill which was burnt in some ancient day, and -Jenny, long since dust, of course. And then the past times marched -up to him: he knew they were the present, and that he had lost Pitt -River Pete in the river, and that he hung feebly to a capsized boat. -The rest of his knowledge of himself was like an awful flood: it was -overwhelming: it weakened him and made him cry. Tears ran down his -face as he lifted his chin above the water. - -And still he floated seaward. - -A huge and totally insoluble problem oppressed him. He was aware now -that water was not his element. This dawned on him gradually. At -first all his remembered feelings were connected with water. He had, -it seemed, been born in it. It was very natural to be floating in -it. There was at least nothing to contradict its being natural. But -now he felt for something with his feet, for he was conscious of -them. What he wanted was land. Men walked on land. Houses, yes, -houses and Mills were built on land. - -That was land over there! It was a million miles off. How did one -get so far? To be sure, one swam! He shook his head feebly. One -couldn't swim, one would have to let go the boat! He forgot all -about the land far a very long time. When he remembered it again -with a start it was much nearer, very much nearer. He saw individual -trees, knew they were trees. Branches held out their arms to him. -Though swimming, was impossible it was no longer wholly ridiculous. -He remembered doing it himself. He even remembered learning -swimming. He had won a race as a boy in Vermont. - -"To be sure," said Quin. The current swept him closer in shore. -Something touched his feet. He drew them up sharply and shuddered. -Pete was down there somewhere. Oh, yes, but he was dead! Dead men -were disagreeable, especially when they had been drowned and not -recovered for days in hot weather. He touched bottom again. It was -very muddy. It was easy to get stuck in mud. One could drown in it. - -"Why, I may be drowned yet," said Quin. It was very surprising to -think of! - -"No, I won't be drowned," said Quin. "I'll hang on to this boat. -Why not?" - -Nevertheless the water was cold. It came down from the mountains, -from much further off than Caribou and from the Eagle Range. There -was snow there. - -"I am cold," said Quin. "I ought to get ashore." - -The boat itself touched a mud-bank. Quin felt bottom again and just -as he was deciding to let go the boat swung off. Quin cried and was -very angry. - -"I'll do it next time," said Quin. But he didn't. He was afraid to -let go. And yet the shore was very close. Once more the boat -touched and his feet were quite firm in the mud. But there was a -bottom six inches down. He thought he prayed to something, to God -perhaps, and then he saw the boat swing away from him. He was quite -alone and very solitary. To lose the boat was like losing one's -home. He staggered and fell flailing and found bottom with his -hands. He hung to the very earth, but was dizzy. He waited quite a -while to be sure of himself and then scrambled with infinite and most -appalling labour to the shore. His limbs were as heavy as death, as -lead. He dragged them after him. He ached. - -But at last he came out on the land. - -It was earth: he had got there. Was there ever in all human -experience such a pleasant spot to lie down on, to sleep in? He just -knew there wasn't. He forgot he was wet, that he was cold, that Pete -was dead, that he was alive, and he went on his knees and scrabbled -like a tired beast at the ground. And then he went to sleep, holding -himself with his arms and making strange comfortable little noises. - -Sleep rolled over him like a river. Artillery would not have -awakened him, nor thunder, nor the curious hands of friends or the -hostile claws of creatures of prey. - -And within a few minutes of his going to sleep other boats came down -the river and passed him. - -They picked up the capsized boat. - -"Quin's dead then," they told each other. - -It was quite possible Quin's body believed that, too. But his warm -mind knew better, of course. He had got earth under him, and he -warmed it. - - - - -XXV - -"Oh, oho, the toketie papoosh: I love the papoosh, Jenny's papoosh," -said Annawillee, as she held the baby. The shack was lighted by the -burning Mill rather than by the stinking slush lamp on the foul -table. Jenny cried for her baby, but Annawillee was after all a -woman and loved children in her own way. For years she hadn't -handled one. Her only child had died. Its father was not Chihuahua. - -"Oh, give him me, Annawillee," said Jenny. He was George's child, -and now she knew that "Tchorch" was out on the great lonely river, -hunting unhappy Pete. Men said they would never come back. Her soul -was burning even as the Mill burnt. "Tchorch" loved her and yet had -forgotten her. - -"Give him to me." - -But Annawillee sat on the floor and sang about the papoosh, a song of -a poor Klootchman deserted by her man and left with her child: - - "Oh, nika tenas - Hyas nika klahowyam, - Hyu keely, - Konaway sun, - Nika tenas. - - "Ah, my little one, - Sad am I---- - I mourn and weep, - Ah, still must cry, - Ah, my little one, every day!" - - -Annie screamed at her. - -"Pelton Annawillee, halo mamook Jenny keely, make her not mournful, -pelton, oh, fool!" - -"I love papoosh," said Annawillee. She burst into tears. - -"Take heem, Jenny, take yo' papoosh. Mine mimaloose, is dead." - -Jenny took the baby to her bosom, and sat down desolately on the edge -of Annie's bed. Her body shivered at the foulness of things, even as -her soul shivered for fear about George. An hour ago she had been -happy, happy, happy! Now---- - -"Oh, God," she prayed. But she could not weep. - -"Jenny, you have dlink, you tak' one dlink, tenas toketie?" said -Annie. What else was there but "dlink" for misery, for the loss of a -home, for the loss of her man? - -But Jenny shook her head. - -"I got one," said Annie. For she remembered she had not finished the -bottle before she went to sleep by the fire. She hunted for the -bottle and found it. It was empty! - -"Some dam' tief stealum," screamed Annie. Who could it have been but -Annawillee? - -"I never takum," yelled Annawillee when the old hag got her by the -hair and tugged at it. "You old beast, leggo me. I never tak' um." - -Jenny cried out to Annie. It was awful to see this in her agony of -grief. - -"I get mo'," said Annie. "I got dolla. I find Chihuahua, he buy -bottle whisky!" - -She went out. Annawillee wrung her hair into a horrid coil and -knotted it clumsily at the back of her neck. She cried about her -dead papoosh. The tears ran down her dirty face. - -Outside the hum and murmur of the crowd still endured. Every now and -again there was a crash, as some of the great Mill fell in. Piles of -lumber caught: they roared to the skies in wavering columns. The -crowd laughed and moaned and roared and was silent, as the sea beach -is silent between great breakers. - -And George was on the river hunting Pete! Jenny clutched her baby to -her bosom. Annawillee went on crying. Then the door opened and -Annie came back. - -"I send Chihuahua. He get dlink. Dlink velly good for you, Jenny. -By-by Shautch Quin come back and say I good to you, and he be good to -poor old Annie, who get you for heem, tenas!" - -But Jenny only heard her words as part of the sounds of the night. -If George did not come back! She moaned dreadfully, and shivered in -spite of the heat of the great fire, which made itself felt even in -the shack. - -"Tchorch, Tchorch!" - -She felt him in her arms, as she had held to him when he bore her -through the fire. He was a man, a real man. She saw poor Ned, who -wasn't one. She saw Mary. But Mary had no child. Poor Mary and -poor Annawillee! - -The door opened and Chihuahua came in with a bottle. - -"You dam' thief, you open um and dlink," said Annie furiously. -Chihuahua laughed. - -"Hey, hermosa Annie, why you tink I no do dat?" - -He was half drunk already. He saw Jenny. - -"Hallo, Jenny, peretty Jenny! Peretty womans make mischief. All for -dis Pete burn the Moola, and we all out of jhob!" - -That was true enough, and Jenny knew it. But Chihuahua was a beast. -He came over to her and put his arm about her waist and hugged her. - -"I love you, peretty," he whispered; "if de boss no come back, I kick -Annawillee out and have you for klootchman!" - -It was as if he had struck her down and dragged her in the mud. She -turned cold with horror. Oh, if George didn't come back what would -she do: what would she do? - -"I love you, peretty Jenny!" said the hot breath of the beast. And -Annawillee mourned upon the floor, but heard not. Annie took a drink. - -"Now, toketie, my own tenas Jenny, you have dlink," said Annie. She -spoke in Chinook, and Jenny answered in it. It was the first time -she had used the Jargon since she went to George. - -"Nika halo tikegh, I no want it," said Jenny. - -"You have it, pelton," said Annie. "What for, kahta you so fool? -Him velly good whisky." - -"Take it, Jenny," said the hot breath in her ear. - -"I won't," said Jenny. She knew all it meant now. Again Chihuahua -put his arm about her. She wrenched herself away from him and -Annawillee saw what her man was doing, and scrambled to her feet. - -"Oh, you dam' man you do dat," she screamed jealously, forgetting her -dead child and its dead father. - -"You s'ut up, dry up," said Chihuahua, "or I keek you, Annawillee." - -He took the bottle from Annie and drank. - -"I lov' Jenny, toketie Jenny; Jenny mia hermosa muchacha, and she -lov' me." - -He caught at her again, and Annawillee came at him with her claws. -He knocked her down, and she lay where she fell. Annie screamed at -him. - -"You no do dat, Chihuahua. You leave Jenny alone, man. When Shautch -Quin come back he keel you----" - -Chihuahua grinned. - -"He no come back no more. Pete fix him on the river, I sure of dat, -Annie. Jenny she be my klootchman, eh, Jenny!" - -Jenny was as white as death. She had lived for more than a year with -George and this was hell for her. And if George didn't come back! -Chihuahua came staggering to her. She caught the empty bottle by the -neck and stared at him with blazing eyes. He stopped. - -"You peretty devil!" said Chihuahua. "I lik' kees you all same, -Jenny." - -"I'll keel you," she whispered. There was murder in her eyes, and -drunk as he was he knew it. And Annie had picked up a burnt bar of -iron that served her as a poker. Chihuahua quailed before them. - -"I on'y jhoke," he said. "My klootchman she Annawillee, very good -woman, Annawillee. You geeve me one mo' dolla I get mo' whisky, -Annie." - -But all Annie had to give him was the iron bar. - -"You bad man, you beas', you go!" - -And Chihuahua whitened, as he had done more than once before when -Annie got mad. He went out like a lamb, and Jenny sat down on the -bed, and sobbed for the first time as if her heart would break. - -And the fire still burnt, but without great flames. Some of the -crowd went home. It was past two o'clock and soon would be dawn. - -"You no tak' my man, Jenny?" moaned Annawillee. - -"No, no, no," said Jenny. - -"Chihuahua him a beas' to me," said Annawillee. "I hat' heem, but I -hav' no other man now and I no more a pretty klootchman. What I do -if he tak' other klootchman?" - -"I rather die, Annawillee," said Jenny. - -"Him no so velly bad," said Annawillee, "but easy for young and -toketie gal lik' you fin' nodder man." - -She murmured, snuffling, a song that the Siwash women often sing: - - "Kultus kopet nika, - Spose mika mahsh nika, - Hyu tenas men koolie kopa town, - Alkie wekt nika iskum, - Wake kul kopa nika." - - "'Tis naught to me, - If you act so, - For I can see, - Young men who go - About the town, and when I can - I soon will take another man." - - -"You soon fin' a man, you," said Annawillee. "All men say you -toketie. S'pose Shautch Quin mimaloose any man tak' you, Jenny." - -"Dat so," said Annie soothingly. "I fin' you Shautch, Jenny, and I -queek fin' other one, my pretty Jenny!" - -And Jenny's heart was cold within her. For her child's sake -perhaps---- - -And then there came a knock at the door, and her heart leapt again -like a babe. Annie opened the door, and outside stood Sam. - -"My Missus here, oh, where my Missus?" he cried dolorously. "My -loosee my Missus in the clowd!" - -Jenny cried out to him. - -"Oh, Sam, Sam!" - -He had always been good and kind and was clean and bright. - -"Oh, Missus here, my heap glad, Missus. What for Missus stay inside -house like t'is, no good for Missus, no clean, bah!" - -She cried out for George, and Sam shook his head mournfully. - -"Boss no come back, Missus, Moola-man say Boss low boat in liver, -looksee t'at tief makee fy in Moola and house. Bymby boss catchee. -You come, Missus." - -But Annie had no mind to let her go. - -"Dam' Shinaman, klatawa, you go. Jenny she stay wit' Annie." - -She stood in the doorway, and Jenny was behind her. Annawillee went -on with her song. "Soon Jenny get another man. That easy for Jenny!" - -"Oh, where I go, Sam?" - -"My tinkee you go Wong's, Missus. Him velly good man, house heap -clean." - -"She no go dam' Shinaman," roared Annie. - -"I will go," said Jenny. - -But Annie slammed the door in Sam's face. The boy was furious. - -"All light, Missus! One Moola-man, him Long Mac, wantshee you. My -tellee Wong and him. Bymby my comee back. Yah, old cow-woman, -Annie!" - -He ran to Wong's shack and told the old man he had found the -"Missus." By the time they came again to Annie's, Chihuahua and -Spanish Joe had gone there and, being more drunk than ever, Chihuahua -had burst the door in. Joe tackled Annie and took the iron bar from -her. She screamed like a wild-cat in a trap. Both the men went for -Jenny, who stood in the corner and shrieked for George and Sam. - -"'Ole your tongue, peretty one," said handsome Joe. "I always lov' -you; now you be my woman----" - -Chihuahua trampled over Annie to get to Jenny. - -"She mine, Joe, she mine!" - -Joe turned on Chihuahua with a very evil smile, and spoke to him in -Spanish. - -"I take her, see, Chihuahua!" - -Outside, Wong knocked at the door. Perhaps he was not a very brave -man. It is not wise to be very brave in an alien country, but he -owed a good deal to George Quin and liked him. Sam stood behind him -wringing his hands and crying out, "Missus, Missus!" - -Joe had her round the waist. Annawillee screamed and held to -Chihuahua's legs. He kicked her hard, and panted furiously at Joe. - -"You say you help me, Joe!" - -"I help myself, you fool," said Joe. Chihuahua had been a mat for -him to wipe his feet on for years. "I wait for her; now I have her." - -Chihuahua kicked Annawillee again and got free. Annie got up and ran -to their end of the room. She caught Joe by the arm: he sent her -headlong and she fell against the table. It went over and the lamp -fell on the floor. The only light in the room came from the live -embers of the great dead Mill. - -And suddenly Jenny felt Joe loose her. He made an awful sound, which -was not a cry, and something hot and warm gushed upon her bosom. She -saw him stagger, saw his arms go up in the air, and heard a growl -from Chihuahua. - -"Fool," said the Mexican. He had sliced Joe's throat right open and -cut his voice and his cry asunder. The Castilian reeled again and -fell, and then the door was burst open. Long Mac stood in the -opening. - -"Jenny, my girl," he cried; But Jenny did not answer. She lay -insensible on the bed: she was dyed crimson. Her child screamed, but -she heard nothing. - -"Long Mac!" said Chihuahua. He feared him always, and now feared all -men. - -"Jenny here," he said in a quavering voice. And Mac strode in. He -stepped across Joe and found Jenny and her child. He took them in -his arms, though he ached dreadfully in his set shoulder, and carried -them out. - -"Missus, oh, Missus," said Sam. Chihuahua crept out after them and -then ran into the shadows, casting away his stained knife. -Annawillee had lost her man, and the police found him the next day. -A poor fool of a white woman in the City shrieked about the dead -Castilian. No one but that poor fool was sorry. - - - - -XXVI - -Mac carried Jenny into Wong's shack, and laid her on the bed. Though -the house smelt of China and of opium it was clean as fresh sawdust. -They washed the blood from her and the child, while Sam cried, -fearing she was hurt. And she came back to consciousness. Mac was -very solemn. - -"Where the boss, you tink?" asked Wong. - -The men who had followed George Quin down the river were home again -by now. They brought back with them the empty boat. - -"I reckon he's dead," answered Mac. Sam cried, for he was "heap -solly." Quin had been a good boss to him and there are many Chinamen -who understand that after all, whatever we may say about them. - -"Oh, the Missus, the Missus," said Sam. He sat down and sobbed. -Jenny opened her eyes and saw old Wong, with a million wrinkles on -his kindly face, inscrutable in every feature. - -"Tchorch," she murmured. The tears came to Mac's eyes, though he was -hard to move and knew much of the bitterness of life. - -Wong's face was like that of some carved god who sits in the peace -which is undisturbed by human prayer. And yet his hands were kind -and his voice gentle. He murmured to himself in his own tongue. - -"Where is Tchorch?" asked Jenny. Now she saw Long Mac, whom Quin -trusted. She appealed to the strong man. - -"He has not returned, ma'am," said Mac. She was no longer a little -Siwash klootchman to him, but a bereaved woman. - -She looked at him long and steadfastly, and read his face. She was -an Indian, after all, and could endure much. - -"My baby," she said. Sam had the boy. He gave it her. She murmured -something to the fatherless, and lay back with him in her arms, She -motioned to Mac and he came nearer. - -"Is Tchorch dead, Mister Maclan?" - -She could not speak his name. - -"I'm afraid so, ma'am," he answered. - -"Have they found him?" - -"Only the empty boat." - -Then no one spoke. She turned her head away, Outside the dawn came -up and looked down on ashes. In the distance they heard Annawillee -mourning. She sat in the road with dust upon her head, like an -Indian widow. - -"I loved Tchorch," said Jenny. Then she rose in the bed and shrieked -awfully. - -"I want Tchorch, I want Tchorch!" - -She was like steel under the powerful hands of the man who sat by her. - -"Oh, ma'am," said Mac. He said--"I've lost many." - -The tears ran down his face. Sam was like a reed shaken by the wind. -Old Wong stood by the window and stared across the river, now open to -the view, since the Mill was gone. - -"My poor girl!" - -She held his hand now as if it was life itself. And yet it might -have been as if he were Death. - -"He was so good," she said. - -It wasn't what many would have said. But Mac understood: for he had -lost many, and some said that he, too, was a hard man. - -She lay back again. Wong still stood by the window without moving. -He, too, had lost one he loved; she, who was to have brought him -children who would have honoured his ashes and his ancestral spirit, -was dead in child-birth far away across the long, long paths of ocean. - -But now he looked across the river as the dawn shone upon its silver -flood. Perhaps he looked at something. It seemed so to Sam, who -rose and went to him. The old man spoke to him very quietly. They -both went outside. - -"Tchorch is dead," said Jenny. - -But Tchorch was not dead. Something spoke of hope to Mac, something -he didn't understand. Perhaps the wise old Wong could have explained -it. He and Sam stood by the wharf and looked across the river to the -further bank. His eyes were strong, they were the eyes of an old man -who can see far. Now he saw something on the other bank, something -moving in the half darkness of the dawn. As the day grew, even Sam -saw that a man came stumbling along the bank of the shore. Who was -it? - -"Oh, even yet he may not be dead, Jenny," said Mac. It was as if -some dawn grew in him because the dawn grew in the East: some hope -within him because there was hope in the heart of a poor serving boy -and a wise old man. She clutched his hand. - -"Tchorch was very strong," she said. - -And Sam came walking to the door. - -"Wong wantchee see you, Sir," he said. He came in without raising -his eyes. Mac pressed Jenny's hand and went out. - -"Oh, Missus," said Sam. - -His heart was full. - -Though the river was wide the day was now bright. A strong man's -voice might reach across it in a windless time. But strong men may -be weak, if they have struggled. - -Wong stood still as Mac came up to him. Though he could see so well -he was a little deaf. - -"What is it, Wong?" asked Mac. Even as he spoke it seemed to him -that he heard a faint far-off call. - -"My tinkee t'at Mista Quin," said Wong as he pointed across the -river. He spoke as quietly as if he had said that he thought he -could see the rosy cone of Mount Baker shining in the rising sun. - -"You think--oh, hell!" said Mac. - -He smote Wong on the shoulder and the old man turned to him. There -was something like a smile upon his face at last. - -"Ta't the boss fo' su'," he said; "my can see." - -Mac ran a little way up-stream, past the burnt wharves, and came to -one where there was a boat. He thrust it down the shore into the -water and forgot his aching shoulder, bad as it was. - -"Oh, poor Jenny, poor Jenny!" he said. He heard the call again. - -"That's Quin's call. By the Holy Mackinaw that's him," said Mac. -Now that he knew, the ache came back to him. He pulled in one oar -and sculled the boat from the stern with the other. - -And George Quin sat down on the edge of the water and waited. - -"If he says 'How's Jenny?' first of all, I'll recken he's worth the -little klootchman," said Mac. He saw Quin rise up and stand waiting. -He was torn to rags and still soaking, but his face was strong and -calm. - -"That you, Quin?" asked Mac. - -"That's me," said Quin. Then he spoke aright. - -"How's Jenny, old man?" - -"All hunkey," said Mac. "But we tho't you was mimaloose." - -"Pete is," said Quin. He climbed into the boat stiffly. His wound -smarted bitterly, but he said nothing of it. - -"You must have had a close call, Quin." - -"Tol'rable," said Quin. "Where's the little woman?" - -"Old Wong's lookin' after her. 'Twas him spotted you over here." - -"Wong's all right," said Quin. "'Tis a clean sweep of the old Moola, -Mac." - -"That's what," said Mac. They came to the shore. When they were -both on dry land Mac held out his hand. - -"Shake," he said. - -They "shook," and walked up to the road. - -"You and the little gal kin hev my house till you've time to look -araound," said Mac. "It's not dandy, but I reckon you can make out -in it." - -Quin nodded. - -"Right," he said. He stood still for a minute and looked at the open -space where the Mill had been. - -"You and me and the boys will build the old Moola up again, Mac," -said Quin. - -"Oh, I reckon," said Mac. - -And Quin went across the road to Shack-Town and came to Wong's. The -old man saluted him gravely. - -"You're all right," said Quin. What more could any man say? - -He heard a cry inside the shack, and Sam came out with the papoose in -his arms. - -"Oh, Mista Quin, my heap glad you not dead, my heap glad!" - -"You damn fool," said Quin with a smile. He went in and found Jenny. - -"Tchorch!" she said. - -"Jenny, my girl!" - -He held her in his arms and she laid her head upon his heart. - -"Tchorch!" she murmured. - -"Oh, but you've had a time," said George. - -"I jhoost want Tchorch," said Jenny. - - - -THE END - - - -_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._ - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The prey of the strongest</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Morley Roberts</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 19, 2022 [eBook #69014]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Al Haines</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST ***</div> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST<br /> -</h1> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - MORLEY ROBERTS<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON:<br /> - HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED,<br /> - Paternoster House, E.C.<br /> - <br /> - 1906<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -PREFACE -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - To Archer Baker,<br /> - European Manager of the Canadian<br /> - Pacific Railroad<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR BAKER, -</p> - -<p> -Of all the men I worked with on the Canadian -Pacific Railroad in the Kicking Horse Pass and on the -Shushwap, when you and men like you were hustling to -put it through, I am not, nowadays, in touch with one. -They are, doubtless, distinguished or have gone under. -Some of them, perhaps, lie in obscure graves beside the -track of other roads, which, in their parlance, "broke -out" when the C.P.R. was finished: when End of -Track joined End of Track: when the very bottom of -their world fell out because two Worlds, East and West, -were united by our labour, yours and theirs and even -mine. Others of them are perhaps famous. They may -have some mighty mountains and a way station named -after them, as you may have, for all I know: they may -even be Managers! And what so great as a Manager -of a Through Continental Road, after all? There are -Ministers and Monarchs and other men of note, but to -my mind the Managers top them all. That is by the -way, and you shall not take it as flattery: the humble -worker with the pick and shovel and hammer and drill -and bar, like myself, cannot but think with awe of the -cold clear heights in which they dwell. -</p> - -<p> -Years ago, when I was toiling on another grade, in -another sort of rock-cut, hewing out a trail for myself -in the thick impenetrable forests of which the centre -may be Fleet Street or where Publishers dwell, I came -across you. And it is to my credit that I never let you -go. Most men represent other men or shadows, but you -represented yourself and a great part of my old life: you -stood for the Grade, for the Mountains, and the Passes, -for the steel rails, for the Contractors with whom I -worked, for the Road, for all Railroads, for Canada and -British Columbia, linked and made one at last. You -know what Colonial fever is: that disease of desire which -at intervals afflicts those of us who have come back out -of the Wilderness. You were often the cause of it and -the cure of it. Perhaps I owe you one: perhaps but for -your giving me a chance of vicarious consolation in -our talk, I might have laid my bones by some other -railroad in the West on the illimitable fat prairies of -our Canada. Therefore I offer you this book. I offer -you only a sketch, a rough and incomplete sketch, of -certain obscurer aspects of life in one of the finest -countries in the world, a country for which I have as -much hope as I have affection. I have not tried to put -the Pacific Slope into a pannikin. To cram British -Columbia into a volume is as easy as trying to empty -Superior with a spoon. For it was a full country when -I knew it: when your Big Bosses came along with drills -and dynamite and knocked the Rockies and the Selkirks -into shape to let your Railroad through. In those days -the World emptied many thousand of its workers into -your big bucket, and in that bucket I was one drop. I -had as partners, as tilikums, men from the Land of -Everywhere: not a quarter, hardly a country, of the -round world but was represented in the great Parliament -of the Pick and Shovel and Axe that decreed the Road, -the Great Road, the one Great Road of all! -</p> - -<p> -I have seen many countries, as you know, but none -can ever be to me what B.C. was when I worked there. -It fizzed and fumed and boiled and surged. It was in -a roar: it hummed: it was like the Cañon when the -grey Fraser from the North comes down to Lytton and -smothers the blue Thompson in its flood. We lived in -those days: we worked in those days: we didn't merely -exist or think or moon or fool around. We were no -'cultus' crowd. We lit into things and dispersed the -earth. Some day, it may be, I shall do another book to -try and recall the odours of the majestic slain forests -and the outraged hills when your live Locomotives -hooted in the Passes and wailed to see the Great Pacific. -In the meantime I offer you this, which deals only -incidentally with your work, and takes for its subjects a -Sawmill and the life we lived who worked in one on the -lower Fraser, when we and the River retired from the -scene that to-day ends in busy Vancouver and yet spreads -across the Seas. -</p> - -<p> -It is possible that you will say that there is too much -violence in this story, seeing that it is laid in British -Columbia and not South of the Forty Ninth Parallel. -Well, I do not hold you responsible for the violence. -Even in law-abiding B.C. man will at times break out -and paint the Town red without a metaphor. There is -a great deal of human nature in man, even when -suppressed by Judge Begbie: and Siwashes will be Siwashes, -especially when "pahtlum," or drunk, as they say in -the elegant Chinook with which I have adorned a -veracious but otherwise plain story. Take it from me -that there is not an incident, or man, or woman in it -who is not more or less painted from real life. That -amiable contractor for whom we all had quite an -affection, whom I have thinly veiled under the name of -Vanderdunk, is no exception. He will, I feel sure, -forgive me, but some of the others might not and they are -veiled rather more deeply. This I owe to myself, for I -may revisit B.C. again and I cannot but remember that, -for some things I said of folks out there many years ago, -I was threatened with the death, so dear to the Western -Romancer, which comes from being hung by the neck -from a Cottonwood. If ever I do see that country again, -I hope it will be with you. As my friend Chihuahua -would have said, "Quien sabe?" My best regards to -you, tilikum! Here's how! -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Your sincere friend,<br /> - MORLEY ROBERTS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -I -</h3> - -<p> -"Klahya, tilikum." -</p> - -<p> -As Pitt River Pete spoke he entered the humming -Fraser Mill by the big side door chute down which -all the heavier sawed lumber slid on its way to the -yard. He had climbed up the slope of the chute and -for some moments had stayed outside, though he -looked in, for the sun was burning bright on white -sawed lumber and the shining river, so that the -comparative gloom of the Mill made him pause. But -now he entered, and seeing Skookum Charlie helping -the Wedger-off, he spoke, and Skookum, who could -not hear in the uproar, knew that he said "Klahya." -</p> - -<p> -The Mill stretched either way, and each end was -open to the East and the West. It was old and -grimed and covered with the fine meal of sawdust. -Great webs hung up aloft in the dim roof. In front -of Pete was the Pony Saw which took the lumber -from the great Saws and made it into boards and -scantling, beams and squared lumber. To Pete's -right were the Great Saws, the father and mother of -the Mill, double, edge to edge, mighty in their curved -inset teeth, wide in gauge and strong whatever came -to them. As they sang and screamed in chorus, -singing always together, the other Saws chimed in: -the Pony Saw sang and the Great Trimmer squealed -and the Chinee Trimmer whined. Every Saw had -its note, its natural song, just as naturally as a bird -has: each could be told by the skilled hearer. Pete -listened as he stepped inside and put his back against -the studs of the wall-plates, out of the way of the -hive of man, he only being a drone that hour. And -the Big Hoes, Father and Mother of the Mill, droned -in the cut of logs and said (or sang) that what they -cut was Douglas Fir, and that it was tough. But -the Pony Saw said that the last big log had been -Spruce. The smell of spruce said "spruce" just -as the Saw sang it. And the Trimmers screamed -opposing notes, for they cut across the grain. -Beneath the floor where the chorus of the Saws -worked was the clatter of the lath-mill and the -insistent squeal of the Shingle Saw, with its -recurrent shriek of pride, "I cut a shingle, phit, I cut a -shingle, phit!" -</p> - -<p> -The whole Mill was a tuned instrument, a huge -sounding board. There was no discord, for any -discord played its part: it was one organic harmony, -pleasing, fatiguing, satisfying; any dropped note -was missed: if the Lath Mill stayed in silence, -something was wanting, when the Shingler said -nothing, the last fine addition to the music fell away. -And yet the one harmony of the Mill was a background -for the soloes of the Saws, for the great -diapason of the Hoes, for the swifter speech of the -Pony, for the sharp cross note of the Trimmers. -The saws sang according to the log, to its nature, to -its growth: either for the butt or the cleaner wood. -In a long log the saws intoned a recitative: a solemn -service. And beneath them all was the mingled -song of the belts, which drove the saws, hidden in -darkness, and between floors. Against the song of -the Mill the voice of man prevailed nothing. -</p> - -<p> -When any man desired to speak to another he -went close to him and shouted. They had a silent -speech for measurements in feet; the hand, the -fingers, the rubbed thumb and finger, the clenched -hand with thumb up, with thumb down, called numbers -for the length of boards, of scantling, what not. -</p> - -<p> -"Eleven feet!" said the rubbing thumb and forefinger. -</p> - -<p> -If any spoke it was about the business of the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Fine cedar this," said Mac to Jack, "fine -cedar—special order—for——" a lost word. -</p> - -<p> -But for the most part no one spoke but the -saws. Men whistled with pursed lips and whistled -dumbly: they sang too, but the songs were swallowed -in the song of the Saws. They began at six -and ran till noon unless a breakdown happened and -some belt gave way. But none had given this day -and it was ten o'clock. The men were warm and -willing with work, their muscles worked warm and -easy. It was grand to handle the lever and to beat -in the iron dogs: to use the maul upon the wedges -as the Saws squealed. They worked easy in their -minds. They looked up and smiled unenvious of -idle Pitt River Pete. They knew work was good, -their breath felt clean: their hearts beat to the -rhythm of the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -As mills go it was a small one. It could not -compete with the giants of the Inlet and the Sound who -served Australia, which grows no good working wood, -or South America. It sent no lumber to Brisbane, -no boards to Callao or Valparaiso. It served the -town of New Westminster and the neighbouring -ranches: the little growth of townships on the River -up to Hope and Yale. Sometimes it sent a cargo to -Victoria or 'Squimault. A schooner even now lay -alongside the wharf, piled high with new sawed stuff, -that the saws had eaten as logs and spewed as lumber. -</p> - -<p> -As logs! Aye, in the pool below, in the Boom, -which is a chained log corral for swimming logs, a -hundred great logs swam. Paul (from nowhere, but -a tall thin man) was the keeper and their herder. He -chose them for the slaughter, and went out upon -them as they wallowed, and with a long pike stood -upon the one to be sacrificed and drove it to the -spot whence it should climb to the altar: a long -slope with an endless cable working above and below -it. He made it fast with heavy dogs, with chains -may be, and then spoke to one above who clapped -the Friction on the Bull-Wheel and hove the log out -of the water, as if it were a whale for flensing. It -went up into the Mill and was rolled upon the skids, -and waited. It trembled and the Mill trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, now, that log, boys. Hook in, drive her, -roll her, heave and she's on! Drive in the dogs and -she goes!" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but it was a good sight and the roar was -filling. Pete's eyes sparkled: he loved it: loved the -sound and the song and itched to be again on the -log with the maul. Those who speak of sport—why, -let them fell a giant, drive it, boom it, drag it -and cut it up! To brittle a monarch of the forest -and disembowel it of its boards: its scantlings: its -squared lumber: posts, fences, shingles, laths, -pickets, Oho! Pete knew how great it was. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, klahya, tilikum, my friend the log." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke not now to Skookum, but strong Charlie, -and lazy Charlie, understood him. At one hour of -the day even the lazy surrendered to the charm of -the song of the work and did their damnedest. So -Skookum understood that his old friend (both being -Sitcum Siwashes, or half breeds) loved the Mill and -the work at that hour. -</p> - -<p> -White, the chief Sawyer, the Red Beard, was at -his lever and set the carriage for a ten inch Cant -when the slabs were off and hurtling to the lath mill. -Ginger White no one loved, least of all his Wedger-Off, -Simmons (a man, like silent Paul of the Boom, -from nowhere), for he too was gingery, with a gleam -of the sun in his beard and a spice of the devil in -his temper. He was the fierce red type, while White -was red but lymphatic, and also a little fat under the -jowl and a liar by nature, furtive, not very brave but -skilled in Saws. Simmons took a wedge and his -maul and waited for the log to come to him. The -carriage moved: the saws bit: the sawdust squirted -and spurted in a curve with strips of wood which -were not sawdust, for they use big gauges in the soft -wood of the West and would stare at a sixteenth -gauge, to say nothing of less. Now Simmons leapt -upon the log and drove in the wedge to keep the -closing cut open for the saws. The lengthening cut -gave opening for another and another. Simmons -and Skookum played swiftly, interchanging the -loosened wedge and setting it to loosen the last -driven in. The Wedgers-Off on the six-foot log -were like birds of prey upon a beast. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give it her," yelled Skookum. It was a way -of his to yell. But Ginger drove her fast, hoping to -hear the saws nip a little and alter their note so that -he could complain. Simmons knew it, Skookum -knew it. But they played quickly and sure. They -leapt before the end of the cut and helped to guide -the falling cant upon the skids. Chinamen helped -them. The Cant thundered on the skids and was -thrust sideways over to the Pony Saw. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe kahkwa," said Pete. "That's good!" -</p> - -<p> -And as he sent the carriage backward for another -cut, Ginger White looked up and saw Pete standing -with his back to the wall. Ginger's dull eye -brightened, and he regarded Simmons with increased -disfavour. Pete he knew was a good Wedger-Off, a -quick, keen man very good for a Siwash, as good as -any man in the Mill at such work. He had seen -Pete work at the Inlet. Oh, he was good, "hyas -kloshe," said White, but as for Simmons, damn! -He was red-headed, and Ginger hated a red man for -some deep reason. -</p> - -<p> -It was a busy world, but even in the rhythm of the -work hatred gleamed and strange passions worked as -darkly as the belts, deep in the floor, that drove the -saws. Quin, the manager (and part owner), came -in at the door by the big Saws, and he saw Pete -standing by the open chute. He smiled to himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Back again, and asking for work. Where's his -wife, pretty Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -She was pretty, toketie klootchman, a pretty -woman: not a half breed: perhaps, if one knew, -less than a quarter breed, tenas Sitcum Siwash, and -the blood showed in the soft cheeks. She was bright -and had real colour, tender contours, everything but -beautiful hands and feet, and they not so bad. As -for her face, and her smile (which was something to -see), why, said Quin, as he licked his lips, there -wasn't a white woman around that was a patch on -her. Jenny had smiled on him. But Pete kept his -eye on her and so far as it seemed she was true to -him. But Quin—— -</p> - -<p> -In the busy world as it was Quin's mind ran on -Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Sir," he used to say, "we're small but all -there. We run for all we're worth, every cent of it, -every pound of beef. If you want to see bigger, try -the Inlet or Port Blakeley. But we cut here to the -last inch. Thirty thousand feet a day ain't a hell of -a pile, but it's all we can chew. And, Sir, we chew -it!" -</p> - -<p> -He was a broad heavy man, dark and strong and -much lighter on his feet than he looked. If there -hadn't been Skookum Charlie it might have -been Skookum Quin. He was as hard as a cant-log. -</p> - -<p> -"We're alive," said Quin the manager. They -worked where he was, and, hard as they had worked -before, White set a livelier pace and made his men -sweat. Quin smiled and understood that Ginger -White was that kind of a man. Now Mac at the -Pony Saw always took a breather when Quin came -in. Just now he walked from his saw, dropped -down through a trapdoor into a weltering chaos of -sudden death and threw the tightener off his saw's -belt. The Pony Saw ceased to hum and whined a -little and ran slow and died. The blurred rim of -steel became separate teeth. Long Mac stood over -the saw and tightened a tooth with his tools and took -out one and replaced it with a better washleather to -keep it firm. He moved slow but again descended -and let the tightener fall upon the belt. The Pony -Saw sprang to valiant life and screamed for work. -Quin smiled at Mac, for he knew he was a worker -from "Way Back," and the further back you go the -worse they get! By the Lord, you bet! -</p> - -<p> -So much for Quin for the time. The Stick Moola, -as the Chinook has it, is the theme. -</p> - -<p> -It was a beast by the water, that lived on logs. -It crawled into the River for logs, and reached out -its arms for logs. It desired logs with its sharp -teeth. It hungered for Cedar (there's good red -cedar of sorts in the ranges, and fine white cedar in -the Selkirks), and for Spruce (the fine tree it is!) and -Douglas Fir and Hemlock or anything to cut that -wasn't true hardwood. It could eat some of the -soppy Slope Maple but disdained it. It was greedy -and loved lumber. Men cut its dinner afar off -and towed it around to the Mill, to the arms, the -open arms of the Boom with Paul helping as a kind -of great kitchen boy. -</p> - -<p> -At early dawn its whistle blew, for in the dark (or -near it) the underlings of the Engineer stirred up the -furnaces and threw in sawdust and woke the steam. -At "half after five" the men turned out, came -tumbling in for breakfast in the boarded shack by -the Store and fed before they fed the Mill. The first -whistle sounded hungry, the second found the men -hungry no more, but ready to feed the Beast. -</p> - -<p> -In winter it was no joke turning out to begin the -day early, but when frost had the Fraser in its arms -the Mill shut down and went to sleep. One can't -get one's logs out of eighteen inches of ice and then -a frozen log cuts hard: it shines when cut. But at -this season, it was bright at five and sunny at six. -The men came with a summer willingness (that is, -with less unwillingness than in frost time, for, -remember, it takes work to make work easy and -your beginner each day hates the beginning) and -they were drawn from all ends of the earth. -</p> - -<p> -There were British Canadians: -</p> - -<p> -And Americans: from Wisconsin, Michigan, -Texas, Iowa and the Lord knows where. -</p> - -<p> -And Spaniards: one a man of Castile, and one -from Mexico. -</p> - -<p> -There were two Kanucks of the old sort from the -East or there was one at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -There were Englishmen. Well, there was one -Jack Mottram and he a seaman. -</p> - -<p> -There was one Swede, Hans Anderssen, in the -Mill. There were two Finns outside it. -</p> - -<p> -And one Lett (from Lithuania, you understand). -</p> - -<p> -There was a Scotchman of course, and, equally of -course, he was the Engineer. -</p> - -<p> -There was a French Canadian, not by any means -of the <i>habitant</i> type but very much there, and he -knew English well, but usually cursed in French -as was proper. -</p> - -<p> -There were two Germans. One was as meek as -one German usually is unless he is drunk. But -one was not meek. More of him anon. -</p> - -<p> -It was an odd crowd, a mixed crowd at meal -times in the Mill hash house. To add to everything -Chinamen waited: Chinamen cooked. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, Sing, chuck the chow on!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sing-Sing (that's where you ought to be), -where's the muckamuck?" -</p> - -<p> -"Sacré chien——" -</p> - -<p> -"Der Teufel——" -</p> - -<p> -"By the great Horn Spoon——" -</p> - -<p> -"Holy Mackinaw!" -</p> - -<p> -"Caramba—Carajo——" -</p> - -<p> -"By Crimes——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh! Phit!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where's the grub, the hash—the muckamuck, -you Canton rats! Kihi, kiti, mukha-hoilo!" -</p> - -<p> -And the hash was slung and the slingers thereof -hurried. -</p> - -<p> -The hash-eaters talked English (of sorts), -American (North and South), Swinsk, Norsk, -Dansk, true Spanish (with the lisp), Mexican Spanish -(without it and soft as silk). They interlarded -the talk (which was of mills, lumber, and politics, -and Indian klootchmen, and the weather, and of -horses and dogs and the devil and all) with scraps -of Chinook. And that is English and French and -different sorts of Indian fried and boiled and -pounded and fricasseed and served up in one jargon. -It's a complete and God-forsaken tongue but Easy, -and Easiness goes. It is as it were brother to -Pidgin English. -</p> - -<p> -The grub was "muckamuck" and luckily was -"kloshe." But as it happened (it usually did -happen) there was salmon. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus slush, I call it," said one. "Cultu -muckamuck." -</p> - -<p> -"That's Ned Quin's nickname up to Kamloops," -said Jack Mottram. -</p> - -<p> -"Our man's brother?" -</p> - -<p> -"Him," said Jack. He picked his teeth with a -fork and Long Mac eyed him with disgust. -</p> - -<p> -"I know Ned, he's tough." -</p> - -<p> -But Jack was tough himself: he had been salted -in all the seas and sun-dried on all the beaches of -the rough round world. He made short stays -everywhere: passages not voyages: skippers were glad -to give him his discharge, for after sixty days at -sea he sickened for the land and became hot cargo. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I'm tough enough," he would prelude some -yarn with. -</p> - -<p> -Now Shorty Gibbs spoke, he of the Shingle Mill. -Lately the Shingle Mill had annexed half a thumb of -his as it screamed out to him. "He's a son of a——" -</p> - -<p> -He completed the sentence in the approved round -manner. -</p> - -<p> -They all admitted that Quin the Manager was -Tough, but that Ned Quin of Kamloops was tougher -admitted not a doubt. -</p> - -<p> -They swept the food from the table. Just as the -logs were divided by the Saws and fell into various -Chutes and disappeared, so the food went here. -Most of the men ate like hogs (the better Americans -least like): they yaffled, they gurgled, they sweated -over the chewing and got over it. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm piled up," said Tenas Billy of the Lath Mill. -He too was minus a thumb and the tops of some -fingers, tribute to the saw. Especially do the -Shingle Saw and Lath Saw take such petty toll. -When the Hoes ask tribute or the Pony Saw it's -a different matter. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm piled up." -</p> - -<p> -As to being piled up, that was a Sawmill metaphor. -</p> - -<p> -"You've put the tightener on your belt!" -</p> - -<p> -To be sure they all had. -</p> - -<p> -But as to piling up, when things were booming -and men were warm and feeling the work good, -and when nothing went wrong with the belts or -with the Engines and the logs came easy and sweet, -it was the ambition of the Chief Sawyer to pile -up the Skids of Long Mac who had the Pony Saw. -Then it was Long Mac's desire to pile up the skids -for the Chinee trimmer (not run by a Chinee) and -it was that Trimmer's desire to pile up the man -opposing. To be piled up is to have bested one's -own teeth, when it comes to chewing. -</p> - -<p> -"My skids are full," said the metaphorical. -</p> - -<p> -At six the whistle blew again, with a bigger -power of steam in its larynx. The Mill said:— -</p> - -<p> -"Give me the logs, the boom is full and I'm in -want of chewin'! Nika tiki hyas stick! Give me -logs: I've new teeth this morning! I'm keen and -sharp. Hoot—too—oot—too—oot! Give me Fir -and Pine and Spruce—spru—ooce!" -</p> - -<p> -The Hash-Room emptied till noontime, when -next Hash-Pile was proclaimed, and the men -streamed across the sawdust road and the piled -yard to the open Mill. Some went in by the door, -some by the Engine-Room, some climbed the Chutes. -The sun was aloft now and shining over the Pitt -River Mountains (where Pete came from) and over -Sumach. The river danced and sparkled: scows -floated on its tide: the <i>Gem</i> steamer got up steam. -The Canneries across the big River gleamed white. -The air was lovely with a touch of the breath of the -mountains in it. The smell of the lumber was good. -</p> - -<p> -The men groaned and went to work. -</p> - -<p> -They forgot to groan in twenty minutes. -</p> - -<p> -It was good work in an hour and good men loved -it for a while. -</p> - -<p> -But it was work that Pitt River Pete saw as he -leant against the wall. It wasn't an English -pretence, or a Spanish lie, or an Irish humbug: -it was Pacific Slope work, where men fly. They -work out West! -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Klahya!" -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if I can get a jhob," said Pete. And -the job worked up for him under his very eyes, for -Quin had a quick mind to give him work and get -pretty Jenny near, and Ginger White was sore -against Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, Pitt River Pete, you can get "a jhob!" Devil -doubt it, for you've a pretty wife, and -White drove the carriage fast and faster still, -drove it indeed faster than the saw could take -it, meaning to hustle Simmons and have present -leave to burst out into blasphemy. Things happen -quick in the Mill, in any mill, and of a sudden -White stopped the carriage dead and yelled to -Simmons on the log: -</p> - -<p> -"Can't you keep her open, damn you? Are -you goin' to sleep there? Oh, go home and die!" -</p> - -<p> -Simmons, on the log on his knees, looked up -savagely. Though the big Hoes were silent there -was row enough with the Pony Saw and the Big -Trimmer and Chinee Trimmer and the Lath Mill -and the Shingle Saw and the Bull Wheel and the -groaning and complaining of the planing machines -outside. So Simmons heard nothing. He saw -Ginger's face and saw the end had come to work. -He knew it. It had been coming this long time -and now had come. But Simmons said nothing: -he grinned like a catamount instead, and then -looked round and saw Quin. He also saw Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"To hell," said Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -As he spoke he hurled his maul at White, and -Ginger dodged. The head missed him but the -handle came backhanded and smote Ginger on the -nose so that the blood ran. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh," said Ginger as sick as any dog. -Simmons leapt off into the very arms of Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll take my money, Mr. Quin," said Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -"Take your hook," said Quin. "Look out, -here's White for you with a spanner!" -</p> - -<p> -White came running and expected Simmons to -run. But Simmons' face was red where White's -was white. He snatched a pickareen from the -nearest Chinaman, and a pickareen is a useful -weapon, a sharp half pick, and six inches of a pick. -</p> - -<p> -"You——" grinned Simmons, "you——" -</p> - -<p> -And White stayed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah!" said Simmons, with lips set back. -And Ginger White retreated. -</p> - -<p> -"Here, sonny, take your pick," said the Wedger-Off -that had been to the Chinaman; "fat chops -don't care to face it." -</p> - -<p> -He turned to Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I go to the office, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -"Aye," said Quin carelessly enough. -</p> - -<p> -He beckoned to Pete, whose eyes brightened. -He came lightly. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll take the job, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -Would he take it? -</p> - -<p> -"Nawitka," said Pete, "yes, indeed, Sir." -</p> - -<p> -Nawitka! He took the job and grinned with -Skookum, who fetched the maul and gave him the -wedges with all the pleasure in the world, for -Skookum had no ambition to be Chief Wedger-Off. -White came forward, dabbing at a monstrous tender -nose with a rag. -</p> - -<p> -"I've seen you at the Inlet?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Pete, "at Granville." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll do," said White. He dabbed at his huge -proboscis and went back to the lever. Pete leapt -upon the log and drove in the first wedge. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyas, hyas! Oh, she goes!" -</p> - -<p> -She went and the day went, and Pete worked -like fire on a dry Spruce yet unfelled. He leapt on -and off and handled things with skill. But when -he looked at White's growing nose he grinned. -Simmons had done that. -</p> - -<p> -"If he ever talk to me that away," said Pete, -"I'll give him chikamin, give him steel!" -</p> - -<p> -He didn't love White, at the first glance he knew -that. But it was good to be at work again, very good. -</p> - -<p> -At twelve o'clock the whistle called "Hash," and -the engine was shut down. The Saws slackened -their steady scream, they grew feeble, they whined, -they whirred, they nearly stopped, they stayed in -silence. Men leapt across the skids: they slid -down the Chutes: they clattered down the stairs: -they opened their mouths and could hear their -voices. They talked of White (he grubbed at home, -being married), and of Simmons and of Pete (he -being a Siwash, even if not married, would not -have grubbed in the Hash House) and heard the -story. On the whole they were sorry that Simmons -had not driven the pickareen through White. -However, his nose was a satisfaction. -</p> - -<p> -"Like a beet——" -</p> - -<p> -"A pumpkin——" -</p> - -<p> -"A water melon——" -</p> - -<p> -A prodigious nose after contact with the Maul -Handle. -</p> - -<p> -"I knew Mr. White," said Jenny to Pete, "Mr. White -bad man, hyu mesahchie." -</p> - -<p> -"Sling out the muckamuck," said Pete calmly. -</p> - -<p> -He fell to with infinite satisfaction, and Jenny -came and sat on his knee as he smoked his pipe. -</p> - -<p> -"She is really devilish pretty," said Quin, who -had no one to sit on his knee. -</p> - -<p> -The whistle suddenly said that it was half after -twelve and that it would be infinitely obliged if all -the working gentlemen from everywhere would -kindly step up in a goldarned hurry and turn to. -</p> - -<p> -"Turn to, turn too—toot," said the whistle as -brutally as any Western Ocean bo'sun. -</p> - -<p> -The full fed reluctant gentlemen of the Mill went -back into the battle, waddling and sighing sorely. -</p> - -<p> -"Wish to God it was six o'clock," they said. -There's no satisfying everybody, and going to work -full of food is horrid, it really is. -</p> - -<p> -What happened in the morning happened in the -afternoon, and all the saws yelled and the planers -complained and the men jumped till six, when the -Engines let steam into the Whistle high up against -the Smoke Stack and made it yell wildly that work -was over for the day. Mr. Engine-man played a -fantasia on that pipe and hooted and tooted and did -a dying cadenza that wailed like a lost soul in the -pit and then rose up in a triumphant scream that -echoed in the hills and died away across the waters -of the Fraser shining in the peaceful evening sun. -</p> - -<p> -And night came down, the blessed night, when no -man works (unless he be in a night shift, or is a -night watchman or a policeman or, or—). How -blessed it is to knock off! But there, what do you -know about it, if you never played with lumber in -a Stick Moola? Nothing, I assure you. Go home -and die, man. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -II -</h3> - -<p> -There were times when the Mill ate wood all night -long, but such times were rare, for now the City of -the Fraser was not booming. She sat sombrely by -her bright waters and moaned the bitter fact that -the railway was not coming her way, but was to -thrust out its beak into the waters of the Inlet. -The City was a little sad, a little bitter, her wharves -were deserted, dank, lonely. She saw no great -future before her: houses in her precincts were -empty: men spoke scornfully of her beauty and -exalted Granville and the forests whence Vancouver -should spring. -</p> - -<p> -But for such as worked in the Mill the City was -enough. They lived their little lives, strove -manfully or poorly, thinking of little things, of few -dollars, of a few days, and of Saturdays, and of -Sundays when no man worked. And each night -in Sawmill Town, in Sawdust Territory, was a -holiday, for then toil ceased and the shacks lighted -up and there was opportunity for talk. Work was -over. 'Halo Mamook,' no work now, but it -might be rye, or other poison and gambling and -debauchery. The respectable workers (note that -they were mostly American) went off up town, to -the Farmers' Home or some such place, or to the -City library, or to each other's homes, while the -main body of the toilers of the Mill 'played hell' -in their own way under the very shadow of the Mill -itself. For them the end of the week was a Big -Jamboree, but every night was a little one. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was back among his old tilikums, his old -partners and friends, and it was an occasion for a -jamboree, a high old jamboree of its order, that -is; for real Red Paint, howling, shrieking, -screaming Jamborees were out of order and the highly -respectable rulers of the City saw to it that the -place was not painted red by any citizen out on -the loose with a gun. British Columbia, mark you, -is an orderly spot: amazingly good and virtuous -and law-abiding, and killing is murder there. This -excites scorn and derision and even amazement in -American citizens come in from Spokane Falls, say, -or elsewhere, from such spots as Seattle, or even -Snohomish. -</p> - -<p> -But even without Red Paint, or guns, or galloping -cayuses up and down a scandalised British City, -cannot a man, and men and their klootchmen, get -drink and get drunk and raise Cain in Sawdust -Town? You bet they can, tilikums! Nawitka, -certainly! Oh, shucks—to be sure! -</p> - -<p> -Pete and Jenny (being hard up as yet) lived in -a room of Indian Annie's shack, and had dirt and -liberty. In Sawdust Town, just across the road -and on the land side of the Mill, were squads of -disreputable shacks in streets laid down with -stinking rotten sawdust and marked out with piles of -ancient lumber. All this had one time been a -swamp, but in the course of generations sawdust -filled it to the brim. Sawdust rots and ferments and -smells almost as badly as rice or wheat rotting in a -ship's limbers, and the odour of the place in a calm -was a thing to feel, to cut, even with an axe. It was -a paying property to Quin and Quin's brother, for -lumber costs next door to nothing at a mill, and -the rent came in easily, as it should when it can be -deducted from wages. It was a good clean property -as some landlords say in such cases, meaning -that the interest is secure. Life wasn't; and as to -morality, why, what did the Quin Brothers care -about their renters of the shacks, shanties, and -keekwilly holes? They cared nothing about their -morals or their manners or the sanitation. -</p> - -<p> -Chinamen lived there: they were Canton wharf-rats -mostly, big men, little men, men who lived -their own odd secret racial lives hidden away from -the eyes of whites. White boys yelled— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Chinkie, kihi, kiti mukhahoilo——" -</p> - -<p> -And it was supposed to be an insult. The -Chinkies cursed the boys by their Gods, and by -Buddha and by the Christians' Gods. "Oh, ya, -velly bad boy, oh, damn." Stones flew, chunks of -lumber, and boys or Chinamen ran. The Orientals -chattered indignantly on doorsteps. If a boy had -disappeared suddenly, who would have wondered? -</p> - -<p> -It was a splendid locality for nature, the nature -of Man, not for the growth of other things. There -were few conventions green in the neighbourhood, -a man was a man, and a hound a hound there, and -a devil a devil without a mask. It had a fascination. -</p> - -<p> -The Chinamen mostly worked in the yard: handling -lumber as it came out, stacking it, wheeling it, -carrying it. But there were others than Chinky -Chinamen about. There was Spanish Joe in one -shack which he shared with Chihuahua, who was a -Mexican. Be so good as to pronounce this word -Cheewawwaw and have done with it. Skookum -Charlie and his klootchman (he was from -S'Kokomish and was a Puyallop and she from -Snohomish and was a Muckleshoot) lived in -another. There's no word for wife in Chinook but -only <i>Klootchman</i>, woman, so though there's one for -marry, <i>malieh</i>, the ceremony is not much thought -of. When a man's klootchman is mentioned it -leaves the question of matrimony open for further -inquiry, if necessary. But is it worth while? -</p> - -<p> -A dozen Sitcum-Siwashes camped in other -shanties; they were from all along the coast, even -Metlakahtla and from inland, one being nearly a -full-blooded Shushwap. But the only pure-blooded -Indian about the place was Indian Annie. She was -a Hydah from the Islands and had been as pretty -as a picture once, as so many of the Hydah women -were. Now she was a hag and a procuress and as -ugly as a burnt stick and as wicked as a wild-cat. -If she was ever washed it was when she was dead -drunk in a rainstorm: she was wrinkled like the -skin of a Rambouillet ram: she walked double and -screeched like a night-hawk. As to her clothes -and the worth of them, why, anyone but an -entomologist would have given her a dollar to burn -them—Faugh! Nevertheless it was in her shack that -Pete camped with Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -About nine o'clock that night, the night of Pete's -getting a job, it was wonderful at Indian Annie's. -If you don't believe it come in and see, tilikum! -There are tons of things you don't know, tilikum, -the same as the rest of us. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, hyah, oho, they were enjoying themselves! -</p> - -<p> -Such a day it had been, clear, clean-breathed, -splendid, serene, and even yet the light lingered in -the cloudless heavens, though the bolder stars came -like scouts over the eastern hills and looked down -on Mill and River. -</p> - -<p> -But shucks, what of that in Indian Annie's? -The room that was kitchen, dining room, hall and -lumber room was reeking full. A wood fire -smouldered on the hearth: a slush lamp smoked in -the window against the dying heavenly day. Pete -was there and Annie, and Jack Mottram, an English -sailorman. He lived next door with a half-breed -Ptsean (you can't pronounce it, tilikum) who was -scarcely prettier than Annie, till she was washed. -Then she was obviously younger at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -Everyone was so far very happy. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyu heehee," said Indian Annie. By which she -meant in her short way that it was all great fun, -and that they were jolly companions everyone. -Besides Annie there were three other klootchmen -in the room and their garments were not valuable. -But it was "hyu heehee" all the same, for Jack -Mottram brought the whisky in; Indians not being -allowed to buy it, as they are apt, even more apt -than whites, the noble whites, to see red and run -"Amok." -</p> - -<p> -"Here two dollah, you buy mo' whisky, Jack," -said Pete, who was almost whooping drunk by now -and as happy as a chipmunk in a deserted camp, or -a dog at some killing, perhaps. -</p> - -<p> -"Righto," hiccupped Jack, and away he Went. -Pete sang something. There's bawdry in Chinook -even. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was a handsome boy if one likes or does -not dislike the Indian cheekbones. For the features -of the Sitcum-Siwash were almost purely Indian; -his colour was a memory of his English father. He -was tall, nearly five foot ten, lightly and beautifully -built. He was as quick on his feet as a bird on -the wing. His hands, even, were fine considering -he was one who would work. His eyes were reddish -brown, his teeth ivory: his moustache was a scanty -Indian growth. Not a doubt of it but that Pete -was the best-looking "breed" round about -Westminster. And he wasn't as lazy as most of them. -</p> - -<p> -Take his history on trust. It is easy to imagine -it. He had half learnt to read at an Anglican -Mission. His English was not bad when he talked -to white men. In truth it was better and heaps -cleaner than Jack Mottram's. But talk on the -American side of the water is always cleaner. "If -you don't like bawdry, we'll have very little of it," -said Lucio to the Friar, who was perhaps American. -Pete was a nice boy of twenty-three. But he had -a loose lip and could look savage. His mind was -a tiny circle. He could reach with his hand almost -as far as his mind went. He had a religion once, -when he left the Fathers of the Mission. He then -believed in the Saghalie Tyee, the Chief of Heaven: -in fact, in the Head Boss. Now he believed in the -head boss of the Mill and in whisky and in his -wife: all of them very risky beliefs indeed. -</p> - -<p> -So far Jenny, Pete's little klootchman (and a -sweet pretty creature she was) hadn't yet showed -up in the shebang. She had been out somewhere, -the Lord alone knows where (Quin would have -wished he knew), and she was now in the inside -room, dressing or rather taking off an outside gown -and putting on a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown -given her by a lady at Kamloops. Now she came -out. -</p> - -<p> -She was a beauty, tilikum, and you can believe -it or leave it alone. She was little, no more than -five feet three say, but perfectly made, round, -plump, most adequate, which is a mighty good -word, seeing that she was all there in some ways. -She had a complexion of rosy eve, and teeth no -narwhal's horn could match for whiteness, and her -lips were red-blooded, her ears pink. She had -dimples to be sworn by: and the only sign of her -Indian blood (which was obviously Hydah) came -out in her long straight black hair, that she wore -coiled in a huge untidy mass. But for that she -was white as far as her body went. As for her -soul—but that's telling too soon. -</p> - -<p> -Now she came out of the inner chamber in her -scarlet gown, which was flaming with outrageous -tulips, horribly parodying even a Dutch grower's -nightmare, and she looked like a rosebud, or a -merry saint in a flaming San Benito with flower -flame devils on it in paint. And not a soul of her -tilikums knew she was lovely. They envied her -that San Benito! -</p> - -<p> -Jenny was sober enough this time (and so far), -and if no one knew she was lovely she knew it, and -she eyed some of the drunken klootchmen -disdainfully. This was not so much that they were -<i>pahtlum</i> but because they had but ten cents worth -of clothes and were not <i>toketie</i> or pretty. -</p> - -<p> -"Fo!" said Jenny, stepping lightly among the -recumbent and half-recumbent till she squatted on -her hams by the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Where you bin, Jenny?" asked Pete, already -hiccupping. And Jenny said she had been with Mary, -or Alice, or someone else. May be it was true. -</p> - -<p> -"Have a drink," said her man, handing her a -bottle. She tilted it and showed her sweet neck -and ripe bosom as she drank and handed it back empty. -</p> - -<p> -Then Jack Mottram, English sailorman and -general rolling stone and blackguard, came in hugging -two bottles of deadly poison, one under each arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe," said the crowd, "kloshe, good old Jack!" -</p> - -<p> -The "shipman" dropped his load into willing -claws and claimed first drink loudly. -</p> - -<p> -"S'elp me, you see, pardners, I bro't 'em in fair -and square: never broached 'em. I know chaps -as'd ha' squatted under the lee of a pile o' lumber -and ha' soaked the lot. S'elp me I do!" -</p> - -<p> -It was felt on all hands that he was a noble -character. Indian Annie patted him on the back. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ands off, you catamaran," said Jack. In spite -of being a seaman he believed the word was a term of abuse. -</p> - -<p> -He was a seaman, though—and a first-class hand -anywhere and anywhen. To see him now, foul, -half-cocked, bleary, and to see him when three -weeks of salt water had cleaned and sweetened -him, would surprise the most hopeful. He went -passages, not voyages, and skipped ashore every -time he touched land. There wasn't a country in -the round world he didn't know. -</p> - -<p> -"I know 'em all from Chile to China, from Rangoon -to Hell," said Jack, "I know 'em in the dark, -by the stink of 'em!" -</p> - -<p> -Now he jawed about this and that, with scraps -of unholy information in his talk. No one paid -attention, they talked or sucked at the whisky. -The more Indian blood the more silence till the -blood is diluted with alcohol. Every now and -again some of them squealed with poisonous -happiness; outside one might hear the sound of the -screams and singing and the unholy jamboree. The -noise brought others. Someone knocked at the -door. The revellers were happy and pleased to -see the world and they yelled a welcome. -</p> - -<p> -"Come in, tilikum!" they cried, and Chihuahua -opened the door against one klootchman's silent body -and showed his dark head and glittering eyes inside. -</p> - -<p> -"Where my klootchman? You see my klootchman? -Ah, I see!" -</p> - -<p> -She was half asleep by the fire, and nodded at -him foolishly. He paid no attention for he was -after liquor and saw that the gathering welcomed -him. He knew them all but Pete, but he had -heard of the row in the Mill and had seen the head -that Simmons put on Ginger and he knew that a -tilikum of Skookum's had been made wedger-off. -</p> - -<p> -"You Pete, ah, I tinks." -</p> - -<p> -"Nawitka, tilikum, that's me, Pitt River Pete. -You have a drink. Ho, Jenny, you give me the -bottle. She's my klootchman." -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua took the bottle and drank. He -looked at Jenny and saw that she was beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -"Muchacha hermosa," he said. She knew what -he meant, for she read his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Your little klootchman hyu toketie, Mister -Pete, very peretty, oh, si," said Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Mor'n yours is," hiccupped Jack Mottram. -"But—'oo's got a smoke?" -</p> - -<p> -The beady-eyed man from Mexico had a smoke: -a big bag of dry tobacco and a handful or pocket -full of papers. He rolled cigarettes for them all, -doing it with infinite dexterity. Drunk or sober -Chihuahua could do that. His own klootchman -clawed him for one of them and without a word -he belted her on the ear and made her bellow. -She sat in the corner by the fire and howled as -lugubriously as if her dog or her father had just died. -</p> - -<p> -"Halo kinootl, halo kinootl, mika tiki cigalette!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give the howler one," said Jack, as she kept -on howling that she had no tobacco and that her -man was angry with her. Pete gave her his, which -was already lighted. She giggled and laughed and -began crooning a Chinook song:— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Konaway sun<br /> - Hyu Keely<br /> - Annawillee!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -It was a mournful dirge: she sang and smoked -and wept and giggled and tried to make eyes at -Jack who must love her or he could never have -given her a "Cigalette." He was heaps nicer than -Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -She set them off singing and more drink was -brought in, and still Annawillee said she was very -"keely" or sad. Indeed, she was weeping drunk -and no one paid any attention to her, least of all -Chihuahua. Jack sang a chanty about Dandy Rob -of the Orinoco and a pleasing meal of boiled sawdust -and bullock's liver, "blow, my bully boys, blow!" -and wept to think of Whitechapel. An encore -resulted in "My rorty carrotty Sal, who kems -from W'itechapal," and then Jack subsided amid -applause, and slept the sleep of great success. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete was now "full" and could speak to -Chihuahua and to Spanish Joe and Skookum Charlie -who had come in together. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you come here, Pete?" asked Skookum. -"They say you have a good jhob up to Kamloops." -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you, tilikum," said Pete. "Me and Jenny -here was with Ned Quin, Cultus Muckamuck we -call him up alound the Dly Belt. Ain't he a son -of a gun, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny nodded and took a cigarette from -Chihuahua with a heavenly smile. They were all -lying around the fire but Pete and Jenny. The -other klootchmen were mostly fast asleep: Indian -Annie was insensible. Pete went on talking in a -high pitched but not unpleasant voice. His -English was by no means so bad though not so good -as Jenny's. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary, my sister, she's Ned Quin's klootchman," -said Pete, "and has been with him years, since his -white woman died. I forget how long: nika kopet -kumtuks, it's so long. So me and Jenny work -there: she with Mary, me outside with the -moos-mooses, wagon, plowin', harrowin', and scraper -team. Oh, I work lika hell all one year, dollar a -day and muckamuck: and old Ned he was Cultus -Muckamuck, oh, you bet, tilikums: mean as mud. -Him and me don't hit it off, but I lika the place, -not too wet, good kieutans to ride, and, when I get -sick and full up of Cultus, Jenny here she fond of -my sister and when she was full up of Mary I just -happen to pull with Cultus, so that's why we stay. -Sometime the old dog he allow a dollar a day too -much for me, and me workin' lika a mule. Oh, I -work alla time, by God, velly little dlunk only -sometime in Kamloops. And I say 'Look here, -Cultus, I not care one damn, I can go. I can -quit:—you pay me!' But when it came to pay out dolla -he very sick, for sure. So I say, 'You be damn,' -and he laughed and went away, for I had a -neck-yoke in my hand, ha!" -</p> - -<p> -Pete showed his teeth savagely, and the others -grinned. -</p> - -<p> -"We do that often: he damn me, I damn him, -and mebbe Jenny and me would be there yet if he -had not hit Mary with a club while I was away over -to Nikola bringin' in the steers that was over the -range. I come back, and I find Jenny cryin' and -Mary sick and cryin', and sore all over, and Cultus -hyu drunk. So I ups and say to Cultus, 'You -swine, you hit my poor sister once mo' and I -quit.' Then he began to cry and fetch mo' whisky and we -both get drunk and very much friends, and I go to -sleep, and he get ravin' and fetch a long-handled -shovel and frighten Jenny here to death and he hit -Mary with the flat of the shovel, and say, 'You -damn klootchman, next time I give you the edge -and cut hell out of you.'" -</p> - -<p> -"He say those same words," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"And when I wake up," Pete went on, "they tell -me, and I say it no good to stay for if I stay I kill -Cultus and no taffy about it. So next day I say -'Give me my money,' and he give me an order on -Smith over to Kamloops, and we came down here, -and now I get the job wedging-off again and that's -better'n workin' for old Cultus. Gimme the bottle, -Skookum, you old swine." -</p> - -<p> -They all had another drink. -</p> - -<p> -"George Quin heap berrer'n Cultus," said Skookum. -</p> - -<p> -"'E lika peretty girls," said Chihuahua, leering at -Jenny. "'E look after klootchman alla day, eh, -Joe?" -</p> - -<p> -Spanish Joe said that was so. "Spanish" was a -real Castilian, as fair as any Swede and had golden -hair and lovely skin and the blue eyes of a Visigoth, -and he was a murderous hound and very good at -songs and had a fine voice and could play the guitar. -He had no klootchman, but there was a white -woman up town who loved him and robbed her -husband to give him money. -</p> - -<p> -"All klootchman no good," said Joe scornfully. -</p> - -<p> -"You're a liar," said Jenny, "but men are no -good, only Pete is good sometimes, ain't you, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -"Dry up," said Pete thickly, for the last drink -had done for him. "You dry up. All klootchmen -talk too much. You go to bed, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"I shan't," said Jenny, sulkily. -</p> - -<p> -So he beat her very severely, and blacked her eye, -and dragged her by the gorgeous dressing-gown -into the next room. As he dragged her she slipped -out of the gown and they saw her for an instant -white as any lily before he slammed the door on her -and came out again. Joe and Chihuahua yelled -with laughter, and even Skookum roused up to -chuckle a little. He had been asleep, lying with -his head on the insensible body of an unowned -klootchman, who was a relative of Annie's. His -own klootchman still sat in the corner, every now -and again chanting dismally of the woes of -Annawillee. Joe and Chihuahua spoke in Spanish. -</p> - -<p> -"She's a beauty, and George Quin will want her," -said Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"And he'll have her too, by the Mother of God," -said Joe. "But klootchmen are no good. My -woman up town she cries too much. And as for -her husband——" -</p> - -<p> -He indulged in some Spanish blasphemy on the -subject of that poor creature's man. -</p> - -<p> -They slapped Pete on the back when he sat -down again, and said he knew how to serve a saucy -muchacha. And Joe sang a beautiful old Spanish -love song with amazing feeling and then went away. -But the melancholy of the song haunted poor Pete's -heart, and he went to his wife and found her -crouched on the floor sobbing and as naked as -when she was born. And Pete cried too and said -that he loved her. -</p> - -<p> -But she still cried, for he had torn the lovely -dressing-gown with its gorgeous garden of tulips. -She hugged it to her beautiful bosom as if it were -a child. -</p> - -<p> -In the outer room they all slept, and even -Annawillee ceased moaning. -</p> - -<p> -The night was calm and wonderful and as silent as death. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -III -</h3> - -<p> -Nah Siks, ho, my friend, let me introduce you to -George Quin: Manager and part owner of the Mill, -of the Stick Moola which ate logs and turned out -lumber and used (even as sawdust) the lives and -muscles of high-toned High Binders from Kowloon -and the back parts of Canton, and hidalgos from -Spain with knives about them, and gentlemen from -Whitechapel who knew the ways of the sea, and -many first-class Americans from the woods, to say -nothing of Letts, Lapps and Finns and our tilikums -the Indians from the Coast. -</p> - -<p> -Quin was two hundred pounds weight, and as -solid as a cant of his fir, and his mind was compact, -a useful mind when dollars were concerned. He -was a squaw-man and was always in with one of -them, for there are men who don't care for white -women (though indeed he had cared very much for -one) and so run after klootchmen just as water -runs down hill. It is explicable, for the conduct of -(or the conducting of) a white woman for the most -part takes a deal of restraint. Quin hated any -form of it: he was by nature a kind of savage, -though he was born in Vermont and bred up in -lower Canada. He went West early (even to -China, by the way) and only kept so much restraint -as enabled him to hang on and make dollars and -crawl up a financial ladder—with that wanting he -might have been:— -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - A Hobo,<br /> - A Blanket Stiff<br /> - or<br /> - A mere Gaycat,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -and have ended as a "Tomayto-can Vag!" These -are all species of the Genus Tramp, or Varieties of -the species, and the essence of them all is letting go. -We who are not such vagabonds have to hold on -with our teeth and nails and climb. But the -blessedness of refusing to climb and the blessedness -of being at the bottom are wonderful. We all know -it as we hang on. Now Quin, for all his force and -weight and power of body and of mind was a tramp -in his heart, but a coward who was afraid of opinion, -where want of dollars was concerned. He turned -himself loose only with the women. He hated -respectable ones. You had to be civil and -gentlemanly and a lot of hogwash like that with ladies. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said Quin. "Great Scott, by the -Holy Mackinaw, not me!" -</p> - -<p> -The devil of it all is that we are pushed on by -something that is not ourselves, and for what? -It's by no means a case of "Sic vos non vobis" but -"sic nos non nobis," and that's a solid fact, solid -enough to burst the teeth out of any Hoe that can -cut teak or mahogany, to say nothing of the soft -wood of the Coast. -</p> - -<p> -Quin compromised with the Mournful Spirit of -Push and gave his soul to dollars on that behalf, and -his body to the klootchmen. -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't often that he slung work and took a -holiday, but in latitude 49.50 N. and longitude -122 W., which is about the situation of New -Westminster, so far as I can remember, Mills themselves -take holidays in frost time, and when the Mill was -shut down the Christmas before, he had taken a -run up to Kamloops to see his brother Ned or -Cultus Muckamuck. -</p> - -<p> -There he saw Jenny, the sweet little devil, who -hadn't been married to Pete for more than six -months and was just nineteen. He made up his -mind about her then, but there were difficulties. -For one thing Ned was always wanting him, and -Indian Mary, Ned's klootchman, was a good woman -and heartily religious in her own way, and she had -a care for the pretty little girl when the Panther, -or Hyas Puss-Puss, called George Quin, came -nosing around. And Pete was but newly wed and -hadn't beaten Jenny yet. And Jenny, the pretty -dear, was fond of her Sitcum Siwash and loved to -see him on horseback, all so bold and fine with one -hand on his hip and a quirt in the other. Given -favourable circumstances and enforced sobriety -there's no knowing what the two might have been. -</p> - -<p> -I shall have to own it wasn't all George Quin -after all: I couldn't help liking George somehow. -It's the most mixed kind of a world, and though -the best we know, it might have been improved by -a little foresight one would think. There's always -something pathetically good in blackguards, -something that redeems the worst. What a pity it is! -</p> - -<p> -George Quin loved one woman who lived in far -off Vermont. She was his mother. He sent her -dollars and bear skins more than twice a year. -He had his portrait taken in his best clothes for her. -He looked so like a missionary that the good old -lady wept. -</p> - -<p> -There was something good in George one sees. -But he kissed Jenny behind Ned's old shack before -he went away. It might look like a coincidence -for Pete to come down to the Mill to work for -George after getting the Grand Bounce by Ned, -if it hadn't been for the kiss. Women are often -deceitful. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell Pete," said Jenny in the clutches of -the Panther. -</p> - -<p> -Hyas Puss-Puss laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"You tell him, you sweet little devil, and I'll -blow a hole through him with a gun!" said he. -</p> - -<p> -If he played up, that is! Sometimes they don't, -you know. -</p> - -<p> -"You give me a kiss without a fight, and I'll -give you a dollar," said the Panther. Jenny still -kicked. But she didn't squeal. Mary was inside the -shack and would have heard her, if she wanted help. -</p> - -<p> -"Not for two dolla," said Jenny, hiding her -mouth with the back of her hand, with her nails -out claw fashion. -</p> - -<p> -"Three then," said Hyas Puss-Puss. He was -as strong as the very devil, said Jenny's mind -inside, three times, four times, ever so many times -stronger than Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, not for three, nor four, nor five," said -Jenny, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -He got it for nothing. But he got no more. -Indian Mary came outside and called— -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -George sat down on a log and filled his pipe while -Jenny went back. She ran fast so that her colour -and her tousled appearance might be accounted -for. George Quin saw it. -</p> - -<p> -"The deceitful little devil, but I kissed her!" -</p> - -<p> -He got no more chances. When he had hold of -her with that immense strength of his she was as -weak as water, as was only natural, but she wanted -to be good (Mary and the missionary had told her -it was right to be good, and Mary said that Ned -was going to marry her some day, so she was all -right) and she was really fond of Pete. -</p> - -<p> -However, when Quin was going down to the -Coast again he got a moment with her. -</p> - -<p> -"If you want to come down my way, I'll always -give a first-class job to Pete, my dear. Don't -forget. He's a good man in a Mill. I saw him -over at the Inlet before he married you. I wish -I'd seen you before that, you little devil. Ah, tenas, -nika tikegh mika! Oh, I want you, little one!" -</p> - -<p> -When she and Pete pulled out from Cultus -Muckamuck's six months afterwards, they naturally -went on a Howling Jamboree in Kamloops, and it -ended in their being halo dolla, or rather, with no -more than Jenny had secreted for a rainy day. She -was a little greedy about money, it must be owned. -Some wanted Pete to go up to the Landing at -Eagle Pass as the Railroad was getting there from -East and West, though he wasn't a railroad man by -nature, but a lumber man. The railroader is -always one and so is the lumber man. Jenny -suggested the Coast and New Westminster. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile Pete had beaten her several times -and many had told her she was very pretty. She -wasn't quite the little girl she had been at Cultus -Muckamuck's ranche. She missed Mary, and her -morals did, too. She remembered all about George -Quin's, "I'll give you two dollars for a kiss!" For -a kiss only, mind. She could take care of -herself, she said. But they went to the Coast by -way of the only way, Savona and the Cañon. At -Savona, Jenny's eyes got a pass to Yale out of -Mr. Vanderdunk, who had beautiful blue eyes and was -a very good chap, take him all round. Jenny lied -to him like sixty and said her mother was dying -at Yale. Her mother was as dead as Washington -long years before. She died, poor thing, because -Jenny's father became respectable and renounced -her and married a white woman in Virginia. He -was a shining light in a church at that very time, -and was quite sincere. -</p> - -<p> -"Give the pair a pass down," said Vanderdunk, -"of course they're lying but——" -</p> - -<p> -Eyes did it as they always will. So they went -down to Yale and by the <i>Fraser</i> steamboat to New -Westminster, and they put up at Indian Annie's -as aforesaid and the row in the Mill happened and -Quin saw Pete and he knew Jenny had come, and -he smiled and licked his lips. -</p> - -<p> -The very next day after Pete's swift acceptance -of that noble position in the hierarchy of the Mill, -the Wedger-Off-Ship, and after the drunken jamboree -at Indian Annie's, Pete and Mrs. Pete moved -the torn dressing-gown, etc., into Simmons' vacated -shack. For Simmons had gone to Victoria in the -S.S. <i>Teaser</i>, that old scrap-heap known to every -one on the Sound, or in the Straits of Georgia or -San Juan de Fuca, by her asthmatic wheezing. -Pete's and Mrs. Pete's etc. comprised one bundle -of rags, and a tattered silk of Jenny's, and two -pairs of high-heeled shoes (much over at the heel) -and a bottle of embrocation warranted to cure -everything from emphysema to a compound -fracture of the femur, and a Bible. Pete had -knocked Jenny over with that on more than one -occasion. -</p> - -<p> -The traps that Simmons left in his shack he sold -to Pete for one dollar and two bits, and they were -well worth a dollar, for they comprised two pairs -of blankets of the consistency of herring-nets and -a lamp warranted to explode without warning. -He threw in all the dirt he hadn't brushed out of -the place during a tenancy of eight months, and -made no extra charge for fleas. But Jenny was -pleased. It was her first home, mark you, and that -means much to a countess or a klootchman. Pete -had wedded her at Kamloops and taken her to -Cultus Muckamuck's right off, for there were no -other men around there but old Cultus, and his -Mary looked after him if he needed it. -</p> - -<p> -So now Jenny grew proud for a while, and felt -that to have a whole house to herself and her man -was something. She forgave him her black eye, -the poor dear, and she mended the tulips carefully -in a way that would have given the mistress of a -sewing school a fatal attack of apoplexy. She -worked the rent together with gigantic herring-boning -like the tacking of a schooner up some -intricate channel with a shifting wind. -</p> - -<p> -Then she swept the shack and set out her household -goods the boots and the Bible. The boots -had been given her by a Mrs. Alexander, sister to -the donor of the dressing-gown, and the Bible (it -had pictures in it) was the gift of a Methodist -Missionary who saw she was very pretty. So did -his wife, so everything was safe there. -</p> - -<p> -The bed belonged to the shack, that is, to the -Mill, to the Quins, and as it was summer there was -no need to get better blankets. Jenny laid the -precious tulips on it and the bed looked handsome -enough for Helen, she thought, or would have -thought if she had ever heard of her, and Pete -admired it greatly. -</p> - -<p> -They set out to be happy as people will in this -world. Jenny had a piece of steak cooked for -Pete's dinner and she laid the newspaper cloth -very neatly, and put everything, beer, bread and -so on, as well as some prunes, quite handy. -</p> - -<p> -"By gosh, I'm hungry, old girl," said Pete, as -he marched in at noon. -</p> - -<p> -"It's all ready, Pete," she said, smiling. The -smile was a little sideways, owing to last night. -"Sit down and be quick." -</p> - -<p> -There was need, for the Mill only let up for the half hour. -</p> - -<p> -"This is work here, Jenny," said Pete, "by the -Holy Mackinaw, I almos' forgot what work was at -old Cultus'. Now she goes whoop!" -</p> - -<p> -But he felt warm and good and kind. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry I hurt you, gal," he said, "but you -was very bad las' night. Drink's no good. I won't -drink no more." -</p> - -<p> -"You very good to me," said Jenny meekly. -"Whisky always makes me mad. I'm glad we're -here. Indian Annie's bad, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus' ole cow," said Pete, with his mouth -full, "but now we have our home, Jenny, my gal, -and plenty work and forty dollar a month. I'm -going to be a good man to you, my dear, and buy -you big shelokum, lookin' glass." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny's eyes gleamed. There was only a three-cornered -fragment of glass nailed up against the -wall, and it was hardly big enough to see her pretty -nose in. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete, that what I like. Oh, yes, Pete, a -big one." -</p> - -<p> -"High and long," said Pete firmly. -</p> - -<p> -"Very high," screamed Jenny joyfully. -</p> - -<p> -"So you see all your pretty self," smiled Pete. -"I see one two yard high. I wonder how much." -</p> - -<p> -"One hundred dolla, I tink," said Jenny, and -Pete's jaw dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"Never min', we get a good one for five dolla," -said Jenny, and she kissed Pete for that five "dolla" -one just as he filled his pipe. Then the whistle of -the Mill squealed "Come out, come out, come out -o' that, Pete, Pe—etc!" and Pete gave his klootchman -a hug and ran across the hot sawdust to the -Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete very good man, I won't kiss no one but -Pete," said Jenny. "I almos' swear it on the -Bible." -</p> - -<p> -She was a human little thing, and Pete was -human, poor devil. And so was George Quin, alas! -And the worst of it is that we all are. -</p> - -<p> -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" -</p> - -<p> -The sun burned and the water glared, and the -Mill, the Stick Moola, howled and groaned and -devoured some twenty thousand feet of logs that -afternoon, and over the glittering river rose the -white cone of Mount Baker and up the river shone -the serrated peaks of the Pitt River Mountains, -where Pete came from, and all the world was -lovely and beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -And that poor devil of a Quin sat in his office -and tried to work, and had the pretty idea of Jenny -in his aching mind. -</p> - -<p> -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" -</p> - -<p> -Even George wanted to do the square thing, very -often. But Jenny's "almos'" was hell, eh? -Tilikum, we both know it! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -IV -</h3> - -<p> -But for the fact that there was too muchee pidgin -for everyone, as the Chinaman said, or hyu hyu -mamook as the Siwashes said, many might have -run after Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"One piecee litty gal velly hansum, belongy Pitt -Liber Pete," said Wong, who was the helper at the -Chinee Trimmer. He said it with a grin, "Velly -nicee klootchman alla samee tenas Yingling gal my -know at Canton, Consoo's litty waifo." -</p> - -<p> -She was as pretty as any Consul's little wife, -that's a solid mahogany hard wood fact. But with -twelve hours work of the sort of work that went on -in the Mill who could think of running after the -"one litty piecee hansum gal" but the man who -didn't work with his hands? -</p> - -<p> -Wong was a philosopher, and, like all real -philosophers, not a good patriot—if one excepts -Hegel, who was a conservative pig, and a state -toady and hateful to democrats. Wong had fine -manners and was a gentleman, so much so that the -white men really liked him and never wanted to -plug him, or jolt him on the jaw or disintegrate -him, as they did most of the Chinkies. He returned -the compliment, and sometimes quarrelled with his -countrymen about the merits of the whites, as one -might with Americans and others about the children -of the Flowery Kingdom. -</p> - -<p> -"My likee Melican man and Yingling man," said -Wong. "Velly good man Melican: my savvy. -Some velly bad, maskee oders velly good. If -Chinaman makee bobbely and no can do pidgin, -Melican man say 'sonny pitch'; maskee my can -do, my savvy stick-mula mamook, so Melican man -and Yingling man say, 'Good Wong, no sonny -pitch, velly good.' Melican gentleman velly good -all plopa. What ting you tinkee?" -</p> - -<p> -Wong was an enigmatic mask of a man, wrinkled -wondrously and looking sixty, though nothing -near it, as hard as solid truth, fond of singing to -a mandolin, great at Fan tan, but peaceable as a -tame duck. -</p> - -<p> -He had a kind heart, "all plopa that one piecee -man" from Canton, and one day (not yet) he has -his place here, all out of kindness to the "litty -hansum gal belongy Pitt Liber Pete." May his -ashes go back to China in a nice neat "litty piecee -box" and be buried among his ancestors who ought -to be proud of him. Blessed be his name, and may -he rank with Konfutse! I preferred him to Hegel. -And if any of you want to know why I refer to him, -you must draw conclusions. -</p> - -<p> -But, as we were saying, who could have full time -to run after the "litty gal" but Quin? -</p> - -<p> -To make another excursion, and explain, it may -be as well to let Pappenhausen talk. There were -two Germans in the Mill, and both worked in the -Planing Shed. One was a man of no account, a -shuffling, weak-kneed, weak-eyed, lager-beer Hans, -with as much brains as would have qualified him -to be Heir Apparent to some third-rate Teutonic -Opera-House Kingdom. But Pappenhausen was a -Man, that is to say, he didn't compromise on Lager -or weep because he drank too much. And he could -work like three, and he wasn't the German kind as -regards courage. German courage is very fine and -fierce when the Teutons are in a majority, but when -they aren't their courage ranks as the finest -discretion, that is, as cowardice nine times out of ten. -Pappenhausen would fight anyone or any two any -time and any where. He could fight with fists -or a spanner, or a pickareen or a club, and he took -some satisfying. He was an amazing man, had been -in America thirty years. He said he was a -"Galifornian" and fought you if you didn't believe it. -Once he stood up to Quin and was knocked galley-west, -for besides Long Mac there wasn't a man in -Saw-Mill Town that could tackle the Boss. Quin -got a black eye, but Papp had two and lay -insensible for an hour. Quin was so pleased with that, -that he put him to work again and stood him -drinks. He actually did. After that Papp, as he -was called, stood up for, and not to, George Quin, -and said he was a man, and he asked what it -mattered if he did run after the klootchmen? -</p> - -<p> -"Dat's der Teufel," grunted the native "Galifornian," -"dat's der Teufel, we all run avder der -klootchmen, if we don'd avder trink. I'm a -philozopher, I, and I notizzes dat if it arn'd one -ding it's anoder. And no one gan help it, boys. -One man he run avder dollars, screamin' oud for -dollars, and if you zay a dollar ain'd wort' von -'ondred cents of drubble he tink you grazy. I zay -one dollar's wort' of rest wort' a dollar and a half -any day. On'y I cain'd help workin'. If I don'd I -feel I braig somedings mit mein hands. Oders -run avder klootchmen; if dey don'd dey feels as -if dey would also braig somedings. I tinks the welt -a foolish blace, but in Shermany (where my vater -game from) I dinks it most foolish. And Misder -Guin he run avder Pete's klootchman and bymby -Pete gill her as like as nod and then Mr. Guin very -sorry he spoke. I dell you I knows. Life is a -damn silly choke, boys." -</p> - -<p> -But it was (and is) only a joke to a Democritus -of Papp's type. Even Papp said:— -</p> - -<p> -"Bymby I ged a new sood of glose and fifdy -dollars and I go back home to California." -</p> - -<p> -He said it and had said it. -</p> - -<p> -"Bymby——" -</p> - -<p> -Poor Papp! -</p> - -<p> -It was no joke to Jenny presently that "Misder -Guin" ran after her. But then it is no joke at any -time to be the acknowledged belle of any place, even -if it is a Saw-Mill Sawdust Town, and the truth is -that Jenny shone even among the white women, -gorgeous in their pride and occasional new frocks -from San Francisco, the Paris of the Coast. There -wasn't a white "litty gal" in the City who was a -patch on her: she was the "slickest piece of -caliker" within long miles. Folks who were critical -and travelled, said that there was her equal over at -Victoria, but that was far off, and much water lay -between. From the mighty white-peaked summit -of the Rockies, and the wonders of the Selkirks, -down through the Landing and Kamloops and Yale -at the end of the Cañon away to Westminster, she -was the prettiest. -</p> - -<p> -Think of it and consider that she lived in a -two-roomed shack with a decent-looking wedger-off who -was a Sitcum Siwash! She got compliments on -the street as she went up and down town. -</p> - -<p> -"Great Scott, she's a daisy!" -</p> - -<p> -"By the Great Horn Spoon, and also by the Tail -of the Sacred Bull, she knocks spots off of the hull -crowd." -</p> - -<p> -Such things said openly have their effect. But -the tulips on the dressing-gown did even more, and -the high-heeled shoes. She hankered after things -in the streets to which the dressing-gown was but -a faded flower. Quin spoke to her once as she -glared into a window. -</p> - -<p> -"You like that, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my," said little greedy Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -Quin didn't care a hang if he spoke to the little -klootchman in public. He wasn't in society, for -even in the River City there was Society. They -drew the line at squaw-men who went to dance-houses -and so on. But for that, the Manager and -Owner of a Mill (or half one or even a quarter) -could have had entrance to the loftiest gaieties and -the dullest on earth. He didn't "give a damn," -not a "continental," for the "hull boiling," said -Quin. Jenny was his mark, you can take your oath. -</p> - -<p> -She was worth it in looks only, that's the best -and worst of it. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll give it you: it's my potlatsh," said the -Manager, who cared little for dollars when the girls -came in. -</p> - -<p> -It was a "potlatsh," a gift indeed! To get -Jenny, Quin would have done "a big brave's -potlatsh" and given away all he owned, horses, mill, -house, and all. That's a fact, and it must be -remembered as Papp said, that "dey also veels as if -dey would braig somedings!" -</p> - -<p> -She got the gorgeous silk of tartan stripes that -flared in the window like a light lightening the -darkness, for Quin went in and bought what is -known as a dress length and sent it down to her by -his Chinese "boy." When he met Pete in the road -at noon that day he stopped him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete——" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir," said Pete respectfully, for the Tyee was so -big and strong besides being a Tyee, which always -counts. -</p> - -<p> -"I have given your wife some stuff to make a -dress. She was very good to my brother and to -Mary," said Quin. "She's a very good little girl." -</p> - -<p> -He nodded and walked on. He wished Pete -would get killed on the top of a log, but his face -was inscrutable and calm as that of any full-blooded -Siwash. Pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious -as any child. If he feared anyone it was Spanish -Joe, with his guitar and his songs. He went home -as pleased as Punch by the condescension of the -Boss, and found Jenny laying out dinner. -</p> - -<p> -The trouble came as quick as it could come. It -came right there and then, when both were as happy -as they could be. Jenny fairly shivered with -pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside -the inner room. Real silk it was and new, not a -cast-off rag from Mrs. Alexander, of the Kamloops -Hotel. The tulips of the dressing-gown faded clean -out of sight: they died down in their monstrous -array. She saw the Dress, saw it made up, saw the -world admire it: heard the other klootchmen -clicking envious admiration. But how was she to -account for it to Pete? She had been kissed by -Quin, and she knew he liked her, wanted her. The -big man flattered her senses, he was a white man, -rich and strong. She wouldn't have almost sworn -on the Bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that -this silk filled earth and heaven for her gaudy little -mind. She would have to think how to tell Pete. -</p> - -<p> -So in came Pete in excitement. -</p> - -<p> -"Show me what Mr. Quin give you," he demanded. -And her unlucky lie was ready. It fell -from her lips before she had a moment to think. -</p> - -<p> -"He give me nothing; why you say that?" -</p> - -<p> -Pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line. -</p> - -<p> -"You damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "I know." -</p> - -<p> -"It's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said -Jenny. "What for you tink the Tyee give me -tings? You tink me a cultus klootchman like -Indian Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -On his oath he would have sworn one happy -moment before that he had never thought so. Now -he thought too much. -</p> - -<p> -"You show it me or I kill you," said Pete. "I -know Mr. Quin he give you some stuff to make a -dless." -</p> - -<p> -In his rage his words grew more Indian, and his -taught English failed, his r's became l's. So did hers. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn lie, I have no dless," screamed Jenny. -"You no give me no'ting, you make kokshut my -dlessing-gown. I dless like one cultus klootchman, -in lags." -</p> - -<p> -He ran at her and she fled round the table. The -newspaper and the dinner went on the floor, and -she screamed. Then she slipped on the steak, and -went down. As chance had it the table came over -on top of her and she held it tight, so that he could -not get at her to hurt her much. But he kicked her -legs hard and then went into the inner room. -</p> - -<p> -"No, Pete, no," she screamed. She knew that he -must find the dress, the precious silk, and she forgot -all else in her great desire that it should not be -harmed. "I tell you the trut', Pete." -</p> - -<p> -She crawled from under the table: her hair was -down to her waist, her wretched every-day gown -torn from her back: her bosom showed. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete, oh, Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -Her lips hung piteous for the lovely thing that -Pete had found and now held up in horrid triumph. -The roll unrolled: he had the crumpled end in his -hand. It was a flag of blazing silk, a tartan to -appeal to any savage. Now it cried for help. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn klootchman, you," said Pete. -"What for Quin he give you this?" -</p> - -<p> -He kicked the roll with his foot. The stuff -unrolled more and Jenny cried aloud as though it was -her papoose that her savage man ill-used. -</p> - -<p> -"I don' know why he give it me," she squealed. -</p> - -<p> -"Him velly kin' man always. Oh, don' tear it, -Pete, oh, oh!" -</p> - -<p> -With his hands he ripped the silk in fragments. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," -he roared. "You no take such a ting from -Mr. Quin! You look at him lika you look at Spanish -Joe the other day: I see you." -</p> - -<p> -"You no see me do anyting wrong," Jenny cried, -weeping bitterly. "I don' lika Spanish Joe. 'Tis -a lie, Pete. And I no can help if Mr. Quin give me -tings. I a very good woman, on the Bible I swear -it. I quite virtuous; Mr. Quin he no touch me, I -swear it. Don' tear it no more. Pete, oh, don'!" -</p> - -<p> -He set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty -yards into fragments. The room was full of shining -stuff, of red and yellow and green: the floor was -gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his rage -upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her -little flower of love for him seemed to die in her -outraged heart, which loved beautiful things so -much. Now she had nothing left, her visions passed -from her. She sat down on the floor and howled -aloud, keening over the death of the beautiful -dress. She was no longer full of pride, and -conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor -dirty ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no -more thought of than dirty old Annie and Annawillee, -who mourned so sadly the other happy night. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "Hyas -klahowyam nika, very miser'ble, aya!" -</p> - -<p> -And Pete ran out of the shack leaving her -moaning. -</p> - -<p> -"That make her know what, eh?" said Pete. -He worked furiously at the Mill, without any food, -and was very unhappy, of course, though he knew -he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, -and in knocking thunder out of his klootchman. -He didn't believe she had been "real wicked," but -when it came to taking presents from Mr. Quin, -and lying about them, it was time to look out. -</p> - -<p> -"I teach her," said Pete; "give her what for, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But he wasn't mad with Quin. It was quite -natural for Quin to want Jenny. Pete knew all the -men did. She was so pretty. Even the Chinamen -knew it and said so. Pete was proud of that. -"Velly hansum litty klootchman," said Wong. -Why should a man be angry because another man -wants his "litty gal?" No need to "makee -bobbely 'bout that" surely. But the litty girl had -to be taught, Nawitka! -</p> - -<p> -"I give her the stick by-by," said Pete, and he -used the wedges and the maul as if he were giving -poor wretched Jenny the stick then. He worked -that day though he hadn't an ounce of muckamuck -inside him. Ginger White said he was as quick -as the devil: worth ten of that swine Simmons. -White's nose was gradually resuming its natural -shape, but when he thought of Simmons his hand -went up to it. -</p> - -<p> -Oho, but they all worked, worked like the -Bull-Wheel, like Gwya-Gwya and "him debble-debble," -said Wong. -</p> - -<p> -"No Joss in British Columbia," said Wong; -"spose wantee catchee Joss catchee Debble-Debble. -Bymby Blitish Columbia-side an' Californee-side him -allo blong China, then Joss he come, galaw!" -</p> - -<p> -The "debble-debble"' was in Pete's heart for -hours, but there's nothing like work to get him out, -and by four o'clock he was getting sorry he had -kicked Jenny and torn up the "dless." The little -klootchman had been good, he was sure, and she -cooked for him nicely and didn't get drunk often. -If she did get too much, it was his own fault, he -knew that. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell her I'm sorry," he said. -</p> - -<p> -Aya, yaya, what a cruel world it is, Pitt River Pete! -</p> - -<p> -The little klootchman was "dying" now and -telling the old hag Indian Annie all about it. And -it's only four o'clock and the Mill runs till six. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Jenny, with bare shoulders and bare bosom, -howled upon the gorgeous floor of silken rags for -a long hour after Pete ran out in a rage. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, yaya, nika toketie dless kokshut, no good. -Pete him wicket man, aya!" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, think of it! That beautiful green and yellow -and red silk so fine and thick and soft and shining t -That "dless" which it contained as a possibility, -that her natural woman's eye put on her pretty -self! Aya, Yaya! Even a dear white woman -would be very cross indeed if her man came in and -said, "You damn person, you have a roll of silk -given you by Smith or Brown or Jones," and then -tore it up. Aya, Yaya! How sad for poor Jenny, -only nineteen, and so sweet to look at and with a -love of colour. Aya, as I speak I feel "hyu keely." I -could mourn with Jenny and say I'd get her -another roll of silk, for a kiss, perhaps, for the -devil's in such a pretty dear. Tut, tut, it's a sad -world and a wicked, and the pretty ones are the -devil, aya, yaya! -</p> - -<p> -It was quiet enough in Shack-Town in the afternoon -and a continual aya, yaya-ing soon attracted -the attention of Indian Annie when she came from -begging up-town past Pete's shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Aha, oho," said the bundle of wicked rags, once -a beautiful klootchman and a white sea-captain's -darling, and yet another's and another's, ay de mi, -as Chihuahua said when he was sad, and others still -in a devil of a long diminuendo and degringolade -and a sad, sad fall, just as if she had been an -improper white. "Oho, why Jenny cly, kahta she cly?" -</p> - -<p> -In she went, for she knew Pete was wedging-off, -and in the inner room she found a pretty one half -naked on the silken rag carpet. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my toketie Jenny, kahta cly? Oh, Lejaub, -the pretty stuff all tole up, yaya? Who done it, -Jenny, real kloshe silk all assame white klootchman -have in chu'ch? Who give him, aya?" -</p> - -<p> -She was down on her knees gathering up the silk -in whole armfuls. -</p> - -<p> -"Dis Pete? Eh, Pete, pelton Pete, fool Pete, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny sobbed out it was Pete who had torn it -all up, and Annie nodded cunningly as she stuffed -a good bundle of it into her rags. -</p> - -<p> -"Aha, pelton Pete mamook si'k kokshut, but -klaksta potlatsh mika, nika toketie, who give him -you, my pretty?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Quin give him, and my bad man he say I -mesahchie, no good, a cultus klootchman alla same -you!" howled Jenny open-mouthed. -</p> - -<p> -Annie showed her yellow fangs in a savage grin. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus, alla same nika? Oho, pelton Pete, fool -Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -"And he say," roared Jenny like any baby, -"that I no good, not virtuous, and he beat me, and -taka silk and tearum lika so! And I think I make -a dless so pretty and now the pretty dless is all lags, -all lags!" -</p> - -<p> -She roared again and shook with sobs, and Annie -got her by the shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete is Lejaub, the devil of a bad man, my -pretty. I get you ten new dlesses for that. I hear -Pete no go to mamook but go up town and dlink -whisky at Spanish Joe's white woman's. By-by -he come back and beat you, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny clutched her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he kick me bad, see, nanitch!" -</p> - -<p> -She showed her pretty knee with a black bruise -on it. -</p> - -<p> -"That nothin', tenas toketie, by-by Pete come -back pahtlum and knock hell out of you, Jenny," -said Annie. Then she bent and whispered in -Jenny's ear. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, no," said Jenny. She clutched at -Annie's skirt as the old wretch got upon her feet. -But Annie turned on her and twitched her rags away. -</p> - -<p> -"You pelton, too? Much better be live and with -rich good man than dead with Pete and Pete with -a lope on him neck. I go tell Mr. Quin, him very -good man, kloshe man." -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny implored her not to go to him. And -as she sobbed that she was afraid of Quin the old -hag gathered up more and more of the silk until she -had nearly all that poor Jenny wasn't sitting on. -</p> - -<p> -"You stay. I go see, go think what I do for -you. I no go to Mr. Quin, I promise, tenas toketie." -</p> - -<p> -And she got away and went straight to the office -in which Quin was to be found, and asked to see him. -</p> - -<p> -"Quit, you old devil," said the young clerk, "pull -your freight out of this. No klootchmen wanted -here." -</p> - -<p> -She had her ugly old face inside the door and the -boy threw the core of an apple at her. -</p> - -<p> -"I want see Mr. Quin," she cried, as she dodged -the missile. -</p> - -<p> -"I want see him. You no kumtuks. Mr. Quin -see me, I tell you he want see me. Ya, pelton!" -</p> - -<p> -The boy knew very little Chinook and missed half -the beauty of what she went on to say to him. But -she told him much about his parents and a great -deal about his sisters that would have been -disagreeable even if translated with discretion. By the -time she came to a climax, her voice rose to a shriek -that might have been audible in the Mill itself, and -Quin came out in a rage. -</p> - -<p> -"Get to thunder out of this, you old fool," said -Quin, "or I'll have you kicked off the place!" -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him steadily and held up a long -fragment of the silk before him. -</p> - -<p> -"Mika kumtuks okook, you know him?" she -asked with a hideous leer. -</p> - -<p> -And Quin came off the step and went up to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Where you get it, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"You know," said Annie. "Tenas toketie have -him, you give him, ah. But who tear him, makum -kokshut?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pete?" asked Quin with the devil of a face on -him. But Annie walked a little away and beckoned -him to follow. She got him round the corner and -he went with her like a child. He thought he -understood. Annie put out her claw and took his -coat. -</p> - -<p> -"I give you klootchman often, now you give me -tukamonuk dolla, one hundred dolla, and I give you -pretty Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Quin blew out his breath and bent down to her. -</p> - -<p> -"You old devil," he said with a wavering grin. -</p> - -<p> -"Me Lejaub? Halo, no, I give you pretty young -squaw, that not like Lejaub. You give me one -hundred dolla, see." -</p> - -<p> -Quin sighed and opened his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"I give it. How you do it, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"Now she hate Pete, him pelton," said the -witch; "he beat her, kick her knee, kick her back, -kick her belly too, and tear up si'k in tenas bits, -Mr. Quin. She cly like any papoose, she scleam and -make gleat latlah. He tear up si'k and tear her -dless, now she half-naked on the floo'. That bad, -and she pretty and say Mr. Quin give me dless, -kloshe Mr. Quin. She love you, she tikegh mika, -cly kahkwa the si'k yours. You come: she go with -you. I make so no one know tings, if you take her -yo' house." -</p> - -<p> -His house was on the hill above them. There he -lived with not a soul but his Chinese boy. -</p> - -<p> -"How you make no one know?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe, I do it," said Annie. "I say to Pete she -say to me she lun away, and not come back, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But as Quin explained to her, the first person Pete -would think of would be the man who had given her -the dress. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, ya, I know," said Annie. "Kloshe; I very -clever klootchman, I know evelything. She lun -away with Shipman Jack this very day and came -tell me so I tell Pete. How that do, Mr. Quin? -You tink, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin was doubtful. Annie urged her scheme -on him and still drew him further down the road. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete him once jealous, hab sick tumtum about -Jenny with Shipman Jack, because Jack pinch her -behind and she cly out and Pete hear it. That the -other night. I know, I know evelything. I tell -him mo'. I say she often meet Jack befo'. Now -you have fire Jack, and he goes away this day and -he now go in <i>Teaser</i> piah-ship to Victolia, I see him. -Ah, velly good, she go with him. I say klahowya -to them. I get Annawillee for a dolla say she say -klahowya to them. And alla time Jenny in yo' -house. I bling her this night. You see, all light. -You give me one dolla now?" -</p> - -<p> -"You'll get drunk, you old harridan," said Quin, -who was all of a shake, "and if you do you'll -mamook pelton of me and no get the hundred dolla. -No, I give you all to-night." -</p> - -<p> -And knowing that it was true that she might get -drunk if she had that dollar she went away without -it, back to Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -V -</h3> - -<p> -It was true enough that Jack Mottram, "Shipman" -or sailorman, had been fired that day a little before -noon. To be "fired" is to get the Grand Bounce, -and to get that is to get what everyone understands -when the sack is spoken of. Another way of saying -it is to mention that "he got his time," or perhaps -his Walking Ticket. So now it is understood. -Before getting all these qualifications as a free -unemployed seaman he had got drunk early in the -morning. This is nearly always a fatal error and -brings trouble anywhere. In a Stick-Moola running -at full time it is liable to bring death. For death -stands handy with his scythe, or perhaps his pickareen, -uplifted in a Mill. Indeed, Jack the Shipman -very nearly sent back to Bouddha, or maybe to -Posa, one poor native of the Flowery Kingdom by -landing him one on the "ear-hole." Poor Fan -Tang (or something like it) up-ended and disappeared -down a chute, and was so sadly disgruntled that he -limped to the office and denounced Jack to Quin -in a fine flow of Pidgin English and mixed Chinook. -</p> - -<p> -"Muchee bad bad man belong Tlimmer pukpuk -my! My fallee down chute allo same lumber. -My muchee solly, you look see bluise!" -</p> - -<p> -He exposed his awful injuries to Quin's view. He -had parted with many patches of cuticle in his -tumble down the chute. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat shipman bad man, muchee dlunk," said -Fan Tang spitefully, and when Quin went over to the -Mill he found that Jack was indeed "muchee -dlunk," and full of insolence and whisky. -</p> - -<p> -"All ri', Mr. Quin, I quit. I'm full up of this -work. You give me my money and I'm off to sea. -What the 'ell I ever came ashore for, I dunno! -What ho!" -</p> - -<p> -Tom Willett, a young Englishman, went from the -Chinee Trimmer to the Big Trimmer, and Wong the -philosopher took the Chinee Trimmer. -</p> - -<p> -"Out of this," said Quin, "or I'll smash your jaw." -</p> - -<p> -That was to Jack, who wasn't so drunk as to -take up the challenge. He went to the office quite -meekly after all. He was almost as meek as one -"Dutchman" among ten English. -</p> - -<p> -"Righto, I'm off to Victoria this very day," said -Jack. He drew fifteen dollars and three bits, rolled -up his dunnage, and went to the wharf where the -<i>Teaser</i> steamboat, or "piah-ship," was lying. He -bade farewell to Sawmill Town with much -contempt. But Indian Annie saw him go. He goes -out of this history on his way to Hong Kong with -lumber. He got well man-handled by an American -mate and lost much insolence before he sighted -Mount Stenhouse. -</p> - -<p> -Annie went back to Jenny, now moaning sadly -with a dirty face, striped with tear-channels, and -told the poor pretty dear a dreadful tale. Pete was -up-town, having got drink in spite of his being a -Siwash, and was ready to kill, said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, I'm very much flightened," said poor -Jenny. "What shall I do, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -The procuress stole a little more silk and dragged -at Jenny's arm. -</p> - -<p> -"You klatawa, go away, chahco with me. I -hide you, toketie. Pete wicked, bad man, and -get hang if he see you. Come hyak, hyak!" -</p> - -<p> -She got her into her own den, and hid her in the -inner room. Then she hobbled off to Annawillee, -while Jenny sobbed herself to sleep on the dirty bed. -Annie and Annawillee were old friends, for Annie -liked her. When Chihuahua beat Annawillee too -much she took refuge at Annie's till her man calmed -down. For love of Annie and a dollar Annawillee -would do anything. -</p> - -<p> -"I say I see Jenny klatawa in piah-ship with -Jack the shipman. Nawitka, I say it, and you -give me dolla?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ha, one dolla, and one dlink, Annawillee," said -Annie, grinning. "Pete he much solly, and get -pahtlum to-night, for I take Jenny away to Mista -Quin. By-by I ask mo' dolla. Nanitsh?" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but indeed Annawillee was no fool and saw -quick enough. To get money for helping Quin -to Jenny and to get more for not telling was a fine -business! "What you tink, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -At five o'clock, Jenny dressed in a horrid yellow -dress belonging notoriously to Annawillee, and with -her head bound up as if she were indeed Annawillee -after Chihuahua had booted thunder out of her in a -jamboree, crawled with Annie up the hill, and sat -behind a big stump close to Quin's house, which -stood alone. Poor Jenny was scared to death by -now, for Annie said terrible things of a drunken Pete, -who was supposed to be sharpening a knife for a pretty throat. -</p> - -<p> -"You very good klootchman to Pete," said Annie, -"and he bad, oh, bad to you, tenas toketie. Mista -Quin him good man, rich and very skookum. Pete -kwass, afraid of Mista Quin. You alla same white -klootchman, good dlesses, very pretty. You no -forget poor Annie: you give her dless and dolla when -you alla same white woman in chu'ch, in legleese." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny wept bitterly. She still thought she loved -Pete, and she was conscious that she was no beauty in -her dirt and the dreadful yellow rags of Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -"I wicked klootchman," said Jenny, "no mo' -virtuous, I have shem see Bible. And I not toketie -now, very dirty. How I look now, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"You always toketie, tenas," said the old witch -truly enough. "I do up yo' hair, tenas. By-by -you mamook wash yo' face, and be very pretty. -Mista Quin mamook wash every day, him gleat -man, skookum man, very lich, very lich, plenty -dolla. Him love you mo' than one hundred dolla." -</p> - -<p> -She did up Jenny's mass of tumbled black hair, -and wiped her face with a rag. She wetted it in -her mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"Now you clean," said Annie. "What time -Mista Quin come to him house?" -</p> - -<p> -She peered from behind her stump, and presently -saw Quin come up the hill. As he passed her she -called to him in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Yahkwa, here, Mista Quin." -</p> - -<p> -And Quin came across the brush to them. Jenny -buried her face in her hands and her shoulders -troubled. -</p> - -<p> -"I bling her," said Annie. "She much aflaid, hyu -kwass, of Pete. He say he makee her mimaloose, -kill her dead, she muchee aflaid, and she tikegh -you, love you always." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny shook and trembled like a beaten dog. -</p> - -<p> -"She now very dirty and bad dless, but you -mamook wash, and she hyu toketie. No klootchman -here like Jenny. Now, tenas, you klatawa in -house quick." -</p> - -<p> -She dragged the trembling child to her feet, and -then held out her hand to Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"You give me the dolla?" -</p> - -<p> -And Quin gave her the money in notes. She knew -well enough what each one was worth. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I tell Pete she klatawa with shipman Jack -to Victoly, ha!" -</p> - -<p> -She scrambled down the hill and Quin took Jenny -by the arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Come, tenas," he said in a shaking voice. -</p> - -<p> -But it was a kind voice after all, and Jenny burst -into a torrent of sobs and clung to him. -</p> - -<p> -"I have much shem," she said, "I have much -shame." -</p> - -<p> -Even Quin had some too, poor devil. -</p> - -<p> -They went into the house. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -VI -</h3> - -<p> -By the time that the evening sun, slanting westwards -to the Pacific, which roared on wild beaches -sixteen miles away, shone into the western end of -the Mill, Pete had worked the anger out of his heart -as healthy children of the earth must do. The song -of the Mill was no longer angry or menacing: it -became a harmony and was even sweet. Work went -beautifully: the logs were sweet-cutting spruce for -the most part, or splendid pine, or odorous red cedar, -and one precious log of white cedar. The saws ran -easy and their filed teeth were sharp: the Hoes said -"We can do, we can do," and the Pony Saw piped -cleanly and clear, while the Trimmers, though they -cut across the grain, cut most swiftly, and said, "Gee -whiz, gee whiz." Young Willett was pleased to get -the Big Trimmer and Wong most proud to run the -Chinee one, which by its name certainly belonged of -old to some Chinaman, perhaps now in the country of -Green Tea and Bamboos, and forgetful of his ancient -toil in alien lands. The engines, too, ran well and -the sawdust carriers did not break down, and no belt -parted, and nobody but Ginger White said much -that was uncivil, and if he went no further than -that no one minded him any more than they minded -the weather or the wind. -</p> - -<p> -So as things went sweetly, Pete's heart grew sweet -and he was sorry he had kicked at Jenny's legs as -she lay under the table, and sorry he had torn up the -pretty silk. After all it was natural enough that -Quin should give her something, and it was natural -he wanted her. But of course he couldn't get her, -for she was virtuous and had a Bible, and knew religion, -and believed that Lejaub, or the diable, would -take anyone who was not virtuous. Both the -Catholic and the English priests said that, so it must -be true. And, if she had denied having the dress, -he owned that he had often frightened her and it was -natural for her to say she hadn't got it, poor toketie -Jenny. He nobly determined to forgive her and -say no more about it. -</p> - -<p> -And then the exultant whistle declared with a -hoot that the work was over for the day, and the -engines stopped and the saws whirred and whined -and drawled and yawned and stood still while the -workers clattered out, laughing and quite happy. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but it's good to be strong and well and to have -work, but to have none and thereby to get to cease -to love it is very bad, oh, very bad indeed. Let the -wise know this, as the unwise and ignorant who -labour know it in their hearts and in their hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Oho," said Pete as he strode across the yard, -"oho!" -</p> - -<p> -He was nobly determined to forgive. He would -go in to Jenny and say, "Look here, Jenny, I forgive -you because you tell that lie, that kliminwhit. I -forgive you, but you be good, kloshe, tell your man -no more kliminwhit." -</p> - -<p> -He came to his silent shack and didn't notice that -no smoke, no cooking smoke, came from its low -chimney. He marched in bent on forgiveness, and -found the front room empty. -</p> - -<p> -"She still cly about that silk," said Pete uneasily. -He hesitated a moment before he opened the inner -door and called to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Silence answers you, Pete, silence and two empty -rooms with a table upset, and some few rags of -dirtied silk still left by the predaceous fingers or -claws of the vulturine Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"She velly closs, go out with some other klootchman," -said Pete. "Damn, I beat her again." -</p> - -<p> -It was very hard indeed that he, the Man, should -come in ready for forgiveness and good advice with -regard to future lies, and should find no one meekly -ready to accept pardon and to promise rigid truth in -future: it was very hard indeed, and Pete's brows -contracted and his heart was outraged. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I not forgive," said Pete. "She not here, -no muckamuck ready and I so olo, so hungry." -</p> - -<p> -He saw the steak that poor Jenny had cooked for -his dinner. It lay upon the floor, as she had lain on -it. It was trodden and filthy and Pete kicked it -spitefully. He saw an old rag of a dress that was -Jenny's. It was the one she had discarded for -Annawillee's horrid yellow rag of quarantine, which -said, "I'm Annawillee, be wise and don't come -near me." She had changed at Annie's, but Annie -brought it back and put it in sight. For she was a -spiteful devil. -</p> - -<p> -"What for?" said Pete. A dull fear entered his -heart which did not dispossess his anger. "What -for: kahta she leave dless?" -</p> - -<p> -It was a "dless" indeed. But she did not need -it then. There were certain beautiful garments at -Quin's house, and there would be more. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick her when I find her," said Pete. He ran -out and went straight to the next shack, to Indian -Annie's den. -</p> - -<p> -He found her and Annawillee, and both were -drunk, but not yet too drunk for speech, or for the -discretion of the arranged lie. -</p> - -<p> -"You see Jenny?" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -Annie lifted her claws to heaven and moaned. -</p> - -<p> -"I so sorry, Pete, Jenny bad klootchman!" -</p> - -<p> -"What you mean, you old devil?" roared Pete, -in horrid fear. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you delate, I tell you, Pete. She klatawa -with—with——" -</p> - -<p> -His jaw dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"She go with Shipman Jack to Victoly in piah-ship," -said Annie, hiccupping. "I see her, -Annawillee see her." -</p> - -<p> -"I see, nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa with Jack," -puked Annawillee. "She klatawa in piah-ship, she -go Victoly." -</p> - -<p> -She was hugging a bottle to her pendant breasts -as she told her lie. But she believed it by now, and -kept on repeating "to Victoly, an' to California in -piah-ship with Shipman Jack, inati chuck; acloss -water." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," said Pete. He was a dirty white -colour. His lips hung down. -</p> - -<p> -"She tikegh Jack velly much," said Annie, "love -him very much, and cly and say him good man, not -beat her and tear her dless. She much aflaid of you, -Pete. She cly and go away." -</p> - -<p> -"She cly and go away," chimed in Annawillee, -weeping tears of awful alcohol. She was so sorry for -everyone, and for herself and Jenny and Pete and -all the world. "I cly, I cly!" -</p> - -<p> -She sobbed and drank, and still Pete stood there, -very sick at heart. -</p> - -<p> -"My pretty tenas klootchman," he murmured, -"oh, hell, what I do?" -</p> - -<p> -"You hab dlink," said Annie, holding him up the -bottle. He took it, put it to his mouth, and drank -half a pint of fiery stuff that nearly skinned his -throat. He dropped the empty bottle on the floor -and turned away back to his empty shack. -</p> - -<p> -"I will kill Jack," he said, "I, I, kill Jack!" -</p> - -<p> -He saw the world in a haze: the Mill danced -darkly before his eyes, dark against a golden sunset, -his brain reeled, and when he came to his own door -he fell inside and lay insensible. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete dlink too much, he gleedy beast," said -Annie. But Annawillee nursed her empty bottle to -her bosom and said foolishly— -</p> - -<p> -"I see—nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa, oh, hyu -keely Annawillee." -</p> - -<p> -And the night presently came down, and as the -shacks lighted up it was told among all the Siwashes -and the Chinkies and the White Men of ten Nations -that Jenny, pretty Jenny, tenas toketie Jenny, had -"scooted" with Shipman Jack across the water to -Victoria, to California, to China, oh, to hell-an'-gone -somewhere! -</p> - -<p> -"To Hell and Gone out of this," they said. And -Spanish Joe sang to the guitar a bitter little song -about someone's señora who fled across the sea, and -Chihuahua grinned at Jack's luck (Annawillee did -not tell him the truth), and the Whites, Long Mac, -and Shorty Gibbs and Tenas Billy and even young -Tom Willett, who knew nothing about klootchmen, -though some had their eye on him hopefully, said -there was no knowing what any woman would do. -They understood that men would do what they had -a mind to. -</p> - -<p> -"Anyhow," said Shorty, "she was a dern sight -too pretty for a golderned Siwash like Pete. Someone -wuz sure to kapswalla her sooner or later. If -I wuz given to klootchmen, which I ain't, thank the -Lord, I'd ha' put in for her myself." -</p> - -<p> -But to think of such a coyoté as Jack Mottram -picking up the Pearl of the River! -</p> - -<p> -"It would sicken a hog," said Shorty Gibbs. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -VII -</h3> - -<p> -Quin might be a Squaw-Man (as indeed he was in -his irregular way) but he lived in comfort, and Sam, -his "boy," aged twenty-five, was a wonder, worth -more dollars by far than the days of the longest -months and all he could steal as well. Sam was -good-looking and as clean as a fresh-run quinnat, and -he had the most heavenly and ingratiating smile, -and the neatest ways, and a heaven-sent gift of -cooking. He was pleasant to the world and to -himself, and he sang little Chinese songs as he worked -and made Quin's house as clean as heaven after rain. -He didn't "hit the pipe," which Wong did, of -course, and he only smoked cigars. They were -Quin's and good ones. Not that opium is so bad as -liquor, by the way, though the missionaries say it -is. It is better to "hit the pipe" than to "dlinkee -for dlunk," and that's an all-solid fact. -</p> - -<p> -Sam was discreet, and he let no one rob Quin but -himself. Indeed, he almost loved Quin, for Quin -had good qualities. For example, he rarely swore -in his own house, and he had a way of making little -presents to Sam which were very encouraging. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss he makee allo tim' litty cumshaw my," -said Sam. "He givee my cigar: he givee my dolla. -He givee my close: makee stlong cutsom givee me -all ting he no wantshee. My catchee allo tim' good -close, boot, tlouser, and he speakee my velly good: -neber makee bobbely. Massa Quin velly good Boss, -no can catchee better. Supposee klootchman no -good, makee bobbely, he say 'hyack klatawa:' -supposee klootchman good klootchman allo same -wifo dat velly good: Massa Quin velly good and -makee mo' cumshaw my." -</p> - -<p> -And now there was a new klootchman. -</p> - -<p> -"Ho," said Sam Lung, "ho, he bling 'nodder -klootchman. My tinkee 'bout time he catchee new -klootchman. He velly lestless, like he got water -topside, clazy. What she like this new klootchman?" -</p> - -<p> -He put his eye to the key-hole, and then drew up -in disgust. -</p> - -<p> -"Fo, velly dirty, cly allo tim'. She velly litty -young gal. After las' wun he likee catchee young -gal. Ha, my tinkee bymby she catchee wash and -look velly pletty. She whitee gal my tinkee when -she catchee washee." -</p> - -<p> -But poor Jenny was on the floor, still crying as if -her little heart would break. She was not yet able -to look up and see the wonder of a nice clean house, -such as she had never been in, in all her life. -</p> - -<p> -"You're all right, Jenny, my dear," said Quin, -"don't you cry. No one shall hurt you, my girl. -I'll give you a good time, my dear. Now get up, -Jenny, and look at your home, and then I'll take you -into another room and find you a new dress. Come, -tenas Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke quite tenderly and touched Jenny's -heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but I have shem," she said. -</p> - -<p> -"You come and mamook wash," said Quin, "and -by-by we'll have muckamuck and then you'll be all -right. Come now." -</p> - -<p> -He lifted her to her feet, and when she felt his -strong hands on her she felt a little better. It was -like fate, though she knew not what fate was. He -was strong and kind, and he said he loved her. She -caught his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"You no beat me?" she cried in a sudden passion -of fear and helplessness. "You no beat me, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, Jenny, no," he said. He turned her tearful -dirty face round and kissed her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I too much dirty," she exclaimed in great -distress. "No bebee me till I mamook wash." -</p> - -<p> -She caught sight of herself in a big glass over the -mantelpiece. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mr. Quin, I have shem: I so dirty. You -forgive me, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -And Quin laughed a little uneasily. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, my dear, now I make a lady of you; -you are so pretty, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He went out of the room and told Sam to make a -"plenty hot" bath in the bedroom. And he put -out some clean clothes for her, which he took from -a locked cupboard. Some were new. Most of them -had been got for a Haida girl who had died of -consumption two years before. But Quin had forgotten -her. He spoke to Sam when the "boy" brought in -the bath and water. -</p> - -<p> -"Sam, you no fool, I think," he began. -</p> - -<p> -"That same my tinkee, Sir," said Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"I bring another klootchman here, Sam." -</p> - -<p> -"Where you catchee?" asked Sam with great -interest. -</p> - -<p> -"You mind your own pidgin," said Quin. "Now -look, Sam, I no wantshee anyone know who she is. -When they ask you, you say she white woman, allo -same wife, from San Francisco. If you tinkee that -not true, that all right, but if you say so I fire you -and give you no dolla. While she stay here and no -one know who she is I give you five more dolla, -moon-pidgin, every month. Now you savvy?" -</p> - -<p> -Sam stood with his head on one side all the time -his master spoke. He looked as intelligent as a -sharp Chinaman can look, and he answered with -decision and a perfect gravity. -</p> - -<p> -"My savvy that plenty! You catchee one litty -gal and no wantshee man savvy. Dat light, I -plenty savvy. My say she numpa one pletty -litty gal from San Flancisco. I savvy plenty and -if litty gal stay you givee my mo' five dolla -moon-pidgin. My savvy plenty. Now you washee -her?" -</p> - -<p> -"Fill the bath, you damn fool," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"All li', savvy plenty," said Sam. "My cookee -good dinner for Missus. Five dolla mo' velly good. -My cookee velly good: makee litty gal stop allo -same wifo." -</p> - -<p> -And he went back to the kitchen, solemn and -satisfied, but very curious to see the litty piecee -gal when she was washed. -</p> - -<p> -It was all an amazing dream for poor Jenny. If -it had not been for the black bruise on her knee she -would have thought herself in some new world. For -the house was beautifully built and lined inside -with red cedar. The furniture was as good as any -in the City, for the tragedy of Quin's life was, that -he had met a white woman, and had fallen in love -with her three years ago. They were to have been -married, but the woman found out about his past -history, his character as a squaw-man, and threw -him over. He had prepared the house for her. The -dead Haida girl Lily had come instead. Jenny -dreamed and wondered and half forgot that she was -not good to be there. Quin was very strong, "hyu -skookum," and his house was to be hers, and he -would prevent Pete killing her. As she got into the -hot water the tears ran down her face. But the bath -was pleasant, and she was not too degraded to enjoy -the cleanliness of things; and the hot water eased -the tension of her mind, and it seemed suddenly as -if her life with Pete was something very far off, -hardly to be remembered. -</p> - -<p> -And then she handled the clothes she was to wear, -and the mere woman woke in her heart. Here was -linen far better than that she had helped to wash for -Mrs. Alexander before Pete had come and taken her -from Kamloops! It was beautiful linen to her eye, -and in spite of everything the pleasure she found in -it was wonderful, for though she did not know it, -her skin was tender and delicate and had always -suffered from the stuff she had worn. -</p> - -<p> -There were silk stockings! -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin he very gleat man," said Jenny, -awestruck. "Much better than any I ever see, never -nanitsh any like 'em." -</p> - -<p> -When she got them on she took up the dress. It -was also silk, but not like the monstrous tartan the -cause of all her woe. It was a dark red and fine and -supple, for Lily had seen it in her last days at -Victoria and Quin had bought it for her, knowing -that she would never wear it. She died with it on -her bed: her dead hand touched it. It made -another klootchman nearly happy. -</p> - -<p> -"I aflaid to wear it," said Jenny as she held it up, -"it too beautiful for poor me. I don't know where -I am: I feel silly, all like a dleam." -</p> - -<p> -She looked at the big glass and saw herself white -clad, and with the red silk in her hands. Her -shoulders were white: her sun-tanned neck showed -how white they were. And the red was lovely. -</p> - -<p> -She put it on and she almost screamed with pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -"I 'most like a lady, like Missis Alexander," she -cried. And indeed there was no prettier lady -within a hundred miles. -</p> - -<p> -She stood and looked at herself and trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -And then she found that the dress fastened up -the back. -</p> - -<p> -"I no savvy how can do it," said Jenny in great -trouble. "If I do um up firs' I no get in and if I no -do um up it fall off. How can white lady do, when -she have no one help her?" -</p> - -<p> -It was an awful puzzle which she could not solve. -A worse trouble was at hand, however, for when she -tried to put on the shoes meant for her they were -too small. -</p> - -<p> -"What I do?" asked Jenny of herself in the glass. -"My ole shoes no good and my foot too big for this -little shoe. I have shem go without shoe and with -dless undone. I wis' I had someone help me. But -alla same I very pretty I tink, but I have shame of -everything. I no more good, no more virtuous—" -</p> - -<p> -Her lip hung down preparatory to her bursting -into tears. But Quin knocked at the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Muckamuck ready, tenas Jenny," he said. And -Jenny murmured that she would come directly. -</p> - -<p> -"He very kind man I tink," said Jenny, "I ask -him through the door if he mind I no have shoe." -</p> - -<p> -The door led straight through into the sitting-room. -In her turn she knocked on it timidly and -opened it an inch. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, I have shem—" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, tenas Jenny?" asked Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I no can put on shoe," she said. Quin laughed -and she shrank back. -</p> - -<p> -"Come in, never mind," he said as he came to the -door and pushed it open. She bent her head. -</p> - -<p> -"And please, Mista Quin, I no can do dless up at -back. I much aflaid it fall off." -</p> - -<p> -Quin came into the room as Sam brought in the -dinner. He shut the door and caught her in his -arms. -</p> - -<p> -"I have shem," she murmured, but he kissed her -neck and mouth. "I have shem." -</p> - -<p> -He did the dress up at the back and held her away -from him at arm's length. -</p> - -<p> -"By the Holy Mackinaw, you are a pretty girl, -Jenny," he said thickly. "You bebee me now?" -</p> - -<p> -The slow tears rolled down her face as she lifted -it to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Mista Quin, but I have shem," she said -simply. -</p> - -<p> -Sam banged on the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Chow-chow, Sir and Missus," said Sam, who was -much interested in the "love pidgin;" "Chow-chow -all leady, Sir and Missus." -</p> - -<p> -It was an amazing dinner for Jenny. She had -never seen the like save in the kitchen of -Mrs. Alexander's hotel, and if she had eaten anything -half as good, it was when she was a tenas klootchman -and sat outside on the wood-pile with a plate -of food given her by the hotel cook. -</p> - -<p> -But that Chinese cook wasn't a patch on Sam, who -had been nerved to unwonted efforts by the new -situation and by the extra five dollars while the new -"Missus" stayed. He put out Quin's best cutlery -and polished the electro-plate till it shone indeed. -The glasses were like crystal and there was a bottle -of champagne, made in San Francisco (and perhaps -very little the worse for that, seeing the quality of -western imported wines), on the full table. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny gasped and sat down very humbly. But -if she looked up she could see herself in a mirror -opposite. It was a very strange and pretty and -abashed creature that she saw, a creature who "had -shame" but was too dazed to feel it greatly. For -everything was so fine, and Quin was a big strong -man and white-clad Sam was so polite. "You hab -dis, Missus," or "my tinkee, Sir, Missus hab mo' -wine." And the floor had a carpet, and there were -red curtains at the window, through which she -could see the shining mighty river and the far -faint hills of Sumass, lighted by the sinking -splendid sun. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my dear, you are very pretty," said Quin -when Sam was out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink so too, Mista Quin," she said; "but I -have shem to be here. I know not'ing. I velly -foolish klootchman, cultus and halo good; I tink I -very wicked to be here, but I like it allo same, Mista -Quin." -</p> - -<p> -He gave her more wine and her eyes began to -sparkle. The world of yesterday, nay, even of -to-day, was far off, further off than the pure faint -hills. -</p> - -<p> -"You be good to me, Mista Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -His hard heart was touched. -</p> - -<p> -"You bet, Jenny, I'll give you all you'll want." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, you very big boss," said Jenny. If he could -give any human creature all she wanted he was a -very big boss indeed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, my kiddy, you forget all about everyone but -me, and I'll act square to you, on my oath I will," -said Big Quin. He pulled her towards him and -kissed her mouth. She flamed scarlet. -</p> - -<p> -"I lik' heem better'n Pete," she said. "Pete -cluel to me; tear my dless. Now I have better, ah!" -</p> - -<p> -The dinner came to an end and Sam brought -in a lamp as the evening light faded. -</p> - -<p> -"That will do, Sam. I don't want you any -more," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -And when Sam had washed up he went down to -a compatriot's in the City. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee he makee love-pidgin now," said Sam, -as he went. "Litty piecee gal velly pletty alla -same lady, maskee she no savvy what for do with -knife and fork. Dat not plopa: my tinkee her -savvy velly littee. Bymby my talkee how can do -with Missus. My tinkee she no flom San Flancisco. -She makee hair not plopa, allo same lope. My -tinkee my talkee her how can do, my savvy plenty." -</p> - -<p> -But he told his gossips down below that Mista -Quin had got a white woman up from San Francisco. -Indeed he did not know that Jenny was no more -than a quarter-breed Siwash, though he wondered -at her knowing so much Chinook, of which Sam -himself was very ignorant, though he savvied even -how to do hair. -</p> - -<p> -The world of the little Shack-Town by the Mill -believed that Jenny had really fled with Shipman -Jack and Pete got very drunk again that night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -VIII -</h3> - -<p> -"The Siwash'll be on Jack's tracks," said the Men -of the Mill, "for sure he'll be after him, hyak -koolie! What the thunder did the little klootchman -see in Jack! Oh, hell, he warn't nothin' but -a special kind of sea hobo, boys, allers on the go: -a blanket-stiff at sea, that's what. And drink—we -should say so! And mean, oh, there ain't -words! If Pete runs into him——" -</p> - -<p> -Pete wanted blood, that's a fact, but when a man -wants blood and gets liquor the blood stays unshed -unless the victim is right handy. That is also a -fact, all wool, and a yard wide. -</p> - -<p> -Another fact was of great importance, and that -is that Pete owed the Mill dollars instead of the -Mill owing him any, and to get across to Victoria -in the Island took silver, t'kope chikamin, in the -shape of dollars. And Pete couldn't swim, not so -much as a hundred yards. He was no Fish Indian. -And the Straits are some miles across. -</p> - -<p> -Pete woke out of his drunk early in the morning -and saw three facts in the light of dawn, saw them -come out of the darkness and stand up before him, -just as the Mill did and the tin-roofed shining -Cannery across the River, where Chinamen wallowed in -shining salmon for Eastern consumption. Pete saw -the array of facts and at the back of his Indian -brain he had a notion of destiny, as they all have. -Jenny had run: he had "halo dolla," and it was -a long swim across the Straits of Georgia, in spite -of all the islands a man might rest at. -</p> - -<p> -"She hyu bad klootchman," said Pete. "I no -care one damn. I take another by-by. She too -much pletty, no sit down, klatawa with Jack." -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a drink for Pete that morning, -but he lighted a fire and made some "caupy" or -coffee. -</p> - -<p> -"I go work at Moola alla same," said Pete. "I -no dlink, I make dolla: I get another good klootchman. -By-by Jack go to sea, leave Jenny, she go -hell. That all light. She damn bad klootchman." -</p> - -<p> -So when the Whistle, the great prophet of the -strenuous life, yelled the "Get up" in quick time, -he was ready, and as determined as any Blackfoot -at a Siwash stake to show nothing of his torment. -The second whistle that shrieked "Get out" sent -him off, and the day began with the usual -preliminary jawing-match in the Engine-room where -fiery monsters ate sawdust. -</p> - -<p> -"Ha, Pete," said Skookum Charlie, whose big -bulk was spread on a sawdust pile where the glare -of an open furnace shone on him. "He come to -wuk' alla same." -</p> - -<p> -Long Mac with the blue eyes and keen clean -American look was there. And next him was -black-a-vised, beady-eyed Chihuahua, far more ancient -Mexican than Spanish, and then Hans Anderssen -and Johann Smit, both seamen. And with them -showed the fair and devilish face of Spanish Joe -with the beautiful voice and a soul fit for hell. -And the Engineer, a little Scotty from Glasgow, -went about his work with one Chinee helper as if -they were not there, and only said "damn your -jaw," if they got in his way. -</p> - -<p> -The crowd looked at Pete, who swung in boldly -enough with his head up. -</p> - -<p> -"Hullo," said the crowd with sympathy. But -Joe laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"You' klootchman she pulled up her stakes and -quit, eh?" he asked with a sneer. -</p> - -<p> -"That so," said Pete quietly. "I tell her to go -night befo' las' night. She no good in fac', bad -klootchman, get dlunk, no savvy cook. Thlow my -muckamuck on the floo'. I say go. I tink no -klootchman any good. Jack Shipman soon tire of -she." -</p> - -<p> -"Perfectamente," said Joe, "you spik truth. All -women are bad." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty managed to jam Joe in the pit of the -stomach with the handle of the huge wooden shovel -with which he was feeding the greedy fires. -</p> - -<p> -"Beg your pardon," said Scotty with a grin, -"but they arn't all bad." -</p> - -<p> -"Every damn one," said Joe, writhing. -</p> - -<p> -"All klootchmen no good, I say," Pete cried once -more. -</p> - -<p> -"You had a mother, lad," said the Engineer -severely. -</p> - -<p> -Pete shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"That all light, Mr. Engineer, but she no good -neither. She sell my poo' damn sister to the man -at Kamloops that had the ranche Cultus Muckamuck -Quin got now, sell her for two dolla, I tink. -And now Cultus got her too." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty having no more remarks to make, yanked -the whistle lanyard. It was six o'clock. -</p> - -<p> -"This is a hell of a country for a mahn wi' ony -releegion in him," said Scotty. -</p> - -<p> -He turned savagely on his Chinese helper. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, Fan, you wooden image, get a move -on you: hump yersel', man, or I'll scupper -you." -</p> - -<p> -The gift of work to unhappy mortals is that they -cannot work and be wholly unhappy, and Pete -sucked a grim kind of pleasure out of the labour -that was his, and found some anodyne in it for the -aching wound he bore in his foolish childish heart. -That day the labour was great, for Ginger White -had a mind to set the pace and make it fiery. It -was, as the men knew, one of his bad, his wicked -days, such a day as that on which he had driven -Pete's predecessor to a standstill. When Ginger's -face was tallow against his fiery beard they knew -what to expect, and got it every time. It was -said that on these occasions he had quarrelled with -his wife, but the truth is he had a vicious nature -and a love of work together. It gave him pleasure -to see the great saws do their work, and a greater -pleasure still to see a man turn white and fail. -</p> - -<p> -But now he had Pete, not Simmons, and the devil -himself at the Saws would not have broken Pete -that day. For there was a hard devil in his heart, -and he grinned savagely as he saw White's motions -get every minute quicker and quicker. He nudged -Skookum Charlie. -</p> - -<p> -"This Ginger White have one bad day. The -debbel, how he go. You see!" -</p> - -<p> -They saw. He cut them wicked slabs, slabs that -had an unholy weight, with all of it in the butt. -When they fell they dropped between the skids and -got up and kicked. One struck Skookum on the -nose and made it bleed, another threw Pete. But -though they both knew that Ginger gave it them -hot and heavy and wasted wood in slabs to do it, -they made no sign. This was a day that no one -would be beaten. All the men knew by instinct -and by knowledge that this was to be a day of hell, -when the cut would be great and Ginger would go -home half dead with his endeavours to work them -up. They set their teeth, even as the saws' teeth -were set in another fashion, and prepared to chew -the lumber that he hurled to them. -</p> - -<p> -The atmosphere was strange, charged, electric, -strained. There were days when the Tyee Sawyer -left them slack, and went easy. Now they jumped, -their eyes were bright, they sweated, got alive, -moved like lightning. Each was an automaton; -each a note struck by the Player. And he played, -oh, tilikum, he played! -</p> - -<p> -This was work, tilikum, such as even the Stick -Moola hadn't known. The engines knew it, and -the steam gauges told it and the fires, and the -sawdust carriers. Chinamen knew it and shrieked -horrid oaths at each other. The belts knew it and -squealed. Scotty knew it and groaned, for he alone, -bar accidents, could stop Ginger's drunken debauch -of labour. -</p> - -<p> -But the men he played on knew it best and -almost cheered him when they got the pace and -found it at first so easy. They were all young, not -an old man among them, Ginger White himself -was the senior of them all. They could love and -work and fight and play hell, for they had youth -in them. They had to show it to the song and -dance of the Saw, the song and dance of the flying -dust. The engines ran easy, and their muscles -played beneath a glistening moist skin as with open -shirts they did what came to their hands. "Go it, -you devils," and "Let her scoot," and "Oh, hell," -they said. -</p> - -<p> -They smiled and were happy enough, but as the -hum increased and the great skids got full over -against the Pony Saw, you might have seen Long -Mac's smile die down into a good settled seriousness, -quite worth seeing. Long Mac had a way of dreaming -as he worked, for he had a power of thought and -was sadly intelligent, but when Ginger started trying -them high, he had no time to think, well as he knew -all things a saw-mill man may and shall know. -The skids were piled high, you shall understand, -you greenhorns, and he knew how it would rejoice -Ginger White to see that they would take no more, -while everything the wedgers-off tried to sling on -the pile rolled backwards to the very rollers. That -would please White: he would give a shrug of his -shoulders as if to say— -</p> - -<p> -"What a damned loafing lazy lot I've to do with!" -</p> - -<p> -"To hell with Ginger," said Mac. He set his -teeth. The lumber flew: he took risks: for swift -running in a Mill means risks. Some of the lumber -was shaky, ring-shakes and wind-shakes were in it, -and in some of the wet-shakes fine white gum. -When the saw strikes a shake the loose pieces work -out: some are like to touch the teeth of the saw and -get picked up! What that means is that the -helper to the Pony Saw is shot at by jagged lumps of -wood: they come by whizzing like a horrid bullet. -Mac and his man watched and at times Mac lifted -his hand and his helper ducked as the Saw said -"Phit, phit," and threw things at him. It was -exciting, it made the blood run fast in his veins -to know that at any moment he might be killed, -and be so quiet. -</p> - -<p> -This was the battle of the lumber: for saws kill -men and logs, kill them and maim them, oho, but -the day was fine and the fight long! Down in the -boom the man of the Boom, the man with the long -pole, who made the logs swim to their ascent to -the Temple, whence they were dragged by the -Bull-Wheel, had his work cut out, but worked. If he -kept Ginger waiting, Ginger would skip over the -skids and come to the open way that led down to -the Boom and use sulphurous language. -</p> - -<p> -"What the—how the—why the—oh, hell, are we -to shut down and go home? Hump yourself, -Paul, hump yourself." -</p> - -<p> -And much worse if it hadn't been that Paul, a -thin silent dark man, was reputed dangerous, and -was said to have killed a man in Texas, somewhere -in the neighbourhood of El Paso, where not a few -pass up the golden stairs on an unholy sudden. -But the atmosphere down there is fine, in its way: -you shall not believe otherwise, I entreat you. -</p> - -<p> -It was towards noon when Mac had Ginger beat -or near it. Or if not that, he saw that Mac wasn't to -be overcome. The Trimmers, Wong, the Chinee, -and Willett, the Englishman, had the thing down -fine, for Wong knew his business and Willett was -at hard as a keg of nails or a coil of barbed wire. -He could claw and sling and work and sweat with -any. -</p> - -<p> -And still Ginger sent the thing going and again -spurted, for Quin came in! -</p> - -<p> -"Stand back, clear the track for Mr. Josephus -Orange-Blossom," said the nigger, the coon, the -"shiny" (not a Sheeny, by the way) of the song. -That was the way Quin felt. He felt like someone -in particular. Indeed he always did, but now with -Jenny at his house, clad in beautiful clothes and -looking "a real daisy," he was very proud of himself. -That's the way the male has, if the truth be said, -men or moose or wapiti, or a lion or a tiger for -that matter: or, let us say, a tom-cat. -</p> - -<p> -He was full of himself! And all he wanted to -do now was to "fire" Pete and get him out of the -place, as was natural. -</p> - -<p> -Some men would have done it even without -excuse, though that is difficult, but George Quin -had some natural or unnatural notion of justice -and couldn't go so far. He watched Pete with -critical half-savage eyes. Was there a glint of pity -in them? Perhaps, tilikum, for a man is hard -to know. -</p> - -<p> -If this was Ginger's day and Ginger's hour when -Quin looked in, it was Pete's day too, for he threw -his poor outraged Indian soul into labour and did, -oh, he did very well. Quin saw that he did, he was -pleased with the man, and seeing that he had to -pay him, the work pleased him. Pete's face was -hard now and his eyes glittered: his muscles stood -up: his face and neck were wet: they glistened. -He went like a machine: and never made a mistake. -He climbed a five-foot log on the carriage -close to the teeth of the saw (the sawdust was in -his hair and it looked white and woolly) like a -cougar, at one bound. He worked up Skookum -Charlie in like manner and made the Siwash -like it. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he's good," said Quin approving and yet -savage. "Oh, he's——" and then Scotty yanked -the whistle lanyard and the whistle said, "Knock -off, you galoots, galoots, galoo-oots!" -</p> - -<p> -The men threw up their heads, and most wiped -their brows as they straightened their backs and -said "Oo!" They breathed and filled their lungs -and then thought of their empty bellies and started -for the Hash-house. But White, always polite and -obsequious, stayed a while with Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"We've cut a lot, Mr. Quin," said White; "the -boom's nigh empty." -</p> - -<p> -"More in to-day," replied Quin. "How's your -wedger-off doin'? If he don't suit you, fire him, -White." -</p> - -<p> -"He's the best man I've had this year," said -White. He did not understand why Quin grunted -and turned his back on him. If he had known -Pete would have gone that day. -</p> - -<p> -"What's wrong?" asked White. "Well, I made -'em skip to-day." -</p> - -<p> -So the men thought as they piled into the hash, -and said what they thought of him and grubbed in -anticipation of an afternoon the equal of the -morning. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a swine but a first-class sawyer, and no -mistake, no fatal error, eh, what? He made us skip -and sweat to-day, but never piled us up! That -was what the tallow-faced swine was after, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"You bet! Here Fan Tong, or Hang Chow, -more chow this way! White's a swine; oh, he -made us skip." -</p> - -<p> -"'E's a 'oly terror," said Willett. -</p> - -<p> -"A tough from Terror Flat!" -</p> - -<p> -"No razor in his boot, though! There ain't -no real fight in Tallow-Chops. Pass the mustard." -</p> - -<p> -What a good life it was! And the chewing was -good enough for a boss hobo, death on three fine -squares or set-downs, and don't you forget it! -</p> - -<p> -But Pete grubbed silently in Indian Annie's, who -moaned to him about Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn klootchman, I forget her," said Pete. -Yet many days passed and he did not forget. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -When they were all out of the Mill, Quin stood -and stared at the dead saws without seeing them. -</p> - -<p> -"It's hard lines: but I can't fire him," said Quin. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -IX -</h3> - -<p> -For the workers, these Bees in a Wood Hive, the -days passed swiftly. Oh, it was wonderful how they -passed! The dawn broke up night's massed army -and chased it into the Pacific Ocean, and round the -quick little world, and again fled. The days went -round like a wheel, like a saw. They came up and -flowered: they died down and were not. Only -Sunday stayed like a monstrous month, an -oppression as all workers find it, an unnecessary day -when every muscle and nerve ask for the habit of -big work. We cursed and groaned on Sunday, -tilikum, and if you don't like to believe it, there's -no one will plug you for doing the other thing. -Sunday wasn't an Oasis, it was a desert. On -Monday it was, however, desirable: Tuesday pined -for it: Wednesday yearned for it: Thursday -screamed for it: Friday sickened for it and -Saturday hallooed joyfully with it in sight. And by -ten on Sunday the Workers loathed it. -</p> - -<p> -But the swift days of work were the days. They -streamed past like a mountain torrent. Even sad -and sorry Pete found it so. He smote his wedges -with his maul and, lo and behold! a day was dead; -and the stars sang above the hills and the starlight -gleamed on the Fraser's shining flood. He laid his -head, his cabeza, on a pillow (unwashed) and it was -day. Again it was night. -</p> - -<p> -Yet for one the hours were strange and slow. She -looked out from the house on the hill-side and saw -the slow sun wheel his team into the West, as if his -horses drew innumerable thousands and hundreds of -the world's big freight. Poor Jenny, now plump and -sweet and beautifully clad, and learned in the -delights of hot water (of which Sam was a kind of -prophet, for he loved baths as if he were a Japanese), -found the days slow in spite of baths and clothes -and cleanliness. The poor dear pined a little, as -one might who had lived wildly, for the ruder joys -of her earlier life. Things were onerous. She -wanted at certain hours to sit down, to "squat -upon her hunkers" and suck at a pipe, perhaps. -A yarn with wretched Annie or Annawillee would -have been pleasing. She even thought of Pete, -though she was getting very fond of her -conqueror Quin, who dominated her wonderfully. -That was her nature; for if some conqueror of -Quin had come along she would have gone with -him, very likely, as a wapiti hind will follow a -conquering wapiti. And yet who can say? I -cannot; for I think she loved Quin very well -indeed, though he denied her the trivial consolations -of Indian bawdry with Annie or mournful Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow I think Jenny was very good. One -can't say. She grew prettier and gentler every day, -every hour. Sam admired her frankly and was very -polite. It was his nature. He told Quin quite -openly what he thought, and sometimes gave him -good advice. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee Missus heap pletty, Mista Quin," said -Sam, "evely day mo' pletty, maskee my tinkee she -velly sad, hab noting to do. Missus wantche flin, -Mista Quin, t'at what she wantchee. No can lead, -no can lite, my tinkee, no can makee dless allo tim'. -T'at velly sad. No likee cookee chow-chow, she -say." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. She wanted a friend -("wantchee flin"), that was a fact, and all Quin -could do was to order her more dresses and linen -from Victoria. He got her picture-books (for, as -Sam said, "she no can lead") and talked to her -about what she saw there. When he was with her -she was happy. -</p> - -<p> -"I velly happy at night-time, Tchorch," she -said meekly. "But daytime velly keely, very sad." -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch" Quin picked her up in his arms and -set her on his knee. -</p> - -<p> -"Litty gal, I love you, tenas," he answered, mixing -the lingoes. Perhaps he did love her. Quien sabe?—as -Chihuahua said about everything uncertain. -</p> - -<p> -"You love me, Tchorch?" she asked flushing, -"velly much?" -</p> - -<p> -"Tenas, hyu, hyu, very much indeed, little one." -</p> - -<p> -"I not mind if the day is sad, then," said Jenny. -She regarded him with big sad eyes, and then looked -down. -</p> - -<p> -"But I not a good woman, Tchorch." -</p> - -<p> -Quin frowned and grumbled. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn nonsense, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -But it wasn't damn nonsense to Jenny. And -most especially it wasn't so on Sundays, though on -that day she had George Quin all to herself and the -greedy Mill stood quiet. On Sundays she heard the -tinkling church bells, and when the wind blew lightly -from the east the sound of distant singing came up -to her as she stood at the open window. She -remembered what the good Missionary, the "kloshe -leplet," had said about goodness, and badness, and -the Commandments. There were ten of them, Jenny -remembered, though she had been to no service ever -since she lived at Cultus Muckamuck's ranche. -</p> - -<p> -"I velly wicked, Tchorch," she said mournfully. -"I blake the Commandments!" -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said George Quin, "don't cry about -it, kiddy. I've kicked 'em all to flinders myself. -If you go to Lejaub's hyas piah, I go with you, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -He kissed her. His bold and ready undertaking -to go to hell with her was really very consoling. His -statement that he had broken all the Commandments -comforted her: it showed his good faith. -Jenny had a wonderfully material view of hell, and -her imagination showed it to her as a sawmill in -flames. She had seen the Mill at Kamloops on fire, -that is why. Now George Quin was the Manager of -the Mill and the owner and a big strong man. She -had a kind of dim notion that he would be able to -manage a good deal even in hell. -</p> - -<p> -And besides she loved him really. There's no -doubt about it, and even he knew it. -</p> - -<p> -The big strong brute of a man was very gentle -with her, and let her "cly" a little when she thought -of the good missionary (who happened to have been a -very bad man, by the way, though many of them -were splendid) and the wood fires of the diabolical -saw-mill of which Lejaub the devil was manager. -</p> - -<p> -But he never knew how her feelings worked on -her when he was away, and indeed if he had known -there might not have been the trouble that there was. -And he had entirely forgotten that he had a Bible -in the house: the gift of his old mother who still -lived in Vermont, far away to the East. -</p> - -<p> -The Bible was the source of all the woe that -followed when a big deal in lumber took Quin over -to Victoria and kept him there three days. He had -more than half a mind to take her with him, and if -her speech hadn't betrayed her origin he would have -done it like a shot. And when he went Jenny -cried as if he were going to cross the Big Salt Chuck -or the Pacific. Though her mother had been a -Hydah she knew nothing of the waters. -</p> - -<p> -"I much aflaid of Pete," she thought. -</p> - -<p> -But Quin gave great directions to Sam and he -believed he could trust him. -</p> - -<p> -"My look see evely ting," said Sam. "Missus all -light: my givee good chow-chow, hot wata, blush -dlesses, t'at all light. My no lettee Missus go out? -No, good, my no lettee." -</p> - -<p> -But he played Fan-tan of course, and couldn't be -expected to stay in all the time, or to understand that -the Missus was upset in her mind about morality. -And he knew nothing and cared less about the Bible. -There wasn't the making of a rice Christian in him -unless rice was very scarce indeed, and now he lived -on the fat of the land of British Columbia. -</p> - -<p> -So the day after she had cried herself to sleep, -she came across the Bible. -</p> - -<p> -It was not quite a family Bible, and only weighed -a pound or so, but it had a biblical cover of sullen -puritanical leather which suggested that the very -bookbinder himself was of the sourest disposition, -a round-head, a kill-joy, with ethics equal to the best -Scotch morality. This binding alone, however, -would have had comparatively little effect on the -childish mind of Jenny. But the book had in it -dour and savage pictures of so surprising a lack of -artistic merit that they struck her down at once, -poor child. In spite of the lack of colour the -dreadful draughtsman made very effective curly-whirly -flames in a hell which was remarkably like a study -of a suburban coal-cellar, and the victims of his fire -and ferocity expressed the extremest anguish as -they fried on eternal grids! Oh, horrors, but the -pictures brought back to the fearful mind of the -tenas klootchman all the dread with which the good -(or bad) minister, Alexander Mickie, had inspired her -when she attended Sunday School at Kamloops and -heard him preach in Chinook. For Chinook is no -more than a few hundred words and most of them -are very material. So was Mickie's mind, whether -he preached openly or drank in secret, and the hyas -piah of Lejaub, or the great fire of the Devil (Lejaub -being equal to Le Diable), was a hot wood fire to -Jenny. She believed naturally enough in Lejaub -much more than in God, for her Indian blood helped -her there, or rather hindered her, and the English -God was a far-off notion to a mind not given to -high abstractions. -</p> - -<p> -So Jenny when she got the picture Bible sat with -it in her lap and trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"I a bad woman, I go to hell; very wrong for me -to love Tchorch!" was her mind's commentary -as she turned the blind pages for some other picture. -</p> - -<p> -And every now and again she turned back to the -curling flames and elaborate grids of hell. She -traced in some anguished lineaments a remote -likeness to herself. Then she fell to weeping, and -weeping Sam found her. He was sympathetic. On the -whole Sam was a very good sort. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you cly, Missus?" -</p> - -<p> -It was in vain for her to say she wasn't crying. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes, you cly, Missus, but what for you cly? -Mista Quin he come back to-molla." -</p> - -<p> -He might even be back that night, as Sam knew, -though he would not be till late. But Jenny sobbed -and the Bible slipped from her knees upon the floor. -Sam picked it up and recognised it at once. He -snorted as he gave it her back. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee no good lead dis," he said solemnly. -"My tinkee all the stolies in it lies, Missis. My -savvy one, two, tree, piecee Joss-pidgin-man Chinaside, -what you callee leplet, my savvy Yingling word, -miss'onary, and he talkee no good. My tinkee him -got wata topside, clazy, pelton you say." -</p> - -<p> -Out of this difficult hishee-hashee of words Jenny -extracted the notion that in Sam's opinion missionaries -were fools, for "leplet" and "pelton" put -together mean that. She shook her head and sobbed. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee no good makee littee Missus cly," said -Sam. "T'at book makee nicee litty gal cly allo -time. My see um. No good littee gal cly: my say -it damn foolo book. Mista Quin him velly good -man: plenty chow-chow, dlesses and Sam for -washee evelyting. Missus, you no lead Bible. Him -no good. Damn foolo stoly, my savvy." -</p> - -<p> -But what good was it for a Chinaman to tell her -that? -</p> - -<p> -"Him velly good book, I tink, Sam," she said -earnestly. -</p> - -<p> -"My no tinkee," returned Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"It belongs to Mista Quin," urged the "Missus." -</p> - -<p> -"Him never lead him," said Sam triumphantly. -"My putty him away and Mista Quin him never -savvy." -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps that was true. But then was not -"Tchorch" wicked too? -</p> - -<p> -Her lips trembled and she opened the book again -at the fiery picture. -</p> - -<p> -"What t'at picture?" asked Sam, quite eager to see. -</p> - -<p> -"It's hell," said Jenny, trembling. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Sam, "t'at Debelo's house. T'at all -light. Wong him velly clever man, him say Debble-Debble -here all light, but only China-side belong -God. My tinkee too. Wong say one time no food, -no licee, and evelybody hungly, and makee player -to Posa, allo same God, and nex' day one foot licee -all over. T'at China-side, galaw. But my no can -stay: my cookee chow-chow: Missus no cly, -Debble-Debble never take litty gal, Missus." -</p> - -<p> -But the fact remained that even Sam believed the -devil was in British Columbia (and all America, of -course), even if God only thought of China. On the -whole Sam's cheerful intervention did harm rather -than good. Jenny did put the book away and tried -not to think of the "hyas piah," but as the evening -came on there was a gorgeous sunset and even that -brought fire to her timid mind. When it was dark -she shivered and was glad to see a light. Then she -got out the book again. -</p> - -<p> -She was living a very wicked life, oh, yes, the -missionaries would say that. She was Pete's wife -and was living with Tchorch! That was very -wrong, it was against the Commandments. -</p> - -<p> -What ought she to do? -</p> - -<p> -What was right? -</p> - -<p> -If only George were back! That is what her -heart said, for now she hungered for him very -bitterly, because she felt she would see him no more. -The little girl had gone so far on the burning path of -repentance. She <i>must</i> see him no more: and what -she saw in the gloom was the glow of the Pit itself. -She ran to the window and looked down on the quiet -world and the few shining lights of the quiet city and -the star-shine on the great river. But all these were -as nothing to her loneliness and her sudden fear and -all the awful threats of hell that came back to her in -such an hour. She fell upon her knees and tried to -pray and found herself murmuring, "Tchorch, dear -Tchorch." He was coming back to her that night -and was glad to come back, for he had no notion, -no adequate notion of what a bad man he was. He -loved the tenas klootchman, loved her far better, -perhaps, than the white woman who had scorned him -because of dead Lily's predecessors. -</p> - -<p> -But Lily was now no more than a dead flower -unremembered in some spring garden. He was going -back to Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -She cried as she prayed to God and said -"Tchorch!" George was the little foolish woman's -prayer, and it may be a good one. The name of the -Beloved is for ever a prayer, tillikum. -</p> - -<p> -It was nearly ten o'clock when Sam looked in. -He did not think Quin would come now. It was -late for the S.S. <i>Yosemite</i>. -</p> - -<p> -"You all light, Missus?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -And she said that she was all right and Sam went -away down to Wong's shack for an hour's Fan-tan. -He hoped to make a few dollars easily, so that he -could go back China-side and buy one "litty piecee -waifo" for himself so that he could have children to -attend to his ashes and his kindly paternal spirit. -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny saw her spirit, her soul, her body, in the -flames. -</p> - -<p> -She must go back to Pete, and ask him to forgive -her. He would beat her badly, she knew, and he -would tear her "dless" from her and speak things -of shame. -</p> - -<p> -"I have shem," she said. She heard Sam go -down the path singing a high-pitched quavering -Chinese song. When he was quite gone she began -to weep, and wept until she was ill. She stumbled -blindly round the room, and went into the bedroom -and kissed things of George's, and the very bed -itself, and then went out into the darkness. In that -hour, the poor child forgot how beautifully she was -dressed. She stumbled in light shoes down the -path, and as she went she wished she were dead. -For Pete would be cruel. He would beat her and -take her back. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm very wicked," she said, weeping. George -would be unhappy. She turned with her empty -arms outstretched to the hill above her, to the empty -house. George had been very good to her. -</p> - -<p> -She passed Wong's shack. Sam was in there -with half a dozen others, and they were hard at it -gambling. After Wong's came Skookum Charlie's -and then Indian Annie's. The next shack was -Pete's. She sank down in the darkness between the -two shanties in a state of fear and stupor. In front -of her was shame and cruelty and behind her the -fires of hell. But she wanted to be good. -</p> - -<p> -There was no light in Pete's shack. When she -saw that, she hoped for one despairing moment that -he had gone away. Yet she knew that if he had -gone George would have told her. Most likely he -was with Indian Annie. He would be at least -half-drunk. She felt dreadfully beaten. There was -a roar of bestial silly laughter from Indian Annie's. -</p> - -<p> -From down the river almost abreast of Lulu -Island there came the sound of a steamer's whistle. -It meant nothing to her and Sam did not hear it. -Annie's door opened and Annawillee ran out reeling. -She was going home to Chihuahua and had to -pass Jenny, crouching on the sawdust in silks and -fine linen. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," groaned Jenny as Annawillee came along -crooning in mournful tones her old ballad that said -she was "keely." When she was close to Jenny -she reeled and recovered and stood for a moment -straddle-legs. She hiccupped and in the clear -darkness saw Jenny without knowing her. -</p> - -<p> -"Who you?" she hiccupped. -</p> - -<p> -Then she saw who it was, and burst into idiotic laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Jenny klootchman," she screamed. And -Pete came out of Annie's to go home. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that, Annawillee?" he asked in the -thick voice of liquor. "What you say, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Annawillee forgot there was money and drink -in Pete's not knowing, and she stood there -laughing—laughing as if her sides would split. -</p> - -<p> -"Your klootchman Jenny she come home," said -Annawillee. And Jenny groaned as Pete came -running. -</p> - -<p> -Before he spoke a word, he kicked her. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn klootchman," he said. He took her -by the hair and dragged her along the ground while -Annawillee still laughed. And Jenny screamed. -</p> - -<p> -"Where's your man now, ha?" said Pete, -thickly. "I tink I kill you now." -</p> - -<p> -The <i>Yosemite</i> came alongside her wharf as if it -were bright day and Quin leapt ashore. -</p> - -<p> -As Pete dragged her, Jenny got upon her knees -and fell. And again she half-rose and again fell, -and under his brutal grip of her hair her scalp -seemed a flame of agony. She was sorry she had -determined to be good and to repent. She screamed -dreadfully and many heard. Some shrugged their -shoulders, for screams in Shack-Town were only too -common. Yet some came out of their houses. -Among them was Chihuahua. Indian Annie came -too, and before Pete had got his wife to his own door, -there were others, among them two Chinamen from -an overcrowded shanty further up the road. And -still they did not interfere. Jenny was Pete's -klootchman and she had run away. Like a fool she -had come back, and must suffer. There was none -among them that dared to interfere: for they feared -a knife. -</p> - -<p> -And as George Quin came ashore he heard Jenny's -screams. "Another drunken row," he said carelessly -as he faced the hill to his lonely house. He -was very glad to get back home to his tenas klootchman, -for he hated loneliness. He said "poor little -Jenny" as he walked. -</p> - -<p> -There was now a crowd about poor Jenny, for -more came running, more Siwashes, among them -Skookum Charlie, and more Chinamen. But still no -one interfered, though Annawillee shrieked even -more than Jenny. She implored Chihuahua to -kill Pete. But Chihuahua booted Annawillee and -made her howl on her own account. -</p> - -<p> -"She run way and come back," said Chihuahua. -"If she mine I kill her, carajo!" -</p> - -<p> -And Pete started kicking Jenny. Once and again -she cried out, and then the last of all who looked on -came like a fury at Pete. The bleared and haggard -and horrible old Annie was the one who had the -courage, and the only one. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, you damn Pete," she screamed. She got -her claws in Pete's long black hair and pulled him -down. She was a bundle of flying rags with a -savage cat in them. If Jenny were killed she would -be nothing to Annie, but while she lived she was -worth drinks. And perhaps Annie loved the little -klootchman. Who can tell? -</p> - -<p> -She and Pete rolled together on the dusty road, -and the onlookers shrieked with laughter. Quin -heard it as he climbed. -</p> - -<p> -"The row's over," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -More came out of the huts, and this time Wong, -old Wong, the philosopher was among them. And -with him came Lung and Wing, and at last Sam. -The Chinamen stood outside the circle of the Siwashes -and chattered. The first told the others that Pete -had killed his wife, and now was killing someone -else. The devilish twisting bundle in the dusty road -revolved and squealed. But Annawillee howled by -the side of Jenny, who lay insensible. Skookum -struck a light, and it shone upon the poor girl. It -showed her dress of scarlet, and Sam's quick eyes -saw it. He ran in quickly towards her, though the -wise Wong held him back. Chinamen never join -in alien rows if they can help it. It is wisest not -to, and they have much wisdom. Skookum's -match went out. Sam lighted another and knelt -beside Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ullo, Chinaman," grinned Skookum, "you -tink she dead, you tink mimaloose?" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, said Sam, this was Mista Quin's Missus right -enough. What did she want here? He called to -Wong, who came calmly, unhurriedly. Sam spoke -to him in their own tongue, and then Sam, who was -as quick to catch as Wong was wise to suggest, cried -out suddenly that the tenas klootchman was dead. -He took her in his arms and ran with her to Wong's -shack. And as he ran Pete got up from Annie, -whom he had choked into stillness. But his torn -face bled and one eye was nearly on his cheek. He -kicked Annie as she lay, and then turned to where -he had left Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Where my klootchman go?" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -They told him in a dreadful chorus that she -was dead, and he staggered back against his -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"Wong take her." -</p> - -<p> -They believed wise old Wong a physician, for -Chinamen have strange gifts. -</p> - -<p> -"I go see," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"No, you run 'way," said Skookum urgently. -He believed Jenny was dead. -</p> - -<p> -"Mus' I run?" asked Pete with a fallen jaw. -</p> - -<p> -"Dey hang you, Pete," screamed Annawillee -joyfully. Old Annie sat up in the road. -</p> - -<p> -"Where I go?" asked Pete. "I wis' I never -see Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He burst into tears. They brought him a bottle, -and told him to "dlink." They gave him advice -to go down the river, up the river, to the Inlet, to -the Serpentine, oh, anywhere from the Police. -</p> - -<p> -"I go," said Pete. He drank. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I—go," said Pete. He drank again, and -fell and lay like a log. -</p> - -<p> -"Now they catch Pete and hang him," screamed -Annawillee. Annie staggered across to him and -kicked him in the face. -</p> - -<p> -"Pig Pete," said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -Quin came to his empty house and called to tenas -Jenny. And then to Sam. When no answer came -he ran through the hall into the empty room where -the lamp was. On the floor he saw the Bible. He -understood. He quite understood. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -X -</h3> - -<p> -There was no doubt at all in George Quin's mind -as to what had happened, and perhaps he was not -wholly surprised. What did surprise him was his -own ferocious anger, and the wave of pity that even -swallowed up his wrath. -</p> - -<p> -"My God!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a man in the City who knew him a -little but was prepared to swear that Quin was a -brute, and a devil without any feeling to speak of. -It was said that he had killed Lily, the Haida girl, -when, as a matter of fact, it was his brother, Cultus -Muckamuck as the Siwashes called him, who had -done a deed like that. He had treated Lily well. -Her people said so. He had treated them well, the -greedy brutes! -</p> - -<p> -Now Quin was full of pity, and of jealousy. This -Bible had hurt her poor weak mind, no doubt of -that: and it had driven her back to Pete, perhaps. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said Quin again, "where else?" -</p> - -<p> -He remembered the screams he had heard coming -from Shack-Town as he landed. And as he -remembered he found himself running down the hill -in the starlit gloom. He wasn't a very young man -either. Quin was nearly forty: hard and set: at -times a little stiff. Now he went recklessly. -</p> - -<p> -"If Pete——" -</p> - -<p> -It didn't bear thinking of, so Quin wouldn't -think of it. He was jealous, hideously jealous. -He could have torn Pete asunder with his powerful -hands. He felt his nerves in a network within him, -and in his skin. They thrilled like fire. -</p> - -<p> -"My poor little Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -Why, the fact was that he loved her! When one -comes to think of it, this was a monstrous -discovery for him to make. He had really never -loved anyone, certainly not dead Lily, more -certainly not that white woman over in Victoria, though -he thought he had. What he felt for Jenny was a -revelation; it made him a saint and a devil at once, -as passion does even the best and worst of men. -And Quin had force and fire, and bone, and muscle -and a big heavy head and hands like clip-hooks. Now -passion shook him as if he were a rag in the wind. -</p> - -<p> -He came down to Shack-Town, and stopped. -He was hot but again he sweated ice. He looked -down the road and saw figures moving. -</p> - -<p> -"Which is the shack?" he asked himself. -</p> - -<p> -He went past Wong's house, where Jenny lay -on a table with ten jabbering Chinamen around -her. He heard a high-low sing-song of their chatter -and cursed his boy Sam for leaving the house as he -had done. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick the damn stuffin' out of him," said -Quin savagely. -</p> - -<p> -He passed Indian Annie's and saw the group -beyond it, standing about Pete's recumbent body. -Skookum Charlie was almost in tears to think that -Pete would be hanged. Annie wiped her bloody -face with her skirt. Annawillee, howling curses -at Pete, sat by her. -</p> - -<p> -"What's all this?" said Quin, coming out of -the darkness. He saw Pete, or rather saw a body. -He spoke hoarsely. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, oh!" said Skookum, scrambling to -his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" asked Quin again. "Kahta -mamook yukwa? What do you do here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pete him kill Jenny," screamed Annawillee. -Quin staggered back. -</p> - -<p> -"He, he——" -</p> - -<p> -He pointed at the drunken man. -</p> - -<p> -"Not mimaloose, him dlunk," said Annawillee, -"Jenny with Chinaman." -</p> - -<p> -Skookum led Quin, the big Tyee, to Wong's -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"If she's dead——" said Quin, looking towards -Pete. He opened Wong's door. -</p> - -<p> -The room was eight feet by twelve by ten: it -reeked of fierce tobacco and the acrid fumes of -"dope." Some of them "hit the pipe," smoked -opium. The smell was China; Quin, who had been -there, knew it. With the odours of Canton were -the odours of bad oil. Three lamps ate up the air. -Quin saw a row of whitish masks about the table: -some excited, some stupid, one or two villainous. -At the head of the table was the quiet majestic head -of the old philosopher Wong. He had a great -domed skull and a skin of drawn parchment over -wide bones. With a sponge he wiped blood from -Jenny's face. Sam held a bowl of water. He -looked anxious and strange. And Jenny's body, -in white linen and crimson silk, fouled with -sawdust and blood, lay there quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"Is she dead?" asked Quin. -</p> - -<p> -The philosopher, whose shiny skin declared his -love of opium, said she was not dead. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee she all light bymby," said Wong, -"She belongy you, Tyee?" -</p> - -<p> -"Turn the others out," said the Tyee, and at -Wong's word they fled out of the door, and stood -in the dark jabbering about Quin having taken -Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -Quin turned on Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"Why did you leave the house, Sam? My tell -you stop, you damn thief!" -</p> - -<p> -Sam, now as pale as Jenny, threw out his hands -in urgent deprecation of Quin's anger. -</p> - -<p> -"My no go out," he lied, "my stay allo tim' -with Missus, maskee she go out and my no findee. -I lun down here, Mista Quin, lun queek, findee -damn Pete hurtee Missus. T'at tlue. My tellee -Missus no cly: maskee she lead Bible and cly. -My no can do." -</p> - -<p> -He wrung his hands. Perhaps what he said was -true. Quin felt Jenny's pulse and found it at last. -He saw she breathed. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll have her home," he said. -</p> - -<p> -They took the door off its hinges, and Sam with -the others carried her up to the house. Wong went -into town to ask the doctor to come to Quin's at -once "chop-chop," and Dr. Jupp came. He found -Jenny on the bed moaning a little. -</p> - -<p> -"What's this, Quin?" asked Jupp, who knew -Quin well enough. -</p> - -<p> -Quin answered sullenly and told the truth. -</p> - -<p> -"Tut," said Jupp, "some day you'll get knifed, -Quin; why can't you get married and leave the -klootchmen alone?" -</p> - -<p> -He was a white-bearded old boy, who knew how -ignorant he was of medicine. But he knew men. -He went over Jenny carefully. -</p> - -<p> -"Two ribs broken," he said, "and the small -bone of the left arm. And a little concussion of the -brain. I think she'll do, Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Between them they made her comfortable after -Jupp had sent for splints and bandages. -</p> - -<p> -"She's very pretty," said Jupp, For Pete -hadn't kicked her face. "She's very pretty." -</p> - -<p> -"She's as good as gold, by God!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said Jupp. "I'll come in to-morrow -morning early. Shall I send you a nurse?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll sit up with her," said Quin. "You'd only -send some cursed white woman with notions." -</p> - -<p> -"Maybe," said Jupp, "they frequently have -'em incurably." -</p> - -<p> -Quin's face was white and hard. He stood up -and looked across the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you this little girl is as good as any white -woman in town, Jupp." -</p> - -<p> -Jupp took snuff habitually; he took some now. -</p> - -<p> -"Who the devil said she wasn't?" he asked -drily. He left the room. -</p> - -<p> -It was early morning before Jenny became -conscious, and even then Quin had great trouble -with her. For she was very sick. There was no -end to his patience. Nor was there any to Sam's. -The boy sat outside on the mat all night. -</p> - -<p> -"My askee Missus no tellee Boss my go playee -Fan-tan," he said nervously. -</p> - -<p> -At bright dawn Jenny found Quin half-dozing -with his head on the quilt under her hand. She -touched his hair tenderly, and he woke up. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch," she said feebly, with a heavenly -smile, "Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, little girl," said George. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink I no go away again, Tchorch. I no want -to be good, I want to stay with you. What you -tink, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down George's face. That's what -he thought. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick that damn Pete's head in," said George -to himself. -</p> - -<p> -"I no want to be good. I jus' want Tchorch," -said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -She closed her eyes and slept. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -XI -</h3> - -<p> -His friends, even including Skookum Charlie, left -Pete where he lay. If a man killed his klootchman -and then got pahtlum, or "blind-speechless-paralytic" -on something cousin-german to methylated -spirit, what could be done with him but let him -alone till the police came for him by daylight? -Don't forget, tilikums, that none of the officers of -the law could come in Sawdust Shack-Town after -dark. They would as soon have gone to Cloud -Cuckoo Town. It was as much as their cabezas -were worth, and that's a hard-wood truth, without -knots or shakes. The last time a constable (under -the influence of a good but uninstructed superior -and some bad whisky) did go into Shack-Town -after dark he stayed there in a pool of blood (or -what would have been a pool but for the convenient -sawdust) till it was broad daylight, and he took -much patching-up before he got into running again. -After dark we had it to ourselves, Whites, Reds, -and all colours who were of the order of the Mill, -or the disorder of it. The "bulls" or "cops" or -"fingers," as hoboes say, kept order in the orderly -uptown streets. -</p> - -<p> -Skookum "quit" and went home. So did -Annawillee, whom Chihuahua hauled off as he was -doubtful of her morals in the dark. But Annie, -whose windpipe was exceedingly sore, went out -several times and booted Pete in the ribs where he -lay, as a kind of compensation or cough lozenge. -However, she let up on him at last and went home to -"pound her ear" in the sleep of the just and -virtuous. It never even occurred to her that Pete -didn't know anything whatsoever about Quin -being the man who had kapsuallowed or stolen his -dear Jenny. Everybody else knew, Chinamen, -Swedes, Lapps, Letts, Finns, Spaniards and a -number of whites of the rougher kind who camped -in Shack-Town. I knew myself. But the man who -ought to have known didn't. It was a sign that life -is the same everywhere. -</p> - -<p> -Pete woke up before dawn, as it seems to be a -revenge of nature to make drunken men wake when -they can't find a drink, and when he woke he hadn't -the remotest notion of what had happened to him. -He knew that he had a thirst on him of a miraculous -intensity, and when he moved he was aware that he -had a pain in his side which almost made him forget -his thirst. For Annie wore a man's shoes, with -heavy soles to them. And when a man is helpless -and his ribs open even a woman's kicks can do -mischief. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," said Pete, "ah!" -</p> - -<p> -He rolled over and groaned, poor devil. And, -just as the secret dawn began to flame, so the red -deeds of the night before began to come up to him. -He sat up and his jaw fell. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Pete, "I tink I—I kill Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -There's a crowd of virtuous ones who will imitate -Annie and boot him in the ribs, poor devil. He -drank and gambled and played hell and beat his -wife and drove her into the arms of Quin. Even -a missionary, who ought to know something about -such humanity, would disapprove of him. And -those whites of high nobility and much money and -great station, who are ready, in like cases, to drag -their own wretched women by the hair of the head -through the bloody sawdust of the Divorce Court, -and who hire (at so many guineas and one or two -more) some gowned ruffian to boot her in the ribs, -will objurgate Pete perhaps, poor chap. He had no -chance to know better and now the terrors of the -rope and the gallows had hold of him. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was brave enough, even if he did kick -klootchmen. As Ginger White knew, he was the -best wedger-off thereabouts, and could have got a -job at any of the big Mills of the Sound or the Inlet. -He could ride a horse and fight a man of his own -weight quite well enough. Indeed there was nothing -wrong with him but the fact that he was a Sitcum -Siwash and given to drink when it was handy. -Up at Cultus Muckamuck's, where it wasn't handy, -he was as sober as any judge and a deal more sober -than some out West. He was brave enough. -</p> - -<p> -But when he thought of being hanged he wasn't -brave. He sat up and wondered why he wasn't in -the Calaboose or cooler or jail already. He looked -round fearfully as if he expected to see Jenny's -body there. Then he groaned and felt his ribs. -It was odd he should be so sore. But the oddest -thing was that he wasn't already jailed. -</p> - -<p> -"I don' b'lieve I kill Jenny after all," said Pete. -And as soon as he didn't believe it, he very naturally -determined to do it as soon as possible. He staggered -to his feet, and made for his shack, thinking -that Jenny perhaps was there. Of course it was as -empty as an old whisky bottle, and Pete scratched -his head. Then the dawn came up, and just about -the time that Jenny was murmuring that she didn't -want to be good but only wanted "Tchorch," he -went out again and ran against Annie, who had also -waked up with a thirst and with an idea that it -would ease her throat and her mind if she went out -and had another go at Pete's ribs. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah, you pig Pete," she said with her jaw out -at him and her skinny throat on the stretch. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you call me pig, you damn Annie?" -demanded Pete, savagely. -</p> - -<p> -"Because you halo good, no good, damn bad man, -try to kill you tenas klootchman," yapped Annie -raucously as she spat. -</p> - -<p> -"You a damn fool," said Pete. "Jenny she -been away from me——" -</p> - -<p> -"Yah," yelled Annie, "she find a good man, and -Mista Quin, he give her good dlesses, he velly kind to -Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -It was a blow between the eyes for Pete, and he -staggered as if he had been struck. His jaw -dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, kahta mika wau-wau, what you -say?" he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -"I say she now Mista Quin's klootchman: he -velly good to her. By-by he come and kill you, -because you kick his klootchman. Las' night he say -he mamook you mimaloose, kill you dead, you pig -Pete," she squealed, withdrawing into her house, so -that she could slam the door on him if he made a -rush. But truly it was the last thing he thought of. -</p> - -<p> -"The Tyee take my klootchman!" he said with -a fallen jaw, "the Tyee——" -</p> - -<p> -The boss had taken Jenny! -</p> - -<p> -"Dat tlue, Annie?" he asked weakly. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat tlue, you pig," said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -Pete made a horrid sound in his throat like a -strangled scream and Annie slammed and bolted -her door and got a bar of iron in her hands as quick -as she could move. -</p> - -<p> -"I kill Mista Quin," screamed Pete. "I kill heem!" -</p> - -<p> -He ran to his shack on the instinct to find something -then and there to kill the boss with. But he -had no weapon, not even a good knife. -</p> - -<p> -"I kill him all same," said Pete. As the men in -the South would have said he was "pretty nigh off -his cabeza." -</p> - -<p> -He started to work on his shack, and smashed the -windows and their frames and then all the wretched -furniture in both rooms. By the time the house was -an utter wreck he felt a little calmer. But though -many heard him none came near. It might be -dangerous. Then at last it was daylight: there was -a pleasant golden glow, and the river was a stream -of gold. The tall Mill chimneys began to smoke, for -Scotty's helper fed the fires early. -</p> - -<p> -"I go to work all same," said Pete, "and I see Quin." -</p> - -<p> -He ground his teeth and then took a drink of -water, and spat it out. There was nothing that he -wouldn't have given for some whisky, but who ever -had whisky in Shack-Town early in the morning? -He had to do without it. And at last the whistle -spoke and the sun shone, and the working bees came -out of their hives and went to the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -There was a devil of a wau-wau going on that -morning in the Engine-Room, for the place was -crowded. Some Chinamen even were allowed to -come inside, for they had news to give. The -patriarch and philosopher Wong was interrogated by -Mac and Shorty Gibbs and Tenas Billy (white man -in spite of Tenas). -</p> - -<p> -"Quin—eh, what?" said Tenas Billy with open -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"He took Jenny! Well I'm damned," said Gibbs. -</p> - -<p> -"I never reckoned that slabsided cockeyed roust-about -Jack Mottram took her," said Long Mac. -"But I own freely I never gave a thought to Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he was always a squaw-man," said Ginger -White. "What was that talk of a gal called Lily? -Wasn't she from Coquitlam?" -</p> - -<p> -"She was a Hydah, but I never seen her," said -another. Papp the German intervened. -</p> - -<p> -"She was a bretty gal. I zeen her mit Quin at -Victoria; no, at Nanaimo. She died of -gonsumption, boys." -</p> - -<p> -They had heard Quin had killed her, kicked her -when she was going to be a mother. -</p> - -<p> -"It ain'd drue," said Papp. "Thad was the -odder Quin, him dey galls Gultus Muckamuck. -When I was ub to Gamloops I saw her grave. Gultus -kigged her in the stomag, poor thing, and she died." -</p> - -<p> -"Is it true Pete killed Jenny last night?" asked -young Tom Willett, who had just come in. -</p> - -<p> -Wong had told Long Mac all about it and he had -told the others. They all told Tom Willett all about -it at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete hadn't better run up agin Quin this day," -said Ginger. "I've lost the best wedger-off I ever -struck." -</p> - -<p> -He saw Skookum Charlie grinning in a corner. -</p> - -<p> -"And now I've got to put up with Skookum. -I guess Pete has lighted out." -</p> - -<p> -"Pulled his freight for sure," said Tenas Billy. -Then Scotty yanked the whistle lanyard and the men -sighed and moved off. -</p> - -<p> -And as they moved Pete came in. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said those that saw him. They -scented trouble quick. -</p> - -<p> -There was no doubt there would be trouble. By -all accounts Pete had only just failed to kill the little -klootchman, and that he showed up afterwards, -when he knew that Quin had cut him out, was proof -enough of coming woe. -</p> - -<p> -Ginger White didn't like it. He had no nerve -for rows, in spite of his nasty temper, and to have -a murderous struggle between the wedger-off and -Quin, with guns shooting it might be (though gun-play -is rare in B.C.), made him shake. Even if no -"guns" came in there would be blood and hair -flying, and mauls and wedges and pickareens, and -perhaps a jagged slab or two. Ginger remembered -the huge nose with which outraged Simmons had -decorated him. -</p> - -<p> -"I ain't goin' to let Quin come in ignorant," said -Ginger. At the very first pause, while they were -rolling a mighty five foot log on the carriage, he -shoved his head through the wall to the Engine-Room. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Scotty, send over to the Office and let -Mr. Quin know that that swine Pete has turned up to work." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"And say he looks mighty odd, likely to prove -fightable," added Ginger. He went back to the lever. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of his off-days, when he couldn't drive -the Mill or the Saws for sour apples. It's the same -with everyone. It's no sacred privilege of artists to -be off colour. And yet in his way Ginger was an -artist. He played on the Mill and made an organ -of it: pulled out stops, made her whoop, voix -celeste, or voix diabolique. Or he waved his bâton -and made the Stick Moola a proper old orchestra, -wind and strings, bassoon, harp, lute, sackbut, -psaltery and all kinds of raging music. Now he -was at a low ebb and played adagio, even maestoso, -and was a little flat with it all. -</p> - -<p> -The quick men of the Mill loafed. Long Mac -flung off the tightener and put new teeth into his -saw with nicely-fitting buckskin. He took it easy. -So did everyone. The very Bull-Wheel never -groaned. Down below the Lath Mill chewed slowly. -The Shingle Mill, though it had all the cedar it could -eat, said at slow intervals, "I cut-a-shingle, ah," -ending with a yawn instead of a "Phit." -</p> - -<p> -The truth was that everyone was waiting. They -loafed with their hands but their minds were quick -enough. Tenas Billy of the Lath Mill every now -and again climbed up the chute to see if bloodshed -was imminent. Shorty Gibbs, the Shingle Sawyer, -did the same. The very Chinamen sorting flooring -underneath bobbed up like Jacks out of Boxes. -</p> - -<p> -Only Pete never raised his head from his work. -When he drove a steel dog into a log he did it with -vim and vice. -</p> - -<p> -He smashed Quin's big head every stroke. Quin's -head was a wedge under the maul. And it was nine -o'clock. Before ten Quin always came into the Mill -and stood as it were on deck, looking at his crew as -they sailed the Mill through forests, making barren -the lives of the green hills fronting the Straits. -</p> - -<p> -As ten drew on the work grew more slack and -men's minds grew intense. But a big log was on -the carriage, one nigh six foot in diameter. The slab -came off, and Pete and Skookum Charlie handled -it. Ginger set her for a fifteen-inch cant and sent -her at it. Just as the log obscured the doorway -Quin came in and no one saw him but Skookum. -Pete drove a wedge, and reached out his hand for a -loose one. Then he saw Quin. As he saw him he -forgot his work, and the saw nipped a little and -squealed uneasily. Ginger threw up his angry head -and stopped her and saw that Pete saw Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Here's trouble," said the men. The Pony Saw -stopped dead. The Trimmers ran back into their -casings. There was silence. The Lath Mill stayed -and the Shingle Saw and men's heads came up from -below. They heard Quin speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Get off that log," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Pete dropped off on the side away from Quin, as -quick as a mud-turtle. As he fell upon his feet he -grabbed a pickareen lying on the skids and ran round -the end of the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -"Look out, Sir," yelled Ginger. A dozen men -made a rush. -</p> - -<p> -Long Mac came over two skids at a time. The -only man who was near enough to do anything was -Skookum Charlie, but he feared Pete and had no -mind for any trouble. He was safer on the top of -the log. Ginger took a heavy spanner in his hand -and went round the other end of the log. He was -in time to see Pete rushing at Quin, who had nothing -in his hands. Quin was the kind of man who -wouldn't have, so much can be said for him. -</p> - -<p> -Now Quin was standing at the opening of the great -side chute, down which big cants and bents for -bridge-work were thrown sideways. It was a -forty-foot opening in the Mill's wall. It was smooth, -greasy, sharply inclined. At the foot of it were some -heavy eighteen-foot bents for bridge repairing. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Pete. It seemed to Quin that Pete -came quick and that the other men who were running -came very slow. Perhaps they did, for Pete was as -quick on his feet as any cat or cougar. He weighed -a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and light bone. -Quin weighed two hundred at the least. He wasn't -quick till he was hot. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete's quickness, though it caught Quin, yet saved him. -</p> - -<p> -Had he been less quick Quin would have stopped -his sharp downward pickareen. But Pete delivered -his blow too soon. He aimed for Quin's head, but -Quin dodged and the blow was a little short: instead -of catching him inside the collar-bone and penetrating -his lung, the steel point grazed the bone and -came down like fire through the pectoral muscle. -And Quin struck out with his right and caught Pete -on the point of his left elbow. The Sitcum Siwash -went back reeling and Ginger White flung his spanner -at him. It missed him by a hair's breadth and -Pete recovered. Before he could make another -rush Mac was within a yard of him. But something -passed Mac and struck Pete on the side of the head. -It was an iron ring from an old roller. The philosopher -Wong had flung it. Pete went over sideways, -grabbed at nothing, lost his pickareen, caught his feet -on the sill of the chute and pitched out headlong. -He shot down the ways into the bents below and -lay there quiet as a dead man. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you hurt?" asked Ginger White. Quin's -hand was to his breast. -</p> - -<p> -"A bit," said Quin, as he breathed hard. -</p> - -<p> -"It was a close call," said Ginger. The men -stood round silently. -</p> - -<p> -Skookum clambered down from the log. He was -a dirty-whitish colour, for he wasn't brave. -</p> - -<p> -"Pick that chap up," said Quin, "and see if he -is hurt. If he is some of you can carry him up to -the hospital." -</p> - -<p> -Though he pressed his hand tight to the open -wound in his breast he bled pretty fast, and presently -sat down on one of the skids. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll help you over to the Office," said Ginger -White, ever ready to be of service to the Tyee. They -went across together while Long Mac and some of -the boys picked up Pete. If it had been a close call -for Quin it had been even a closer one for the Sitcum -Siwash. He was as near a dead man to look at as -any man could be. The iron ring had only caught -him a glancing blow and cut his scalp, but when he -slid down the chute head-foremost his skull came -butt on solid lumber. Then he had turned over and -struck the edge of a bent with his arm. It was -broken. When Long Mac and three Chinamen -carried him to the hospital, on a door borrowed from -the Planing Mill, the surgeon there found his left -collar-bone was in two pieces as well. He had -serious doubts as to whether his skull was fractured -or not. On the whole, when he had made his examination, -he did not think so. But he had every sign -of severe concussion of the brain. -</p> - -<p> -"How did it happen?" asked Dr. Green when -they had turned Pete over to the nurses. -</p> - -<p> -Mac told him. -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said Green, who knew something -about Quin, "it is lucky for Quin that the chap -went for him first." -</p> - -<p> -"You think he'll die then?" asked Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"He might," said Green. "But he has a skull -that's thicker than paper. They can stand a lot, -some of em'. And others peg out very easy. It's -diseases fetch 'em, though, not injuries." -</p> - -<p> -So Mac went to the Mill again, leaving Pete on -his back in a fine clean bed for the first time in his -life. He was very quiet now. -</p> - -<p> -While Mac was at the hospital they had sent for -Dr. Jupp to look after Quin. When the old doctor -heard what had happened he shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"What did I tell him?" -</p> - -<p> -He found Quin pretty sick, but smoking all the -same. He was partially stripped and he had -plastered the wound till help came with a large pad -of blotting paper, which was nearly as primitive -as spiders' webs. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I got it, doc'," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Jupp shook his head again. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll never learn sense, I suppose. Let's look. -What was the weapon?" -</p> - -<p> -They showed him a pickareen, a half-headed pick -of bright steel some six inches long. -</p> - -<p> -"Lucky for you it wasn't an inch nearer," said -Jupp, "or you would have had froth in this blood!" -</p> - -<p> -Quin knew what he meant. In any case it was a -nasty wound, for part of it was ripped open. -Nevertheless Quin smoked all the time that Jupp washed -and dressed it, and said "Thank you" pleasantly -enough when the job was over. -</p> - -<p> -"Go home and lie down," said Jupp. "I'll be -up in an hour and see the cause of the war." -</p> - -<p> -So Quin, with the help of a clerk in the office, -found his way home to Jenny. As he went he saw -Mac coming down the road with long strides and -waited to hear what they said of Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"Will he go up the flume?" asked Quin, using a -common Western idiom. -</p> - -<p> -"Mebbe," said Mac. "The doc' allowed he -couldn't give me a pointer. He said it was a case -of might or mightn't." -</p> - -<p> -"Damn," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -When he got back to Jenny he never told her he -was hurt. He didn't even squeal when she rose up -in bed and put her arms about his neck and hurt his -wound badly. -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, Tchorch. You are velly good to -me," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -XII -</h3> - -<p> -In a place like the City on the Fraser, the time being -years ago, years I count mournfully, one can't -expect to run against genius in the shape of -surgeons and physicians. But most of the medicine-men -had queer records at the back of them, even -in B.C. Now Green, for instance, though he had -some of a doctor's instincts, didn't really know -enough to pass any English examination. He read -a deal and learnt as men died or got well under his -hands, and the hands of the nurses. As a result of -this Pete had a long solid time in bed. Even when -he apparently came to there was something very -wrong with him. He didn't know himself or -anything else. It took Green part of a month to -discover that he had better ask old Jupp to come -and see his Siwash patient. -</p> - -<p> -As the result of the consultation they put Pete -on the table and shaved his head and trephined -him and raised a depressed patch in his skull. It -was the bit with which he had put a depressed -place in a bridge bent. And then true intelligence -(of the Sitcum Siwash order) came back into Pete's -dark eyes, and he was presently aware that he -was Pitt River Pete, and that Jenny his klootchman -had run away with Quin and that he had gone -for Quin in the Mill. So far as Pete was concerned -this had happened a minute ago and he was very -much surprised to find himself opening his eyes on -two strange gentlemen in white aprons, and his -nose to the scent of chloroform, when an instant -before he had seen Quin in front of him among -the finer odours of fresh sawdust. Pete made a -motion to get up and finish Quin, but somehow he -couldn't and he closed his eyes again and went to -sleep. -</p> - -<p> -When he woke once more he was in a nice bed -with a white lady looking after his wants. He -wondered vaguely what a white klootchman was doing -there and again went to sleep. On the whole he -was very comfortable and didn't care about -anything, not even Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -When he woke again, he made the white klootchman -explain briefly what had happened to him. -The white klootchman did her best to follow his -wau-wau and gave him to understand that he had -had an accident in the Mill and an operation. And -it gradually dawned on Pete that all these -occurrences had caused a lapse of time almost miraculous. -Nothing that the white klootchman said convinced -him, however: it was the scent of the keen autumn -air coming down the river from his own home -mountains, the Pitt River Mountains. It was now -October and nearly the end of it, and there was -already a winter garment on the big hills. From -his window he could see the far cone of Mount -Baker, white and shining. When he looked a little -round the corner he saw his own hills. The air was -beautiful and keen, fresh as mountain water, tonic -as free life itself. To smell it brought him strength, -for there is great strength in the clean scent of -things. He snuffed the air of the upper river and -recalled the high plateaus of the Dry Belt. -</p> - -<p> -"By-by I go back to Kamloops," said Pete, as -he sat in a chair by the window with a blanket -round him. He was still weak, and didn't feel -jealous about Jenny. "By-by I go to Pitt River -or Hallison Lake." -</p> - -<p> -He used to work when a boy for an old storekeeper -at Harrison Lake. That was before he took -to the Mill: before he had been to Kamloops. Old -Smith was a pioneer, one of the Boston Bar Miners, -one of those who had hunted for the mother and -father of Cariboo gold in Baldy Mountain. He had -been rich and poor and rich again, and even now, -though poor enough, he grub-staked wandering -prospectors on shares of the Dorado Hole they set -out to find. -</p> - -<p> -"Not a bad old fellow, old Smith," said the -grubstaked ones. Pete said the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny she can go to hell," said Pete. And -when he was well enough to leave the hospital he -took a month's wages from the Mill, or nearly a -month's, and went up-river to Harrison Lake. He -never asked for Quin, and didn't even know that -he and Jenny had both been laid up. -</p> - -<p> -"She can go to hell," he told himself. "I go to -Hallison Lake and by-by to Kamloops, see my sister -Maly. Cultus Muckamuck much better man than -Shautch Quin." -</p> - -<p> -After all Cultus had never stolen his klootchman -and smashed his skull. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was still very weak when he left New -Westminster behind and paid a dollar or so to go -upstream to the mouth of Harrison River's blue -waters. And Smith gave him "a jhob" at small -wages but with good hash. -</p> - -<p> -Then the East wind blew out of the hills, from the -serried dark Cascades, and from the monarchs of -the Selkirks on the Big Bend of the Columbia and -from the giant Rockies beyond that swift clear -stream. Nature closed up her wonderful store, and -the Mills shut down, for the Lower Fraser was fast -in heavy ice from way-up down to Lulu Island and -even beyond, and no man and no Bull-Wheel, -though it grunted in its frictions, could get logs out -of the Boom. So Long Paul of the Boom as well as -Long Mac of the Pony Saw and Ginger White of the -Great Hoes and all the whole caboodle shut up shop -and took to winter work, which meant growling -and groaning and gambling and grumbling and -playing Old Harry, and raising Cain and horrid crops -besides, till frost unlocked the stream and booms -again. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but the days when the East wind held up and -the frost was clean and clear! The cold clean sun -shone like pale fire in a pale blue sky and the world -was hard and bright and white with fierce snow. -It was fine enough in the City, and the boys went -coasting down the hill streets across the main one, -and the kiddies thought of Christmas with such joy -as those elders, who had heaps of kids and little -cash, could not feel. Nevertheless even a -burdened father of many hoped while he could when -the frost burned in the still air and fetched the -blood to his face. There was health in it: health -for Jenny, determined to love "Tchorch" always, -and health for "Tchorch," whose poisoned wound -healed up though it left a horrid scar on his left -pectoral. If only it hadn't meant health for Pete -too! -</p> - -<p> -But it did. If it was fine in the City, how much -finer, how much cleaner, how much more wonderful -it was by the edge of a frozen lake, full of trout, and -under the snowy feathery foliage of the firs and -pines and the high pagodas of the majestic antique -spruces. Pete sucked in health and strength like a -child and ate his muckamuck with the determination -of a bear at a discovered cache. He put on muscle -and fat, and could leap again. And as he fattened, -his mind grew darker. He missed his klootchman -and woke of nights to miss her. The smile, that was -his when he was weak, left him; it was put out by -darkness. And under old Smith's wing in a little -shack there was another Sitcum Siwash, one called -John, who had a young klootchman of his own, and -his young klootchman had a young papoose, and -they were all as fat as butter and as happy as pigs -in a wallow. This hit lonely Pete very hard. He -was "solly" he hadn't killed Quin, and took to -telling John his woes. -</p> - -<p> -These woes on being told grew bigger, till they -became huge once more. They were like a drift -in a bitter norther, where a log can begin a mountain -that stays all progress. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink I burn his Mill," said Pete as he lay -awake. It was a great idea. It grew like a fire, -and would have come to something undoubtedly if -by an accident old Smith hadn't put a pail of cold -discouragement upon the flame as it twisted and -crackled in the hot mind of Pete. The news came -that Thomas Fergusson's store at Yale had been -burnt down, and Smith explained to John and -Pete and some store loafer (there always are store -loafers everywhere: if there's a cracker cask at the -North Pole some loafer holds it down against any -South wind) that possibly Fergusson had made -money out of the fire by the means of some very -queer magic known as insurance, or "insoolance" -as John and Pete said. They scratched their -heads, for they knew nothing of "fire-bugs," not -having read the comic New York papers. But the -fact remained that according to old Smith, to burn -down the Mill might mean to make Quin richer. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't burn down his damn Moola," said Pete -crossly. -</p> - -<p> -Yet couldn't he do something else? Pete lay -half one Sunday thinking over it, and came to the -conclusion that there was a very reasonable revenge -to be had fairly cheap. When he worked at the -Mill at Kamloops he had been told of what one man -had done at Port Blakeley. -</p> - -<p> -"I do it," said Pete savagely. He heard John's -klootchman laugh, and thought again of Jenny. -The stronger he grew the more bitterly he missed -her. And yet if she had come back to him now -he would have thrust her out into the frost. -</p> - -<p> -In this unhappiness of his heart it was natural he -should turn to his sister Mary, up at Kamloops or -the back of it, who was Cultus Muckamuck's klootchman. -And after all old Cultus wasn't such a bad -sort. Hadn't they got drunk together, as "drunk as -boiled owls in a pan of hot water"? Cultus was a -mean old hunks, and a bit rougher than his younger -brother, but there was none of the high-toned -dandy about Cultus. He would sit on a log with -a man, and yarn and swap lies, and fetch out a -bottle and say, "Take a drink, Pete." Oh, on the -whole Cultus was a good sort. If he did whack -Mary, perhaps Mary deserved it. The klootchmen -wanted hammering at intervals and a good quirting -did them good. -</p> - -<p> -"Firs' I go down to the Moola," said Pete, "and -I go back to Kamloops. I make it hot for -George Quin when the Moola starts up. I spoil -heem, ah, I spoil heem and Shinger White." -</p> - -<p> -The hard frost lasted a month and then a quiet -and insidious Chinook came out of the Pacific, a -wandering warm West wind, and the ice relented -and released the River. It was not very thick and -soon departed on the ebb and flood of the tides, -swaying in loose floes back and forth. And then -the rain began and it looked like a strange soft -winter for a little while. -</p> - -<p> -"I go now," said Pete. He spoke to old Smith, -asking for a day or two to go down to the City. -</p> - -<p> -"You ain't thinking of killing Quin or your -klootchman, sonny?" said Smith, who knew all about it. -</p> - -<p> -"Not me, Mista Smith," said Pete. "She no -good, by-by he velly solly he have her." -</p> - -<p> -He got an old dug-out and paddled down to the -City, and past it in the dark, when the town was nothing -but a gleam of lights in the heavy rain. In the dugout -Pete had a few things borrowed from Smith's -store that Smith did not know he had borrowed. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete savagely, as he touched a -bag which, held many pounds weight of ten-inch -spikes. "I fix heem and his logs!" -</p> - -<p> -He went past the City with the ebb, and taking -the South Arm was soon abreast of Lulu Island. -There he knew that a big boom of logs for the Mill -was anchored to the shore, ready to tow up when -the Mill boom was cut out. Besides his spikes he -had a heavy sledge-hammer. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat fix heem," said Pete. He knew what he -was about. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope it cut Shinger's beas'ly head off." -</p> - -<p> -He knew that Ginger had thrown a spanner at -him that last day in the Mill, and, indeed, he -believed that it was Ginger, and not old Wong, who had -keeled him over and chucked him down the chute. -</p> - -<p> -Now the rain let up and some stars shone out. -He got close inshore and felt his way in the shadow -of the trees. He let the canoe float, for he came -near where the boom should be. A big patch of -sky cleared and a wedge of the new moon -glimmered under rack. His eyes were keen, and -presently he saw the darker mass of the assembled -boom of logs anchored in a little bay. He grinned -and went alongside and made the canoe fast. Then -he filled his pockets with spikes and, taking the -sledge, scrambled on the boom. -</p> - -<p> -Outer log was chained to outer log with chains -and heavy clamps. Inside, an acre of water was -covered with round logs, all loose, logs of fir and -pine and spruce. Some were six feet and more in -diameter: some less than a foot. As he trod on -one it rolled a little and then rolled more: he stepped -upon it lightly, balancing himself beautifully, as if -he had been a driver on the Eastern Rivers of -wooded Wisconsin or Michigan. The motion he -gave to one log as he sprang communicated itself to -others. The logs seemed uneasy: it was as if he -had waked them. He looked for the best, the -biggest, with a pleasure akin to that of the hunter, -or some trapper sorting peltry. He found a splendid -spruce and stood on it in triumph. -</p> - -<p> -"I make heem bad," grinned Pete. He took a -spike and set it into the log with a light tap of the -sledge held close to the heft. Then he stood up and -swung the sledge double-handed. He had driven -spikes on a railroad once, though he hated -railroading, being by nature a millman or a ranche -hand. The sledge fell on the spike clean and -plumb. The dim forests echoed and he stood up as -if the sound startled him. But after all no one could -be near and the City was far off. He drove the -deadly spike home into the beautiful log and smiled. -</p> - -<p> -Into that one he put three spikes, then he leapt -lightly on another, a Douglas Fir, and spiked that -too. He grew warm and threw off his jacket. It -was a great pleasure to him to work, to feel that -his strength had come back, to feel himself active, -lithe, capable. And revenge was very sweet. -</p> - -<p> -"Mebbe the saw cut off Quin's head," he -murmured. He knew what he was doing and what -would happen. He saw it quite clearly, for once in -a saw-mill, when he was a kiddy, he had heard what -happened when a saw cut on a hidden spike. The -wedger-off had told the others how the great saw -struck fire with a horrid grinding squeal. With the -sawdust from the cut came fiery sparks, and then -the saw, split in huge segments, hurtled from the -cut. One piece went through the roof, another -skimmed through the Mill like a piece of slate -hurled by some mighty arm. -</p> - -<p> -Pete knew what he was doing as he killed the -logs. He spiked two dozen before he let up upon -them. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete. "I fix heem lik' hell!" -</p> - -<p> -He put on his jacket again and with the sledge in -his hands went towards the dug-out. There were -still many spikes in his pockets, for twice he had -renewed his supply of them. -</p> - -<p> -"I think I drive one more," said Pete, who was -drunk with pleasure. "I tink one more for luck." -</p> - -<p> -He set the spike in and started to drive it home. -Now he was careless and suddenly he slipped. As -he tried to recover himself, the sledge flew one way -and he flew the other. He dropped between two -logs: the one he had been standing on, and one -on the boom of logs. That is, one of the boom logs -saved his life, for the heavy spikes would have -pulled him down if he had had to swim for a minute. -As he let a yell out of him and felt a sudden fear -of death his hands caught a chain between two of the -outer boom logs. He pulled his head out of the -water and hung on. The stream was bitter cold, for -there was still ice in it. He gasped for breath, -but presently got a leg across the chain. With a -great effort he clawed the upper edge of the log -and clambered back to safety. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," he grunted, as he lay flat and caught his -breath, "that a very near ting, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -It was a very near thing indeed. -</p> - -<p> -But before dawn, as he paddled hard on the -flood tide, he was back at Smith's and fast asleep. -</p> - -<p> -Next day there was a mighty row about the missing -sledge-hammer. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink some damn thief kapsualla heem," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -That week the frost returned once more. This -time it lasted till the early spring. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIII -</h3> - -<p> -B.C., as the boys call it, or British Columbia, is -most undoubtedly a wonderful place, a first-class -place, even if the bottom falls out of it periodically -and booms die down into slumps and the world -becomes weary. But the odd thing is that it is a -country which is, so to speak, all one gut, like -a herring. The Fraser Cañon is the gate of the -lower country and the gate of the upper country. -There's only one way up and down, tilikum, unless -you are a crazy prospector or a cracked hunter. -Though the great River itself comes from the North -past Lillooet and by, and from, Cariboo, yet the -main line of men and railroads and wanderers to -and fro lies rather by the blue Thompson than the -grey Fraser. -</p> - -<p> -You meet Bill and Charlie and Tom and Jack and -Dick and Harry on the road. You liquor with -them at Yale, where the Cañon opens: you toss for -drinks with them at French Charlie's, you climb -Jackass Mountain with them (or meet them there) -and again discuss work and railroading and -sawmills and Mr. Vanderdunk, the Contractor, at -Lytton. You run against your partner or the man -you quarrelled or fought with at Savona. You see -Mrs. Grey or Brown or Robinson at Eight Mile -Creek. Very likely you get full up at Oregon -Pete's with the man you last met at Kamloops, -or the son of a gun who worked alongside you at the -Inlet. On the Shushwap you tumble up against your -brother, maybe, in a sternwheeler, and at Eagle Pass -you give cigars (5 cents Punches!) to a dozen whose -nicknames you know and whose names you don't. -</p> - -<p> -Properly speaking there are few ways into B.C. -Perhaps there are none out. It is a devil of a -country for getting to know every man jack in it. -From the Columbia Crossing, or even from the -summit of the Rockies down to the Inlet, and the -City of Vancouver (in Pete's time mere forest and -as thick as a wheatfield), it's the Main Street. -</p> - -<p> -The fact of the matter is that the whole of the -Slope, the Pacific Slope, is only one Main Street. -It begins to dawn on a man on the Slope, that in a -very few years he might know everyone from the -Rocky Mountains down to Victoria and to Seattle -and Tacoma and Portland and San Francisco. -Men wander to and fro like damned souls or -migratory salmon or caribou. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, you know, knew everyone in B.C. by sight, -more or less. There wasn't a shebang on the road -he wasn't familiar with. He came on chaps here -and there who said "Klahya" or "What ho!" -or "Hell, it ain't you?" or "Thunder, it's old -Pete, so it is." He felt familiar with the road, -with the Cañon, with every house, every loafer, -every bummer, every "goldarned drifting son of a -gun" who went up and down like a log in the -tide-way, or round and round like one in a whirlpool, -betwixt the Victoria beginning and the Rocky -Mountain End. When he had been full of Mills -and Canneries he used to mosey off up-country. -When he was soaked by the Wet Belt and the wet -rains he pined for the Dry Belt. When the high -dry plateaus of the Dry Belt dried him up, he thought -of the soft days lower down, or higher up in the -Upper Wet Belt of the Shushwap. One can swap -climate for climate in a few hours. -</p> - -<p> -Now the frost of the lower country, of the lower -Fraser, with its intervals of warm Chinook wind -and rain, sickened Pete. He put in a lot of time at -old Smith's, but by the end of February he was keen -on climbing higher. Old Smith got on his nerves, -good old soul though he was, and of course Pete -couldn't stick to one "jhob." Old Cultus seemed -so good a chap, and Pete thought it would be a fine -thing to put his legs across a cayuse once more and -go a-riding, whooping hell and thunder out of the -steers. And he had come nigh to forgetting Jenny. -When he thought of her his face looked devilish, -but he thought of her seldom. -</p> - -<p> -"She bad klootchman, yah," said Pete. But he -couldn't go yet. He waited for the harder frost -to go, for the big ice, then two feet thick, to break -again in the lower river. Then the Mill would -start, and he would hear of the spiked logs. -</p> - -<p> -"That make Quin sick," said Pete. So he hung -on and waited, knowing he would hear. It couldn't -be long. Men from the City said that things had -been tough that winter in Shack-Town. He -heard at intervals about this chap or that: about -Skookum, good old Skookum, and Chihuahua, who -had been jailed for a jag which was of portentous -dimensions, leading him to assault a policeman Up -Town. The "bulls" yanked Chihuahua in and he -got it hot, officially and otherwise, as a man will in -the calaboose. -</p> - -<p> -Then the River cracked loudly: the ice roared -and broke, and piled itself up in bars and ridges -and grumbled and swung and went away with the -ebb and up with the flood, roaring all the time. -</p> - -<p> -"Now they start up the Moola queek," said -Pete as day by day he saw less ice. The rain -poured down and the river was almost in flood -already, though the winter held up-country, of -course. When the frost broke in the wet Cascades -and up in Cariboo, and in the head waters of the -forking Thompson, there would be a proper amount -of water in the Cañon. -</p> - -<p> -And still he waited. -</p> - -<p> -But in the Mill they started at last, and came -nigh to the end of the Mill boom before they could -get a steamer to tow them up the new boom. Then -they got it, and Pete heard that it was there. -</p> - -<p> -"I make heem sick," said Pete, still waiting. And -the spiked logs waited. Their time must come. -</p> - -<p> -It came at last, and of that day men of the Hills -still speak. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of Ginger White's devilish days, when -he hated himself and his kind and was willing to -burst himself if he could make others sigh or groan. -He ran the crew of the Mill almost to death, and -death came at last as the day died down and found -them running the saws screaming in logs still cold -within. For the winter left the men soft: they -had been half-fed, many of them: they had lived -idle lives, and found work hard on their hands, hard -on their muscles. But Ginger never failed when -the devil was in him. The winter was over: he -wanted to work, for he was all behind with money. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll make 'em sweat, I'll make 'em skip," said Ginger. -</p> - -<p> -That day Quin was much in the Mill, and he was -there when the lightning struck Skookum Charlie: -when the saws spouted fire. He, too, was glad to -get back to labour: to the doing of things. And he -loved the Mill, as many did. -</p> - -<p> -It was a great log of spruce that carried death -within it. High up above the Saws hung a lamp -so that Skookum and his partner could see the cut -as well as feel it. The whole Mill squealed and -trembled: every machine within it ran full blast: -the song of the Mill was great. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, heave and roll," said the Bull-Wheel. -They got the log on the carriage, drove in the dogs -and Ginger sent her at the eager saws. He cut -the slab off, and then set her for an eight-inch cant -and got her half through, when the lightning came. -</p> - -<p> -There was a horrid rip, a grinding, deafening -crash and streams of fire came out of the cut log. -On top of it was Skookum driving home a wedge. -He drove it deep and deeper, and as the crash came, -Quin stood where he had stood when Pete went -for him. There was another horrid scream as the -smashed saw broke and hurled a jagged quadrant -upward from the cut. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Christ!" said those who saw. At Quin's -red feet, a bloody corpse lay, for the saw had sliced -Skookum nigh in two, shearing through flesh and -bones, ribs and spine. For one moment he was -helped to his feet by the thing that cut his life out, -and he stood upon the log, with a howl torn out of -his very lungs, and then pitched headlong on the -floor. -</p> - -<p> -There came screams from the far end of the Mill, -for another segment of the saw had flown out -straight, and, striking a roller, came up slanting -from it, and disembowelled a wretched Chinaman. -He stood and squealed lamentably and then looked -at himself and lay down and died. -</p> - -<p> -And all the Mill ceased and men came running -even from below. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -But Ginger said nothing. Terror had hold of -him. He leant against the deadly log and vomited. -Every lamp in the Mill was held up in two circles, -one about Skookum and the other about the Chinaman. -Faces as white as the dead men's looked at -the dead. -</p> - -<p> -That night Skookum's klootchman sat with -loosed hair howling over the body of her good and -stupid man. And by her Annie and Annawillee -mourned. -</p> - -<p> -And many thought of Pete. Among them were -Quin and his klootchman Jenny, who understood -the nature of the man who had been her man and -was now no better than a murderer. -</p> - -<p> -"I done it, I," said Jenny; "if I stay with Pete -this no happen!" -</p> - -<p> -She cried all night and "Tchorch" could not -comfort her. Nor could he sleep till in his rage he -cursed her, and came nigh to striking her. Then -she crept into his arms and tried to soothe him, -and wept no more. -</p> - -<p> -The next day Pete started up-country, for Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"I never mean to kill Skookum," he said with -a white face. "I never mean to keel him. I lik' Skookum." -</p> - -<p> -The poor fool cried. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIV -</h3> - -<p> -The story of the disaster at the Mill followed Pete -and passed him as he made his way to Yale, having -screwed a dollar or two out of old Smith. Indeed -he got more than he had a right to, for old -Smith wasn't a man to squeeze a dollar till the -eagle squealed, by any means. The day after the -news came of the split saw Pete had boarded the -boat for Yale and was put out at the mountain -town in a storm of rain. And Pete hated the wet -as a saw-mill man must, or as one who had worked -in the Dry Belt where the rain is scarce and the -fattening grasses dry. -</p> - -<p> -At this time the Railroad, the Railroad of all -Roads, the longest on earth, gentlemen, partners and -tilikums, was being put through the hills, through -the Rockies and the Selkirks and the Eagle Range. -The woods were full of Contractors, small and big, -good and measly, generous and mean, men and -pigs. But above them all towered the genial, -blue-eyed Andy. The men said "Andy" here and -"Andy" there. Andy was responsible if the bottom -fell out of the sky, or if the earth blew up. He was -held to account for floods and wash-outs, for land -slides and snow slides, and he took 'em all as they -came. The men said "damn Andy" or "Andy's -all right." They got drunk and denounced him, -and perhaps got sober and blessed him. On -the whole they loved his blue eyes even if they -damned them. But while he held the road which -he had built, and before it was turned over to the -men in Montreal, the good men and the great -scoundrels (there always being talk of railroad -boodlers) who thought the thing out and financed it, -he charged a devil of a rate for passage on it. So -everyone who went East or West went to Andy or -some underling for a pass. Pete did it. There was -only one tale to tell. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to go up to Ashcroft to get a job, -Mr. Vanderdunk," said everyone. Pete said it, and -Andy being in a heavenly temper (as he wasn't -when I struck him for a pass) let the Sitcum Siwash -through easily, just as he had done before when -Jenny was with him. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to wu'k on the railroad, Sir," said Pete. -When he went off with the pass he said he didn't -want to "wu'k" on any railroad. He spent a dollar -in drink and went on board the train drunk. It was -the first time since the night when he had nearly -killed Jenny that he had been very "full." The -smoking car was crammed with men who had -passes: men who wanted to work at the Black -Cañon and those who didn't. Some were bound -for Kamloops, some for the work on the Shushwap, -some for Eagle Pass and Sicamoose Narrows, and -there was one farming Johnny or mossback for -Spallumcheen. They were all lively—some full -up, some half-full. They yelled and laughed and -yarned and swore and said— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, what are yer givin' us, taffy?" -</p> - -<p> -They declined to swallow taffy—but they -swallowed whisky. An old prospector gave Pete -drink. Then he heard them tell the tale of the -accident at the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Some rotten son of a gun spiked the logs," -said the man behind Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"I heerd they'd found ten logs spiked," said -another. "They bin over 'em with an adze." -</p> - -<p> -"If they corral the kiddy wot done it, he'll wear -hemp," said another. -</p> - -<p> -"Serve him right, damn his immortal," returned -the first speaker. -</p> - -<p> -Pete begged another drink and drank so heartily -that the old prospector said he was a hog. Pete -was indignant, but he was nearly speechless and -saw two, nay, three, prospectors, gaunt and hairy -men, who looked very angry. He decided not to -fight, and went to sleep, and slipped down on the -floor. The prospector wiped his boots on him and -expatiated on hogs in a whining monotone for -forty miles. -</p> - -<p> -They dragged Pete out at Ashcroft and put him -and his bundle on the dry prairie, where the depôt -was. He woke late at night and found his throat -so parched that he could not speak to the darkness -that closed about him. There wasn't a soul in the -depôt, and not a shack or shebang handy. The -dread collection of wallows described as a town was -a mile off across the prairie, and Pete groaned as -he set out for the lights of the biggest grog shanty -there. He hadn't a red in his sack, to say nothing -of a dime or two-bits, but some charitably disposed -railroader, a Finn it was, gave him a drink, and he -sat down in a corner along with a dozen others -and went to sleep. In the morning he raised -another drink, and set off for Kamloops, just as -the railroad work began. He was asked to stop -a dozen times, but he wasn't keen. "I go to -Kamloops," he answered. -</p> - -<p> -He humped himself and got to Sayona's Ferry -in quick time, for someone gave him a lift on the -road. He found a sternwheeler on the point of -starting for Kamloops, and knowing the engineer -and the fireman, who was a Siwash too, they shoved -him in the stokehold and made him work his passage. -Two hours of mighty labour with billets of -firewood sweated the drink out of him, and by the -time they were alongside the Kamloops shore he -was something of a man again. -</p> - -<p> -He found some tilikums in the town and recited -his woes to them, telling them all about Jenny -having quit him to go with Quin, who was Cultus -Muckamuck's brother. He asked about his sister -Mary, and about old Cultus. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus pahtlum evly sun, dlunk all the time -now," said a Dry Belt Indian named Jimmy. -"Nika manitsh Mary, I see Mary. She very sad -with a black eye." -</p> - -<p> -Pete was furious. Mary was older than he by -five years and had been a mother to him when -their mother went under. If he loved anyone he -loved Mary. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I had a gun," said Pete. "I tell Cultus -if he bad to Mary I kill heem." -</p> - -<p> -He was almost bewildered by a sense of general -and bitter injustice. Hadn't he been a good man -to Jenny? Hadn't he been a good worker in the -Mill? But Jenny had left him for the man he had -worked for. Then instead of killing Quin or Ginger -White he had killed poor old Skookum. He hadn't -meant to kill him, but if the law knew he would be -hanged all the same. And now poor Mary was -having a bad time with old Cultus. When Cultus -got mad, he was very dangerous, Pete knew that. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary's a damn fool to stay with him," said -Pete. "I tell her to leave heem. I get wu'k here, -in the Mill. She live with me." -</p> - -<p> -He went to the Kamloops Mill to look for work. -They were full up and couldn't give him a show. -But one of the men who knew him gave him a dollar -and that made Pete happier. He raised a drink -with it, a whole bottle of liquid lightning, and he -didn't start for Cultus's ranche that day. -</p> - -<p> -It was an awful pity he didn't. For Cultus had -been in town that morning and had taken two -bottles back with him. He had been drinking for -weeks and was close upon delirium tremens. He -had horrid fits of shaking. -</p> - -<p> -Ned Quin was ten years George's senior, and had -been in British Columbia for thirty years. He had -been married to a white woman, whose very name -he had forgotten. For the last ten years, or eight -at least, he had lived with Mary, whom the previous -owner of his ranche had taken from the kitchen of -the Kamloops Hotel when she was twenty. Now -he lived in a rude shanty over toward the Nikola, -"nigh on" to twenty miles from Kamloops. He -had a hundred and fifty steers upon the range, and -made nothing out of them. The Mill, in which he -had an interest, kept him going. He wanted nothing -better. He was very fond of Mary, and often beat -her. -</p> - -<p> -Mary was a tall and curiously elegant woman for -an Indian or a half-caste. By some strange accident, -perhaps some inheritance from her unknown white -father, she was by nature refined. -</p> - -<p> -She had a sense of humour and a beautiful smile. -She talked very good English, which is certainly -more than her brother did, who had no language -of his own and knew the jargon best of all. Mary -was a fine horse-woman and rode like a man, -straddling, as many of the Dry Belt women do. -She could throw a lariat with some skill. She -walked with a certain free grace which was very -pleasant to see. And she loved her white man in -spite of his brutality. For when Ned was good, he -was very good to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Now he beats poor me," she said. Perhaps -she took a certain pleasure in being his slave. But -she knew, and more knew better, that she lived -on the edge of a precipice. More than once Ned -had beaten her with the flat of a long-handled -shovel. More than once, since Pete left, he had -threatened to give her the edge and cut her to rags. -</p> - -<p> -It was a great pity Pete had that dollar given him -at the Kamloops Mill. He got drunk, of course, -and only started for the ranche a little before noon -next day. -</p> - -<p> -It was a clear and cloudless sky he walked under as -he climbed the winding road up from the town by the -Lake. There was a touch of winter in the air and the -road was still hard. The lake was quite blue, beyond -it the hills seemed close: the North Fork of the -Thompson showed clear: the Indian reservation on -the other side seemed near at hand. But of those -things Pete thought nothing. He wanted to see -his sister, he groaned that he hadn't a cayuse to ride. -</p> - -<p> -He was five miles out of Kamloops and on the -upper terraces of the country, when he saw someone -coming who had a cayuse to ride. Pete could see the -rider from afar: he saw the cattle separate and -run as the man came nearer to them. He saw how -the steers, for ever curious, came running after him -for a little way as the rider went fast. The man was -in a hurry. Indeed he was in a desperate hurry. -Pete, who knew everyone between the Thompson and -the Nikola, wondered who it was, and why he was -riding so fast. -</p> - -<p> -"He ride lik' hell," said Pete, as he stopped and -filled his pipe. -</p> - -<p> -Every man has his own way of riding, his own way -of holding himself. -</p> - -<p> -"He ride lik' Cultus," said Pete curiously. "Jus' -lik' Cultus." -</p> - -<p> -For all his thirty years in a horse country Cultus -Quin rode like no horseman. He worked his elbows -up and down as he went at a lope. He usually wore -an old ragged overcoat, which flew behind him in the -wind. -</p> - -<p> -"It is old Cultus," said Pete. "What for he -ride lik' that?" -</p> - -<p> -A little odd anxiety came into Pete's mind, and he -held a match till it burnt his fingers. He dropped it -and cursed. -</p> - -<p> -"What for he make a dust lik' that? I never see -him ride lik' that!" -</p> - -<p> -The rider came fast and faster when he reached a -pitch in the road. He was a quarter of a mile away, -a hundred yards away, and then Pete saw that it was -Cultus, but no more like the Cultus that he knew. -The man's face was ashy white and his eyes seemed -to bolt out of his head. As he swept past Pete he -turned and knew him, and he threw up one hand as -if it were a gesture of greeting. But it might be -that it was rather a gesture of despair, for he threw -his head back, too. He never ceased his headlong -gallop and disappeared in dust on the next pitch of -the descending road. -</p> - -<p> -Pete stood staring after him. -</p> - -<p> -"What for he ride lik' that?" he whispered. He -wouldn't speak to himself of Mary. He walked on -with his head down. Why did Cultus Muckamuck -ride like that? Why did he ride like that? -</p> - -<p> -The answer was still miles ahead of him, and if -there was any answer he knew it was to be found -where Mary was. There was no light in the sky for -him as he went on. -</p> - -<p> -And the answer came to meet him before an hour -was past. -</p> - -<p> -He saw others, on the far stretched road before -him, and he wondered at the pace they came. They -did not come fast, but very slow. As he held his -hand above his eyes he saw that there were many -men coming. They were not on horseback but on -foot. Why did they come so slow? -</p> - -<p> -"Why they walk lik' that?" asked Pete. He sat -down to think why a crowd of men should be so slow. -There were eight or ten of them. If they went so -slow—— -</p> - -<p> -"It lik'——" said Pete, and then he shaded his -eyes again. The men in front were carrying -something. It looked like a funeral! -</p> - -<p> -But Pete shook his head. There was no burial -place nearer than Kamloops, and if a body were -being taken there they would have drawn it on -a wagon. -</p> - -<p> -"They're toatin' something on their shoulders," -said Pete, with a shiver. It was as if there had -been an accident, and men were carrying someone -to the hospital. Pete had seen more than one -carried. He turned a little sick. Was Cultus -riding for the doctor? Was there anyone the old -devil would have ridden to help? -</p> - -<p> -"When he wasn't pahtlum he was very fond of -Mary," said Pete shivering. -</p> - -<p> -He started to walk fast and faster still. Now the -melancholy procession was hidden behind a little -rise. He knew they were still coming, for a bunch of -steers on a low butte were staring with their heads -all in one direction. Pete ran. Then he saw the -bearers of the burden top the hill and descend -towards him. His keen eyes told him now that they -were carrying someone on a litter shoulder high. -He knew the foremost men: one was Bill Baker -of Nikola Ranche, another was Joe Batt, and yet -another Kamloops Harry, a Siwash. He named -the others, too. -</p> - -<p> -And some knew him. Pete saw that they stopped -and spoke, turning their heads to those in the rear. -One of the men, it was Simpson of Cherry Creek, -came on foot in front of the others. Pete watched -his face. It was very solemn and constrained. He -nodded to Pete when he was within twenty yards. -When he came up he put his hand on Pete's shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"We're takin' your sister to Kamloops, Pete," -said Simpson. -</p> - -<p> -Pete stared at him. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -Simpson nodded and answered Pete's wordless -question. -</p> - -<p> -"No, she ain't dead——" -</p> - -<p> -Pete turned towards Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"Ole Cultus passed ridin' lik' hell, Mr. Simpson." -</p> - -<p> -The procession halted within a few yards. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn him," said Simpson, "he's cut the poor -gal to pieces with a shovel." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -XV -</h3> - -<p> -They said to Pete— -</p> - -<p> -"Come into Kamloops with us." -</p> - -<p> -Pete shook his head and said nothing. But his -eyes burned. Kamloops Charlie urged him to come -with them, and talked fast in the Jargon. -</p> - -<p> -"You come, Pete, no one at the house now, Pete. -By-by she want you. She often talk of you with -me, want to see you." -</p> - -<p> -Charlie had worked for Cultus since Pete went -away. -</p> - -<p> -"I come by-by," said Pete. They left him standing -in the road. When some of them turned to look -at him before they came where they would see him -no more, he was still standing there. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell you Pete's dangerous," said Simpson. He -was a long, thin melancholy man from Missouri, with -a beard like grey moss on a decayed stump. -</p> - -<p> -"He'll hev' a long account with the Quin -brothers," replied Joe Batt. -</p> - -<p> -"Many has," said Bill Baker. Cultus owed him -money. Baker chewed tobacco and the cud. He -muttered to himself, and the only audible word was -"dangerous." Above his shoulder the hurt woman -moaned. -</p> - -<p> -And even when they had disappeared Pete stood -staring after them. They had time to go more than -a mile before he stirred. Then he walked a little -distance from the road and cached his bundle behind -a big bull-pine. He started the way his sister had -come, and went quick. He had seen some of his -sister's blood on the road. -</p> - -<p> -In two hours he was at the ranche, and found it -as the others had found it, when Kamloops Charlie -had come to tell them that Cultus had killed Mary. -The door was open, the table was overturned, -there was broken crockery on the floor. There was a -drying pool of blood by the open fire which burnt -logs of pine. Scattered gouts of blood were all -about the room: some were dried in ashes. The -dreadful shovel stood in the corner by the fire. Pete -took it up and looked at it. Many times he had -heard old Cultus say he would give Mary the edge. -Now he had given her the edge. Pete's blood boiled -in him: he smashed the window with the shovel. -Then he heard a bellow from the corral in which some -of the best of Cultus' small herd were kept up, some -of them to fatten for the railroad. -</p> - -<p> -"I do that," said Pete. In the stable he found -Mary's horse, a good old grey, but past quick work -save in the hands of a brute, or a Mexican or an -Indian. Pete put the saddle on him and cinched -up the girths. He found a short stock whip which -he had often used. He led the horse out, and going -to the corrals, threw down the rails. Going inside -he drove thirty cows and steers out. On the hills -at the back of the ranche about fifty more were -grazing. Pete got on the horse and cracked his -whip. He drove them all together up the hills and -into a narrow valley. It led towards a deep -cañon. There was little water in the creek at the -bottom, but there were many rocks. From one -place it was a drop of more than two hundred feet -to the rocks, and a straight drop too. The mountain -path led to it and then turned almost at right -angles. The valley in which the cattle ran grew -narrow and narrower and Pete urged them on. -</p> - -<p> -Cultus loved his steers and had half-a-dozen cows -that he milked himself when they had calves. -Whenever Pete came near one of these he cut at her -with the whip, and urged them all to a trot. They -were lowing, and presently some of the rowdier steers -bellowed. They broke at last into a gallop, and -then Pete shrieked at them like a fiend and raced the -old pony hard. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix 'em," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -Now they were in thickish brush, with no more -than a big trail for a path. Pete lashed the grey -till he got alongside the very tail of the flying herd -and made them gallop faster still. They were all -dreadfully uneasy, alarmed, and curious, and as they -went grew wilder. They horned each other in -their hurry to escape the devil behind them, and the -horned ones at last fairly stampeded as if they were -all wild cattle off the range in the autumn. They -went headlong, with a wild young cow leading. -Pete screamed horribly, cracked with his whip, cut at -them and yelled again. The brush was thick in -front of them on the very edge of the cañon. The -little thinning trail almost petered out and turned -sharply to the left. The leader missed it and burst -through the brush in front of her. The others -followed. Behind the maddened brutes came -Pete. He saw the leader swerve with a horrid -bellow and try to swing round. She was caught -in the ribs by a big steer and went over. The ones -who came after were blinded, their heads were up -in the crush: they saw nothing till there was nothing -in front of them. They swept over the edge in a -stream and bellowed as they fell. On the empty -edge of the cañon Pete pulled up the sweating grey, -who trembled in every limb. Below them was a -groaning mass of beef. They were no longer cattle, -though one or two stumbled from the thick of the -herd and the dead and stood as if they were paralysed. -</p> - -<p> -"I wis' Ned was there," said Pete, as he turned -and galloped back down the beaten, trampled trail. -"I wis' I had him here. I serve him out." -</p> - -<p> -He rode as hard as the wretched grey could go -to where he had left his bundle. He picked it up -and turned the horse loose. Perhaps it was hardly -wise to ride it into Kamloops. It was night before -he got there. He found Kamloops Charlie in town, -drinking, and reckoned that no one would find out -for days what had happened to the cattle. He told -Charlie that he had stayed where he was left, and -had at last determined to come into town. -</p> - -<p> -"Kahta ole Cultus?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -But Cultus had taken steamer, having caught it -as it was on the point of leaving. Pete saw Simpson -at the hotel and spoke to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Your sister says as it warn't Cultus as done it," -said Simpson. "That's what she says: she allows -it was a stranger, poor gal!" -</p> - -<p> -They said she would live. But those who had -seen her said it would be best if she died. One side -of her face was dreadfully injured. -</p> - -<p> -"She must ha' bin' mighty fond of Ned Quin," -said Simpson. "She's the only one araound ez -is, I reckon." -</p> - -<p> -He stood Pete a drink. Pete told what he had -told Kamloops Charlie. -</p> - -<p> -"I tho't you'd kem along bymby," said Simpson. -"I'm sorry for the poor gal, so I am. There's them -as don't hanker after any of you Siwashes, Pete, but -I maintain they may be good. But dern a nigger, -anyhaow. You'll be huntin' a job, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -Pete owned sulkily enough that he was hunting a job. -</p> - -<p> -"Then don't you stay araound hyar," said Simpson. -"Barrin' sellin' a few head o' measly steers -there ain't nothin' doin'. When the railroad is -through, the bottom will fall out of B.C. fo' sewer. -You go up to the Landing: things is fair hummin' -up to the Landing, an' Mason hez gone up there -to start up a kin' o' locomotive sawmill at what -they calls the Narrows. You hike off to the -Landing and tackle Mason; say I named him to you, -Pete, and if he ain't full-handed you'll be all hunkey." -</p> - -<p> -He stood himself another drink, and grew more -melancholy. -</p> - -<p> -"A few measly steers in a Gawd-forsaken land -like B.C.! Don't you hanker arter revenge agin -Ned for mishandling Mary. Revenge is sweet to -the mouth, Pete, but it's heavy work on the stummick, -ondigestible and apt to turn sour. If it hadn't -been that I hankered arter revenge (and got it) I'd -ha' bin now in Mizzouri, Gawd's kentry, whar I -come from. A few head o' weedy miserbul steers! -You leave Ned alone and I'll be surprised if he don't -leave you and Mary alone. To half cut off a gal's -head and her not to squeal! I calls it noble. -Ned will be sorry he done it, I reckon. You go up -to the Landing, boy." -</p> - -<p> -And Pete did go up to the Landing. -</p> - -<p> -And Ned, the poor wretch, was very sorry "he -done it." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVI -</h3> - -<p> -Ned Quin hadn't been down in the coast country -for years. Indeed, the last time he had been in New -Westminster he had gone there by coach. Now it -was a new world for him, a world of strange hurry -and excitement. B.C. was in a hurry: the people -of the East were in a hurry: the very river in the -roaring Fraser Cañon seemed to run faster. And -he, of all the world, was the one thing that seemed -to go slow, he and his train. He was sober now, -and in terror of what he had done. -</p> - -<p> -"By God, they'll hang me," he said. They -hanged men for murder in British Columbia, hanged -them quickly, promptly, gave them a short quick -trial, and short shrift. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I was over the Line," said Ned, as he -huddled in a corner seat and nursed his chin almost -on his knees. Across the Line they didn't hang men -quick, unless they stole horses and were exceedingly -bad citizens who wouldn't take a clean cut threat -as a warning. "I wish I was over the Line." -</p> - -<p> -And the 49th Parallel wasn't far away. Yet to -get to it wasn't easy. He had galloped from what -he believed a house of death with no money in his -pocket. He had borrowed from the skipper of the -sternwheeler, which took him from Kamloops to the -Ferry, enough to pay his fare down to Port Moody. -He must go to George's to get more. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll catch me," said Ned Quin, "they'll -catch me: they'll hang me by the neck. That's -what they say—'by the neck till you are dead'—I've -heard Begbie say it, damn him!" -</p> - -<p> -Yes, that was what Judge Begbie said to men who -cut their klootchmen to pieces with a shovel. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I was drunk," said old Ned. "Poor Mary." -</p> - -<p> -She had been as good a klootchman as there was -in the country, sober, clean, kind, long-suffering. -He knew in his heart how much she had endured. -</p> - -<p> -"Why didn't she leave me?" he whined. Whenever -the train stopped he looked up. He saw men -he knew, but no one laid his hand on his shoulder. -Few spoke to him: they said that it was as clear -as mud that he was rotten with liquor and half mad. -They left him alone. He wanted them to speak to -him, for he saw Mary on the floor of his shack. He -saw the shovel. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete will find her," said Ned. "He said he'd -kill me if I hurt her. He'll take her horse and ride -to Kamloops and tell 'em, and they'll telegraph and -catch me, they'll catch me!" -</p> - -<p> -At Port Moody he saw a sergeant of police and -felt a dreadful impulse to go up to him and have it -all over at once. He stopped and reeled, and went -blind. When he saw things again the sergeant was -laughing merrily. He looked Ned's way and looked -past him. -</p> - -<p> -"They don't know yet," said Ned. He got a -drink and took the stage over to New Westminster. -A postman with some mail-bags sat alongside him. -A postman would naturally hear anything that -anyone could hear, wouldn't he? This postman didn't -speak of a murder. He told the driver bawdy -stories, and once Ned laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Good story, ain't it?" said the pleased postman. -</p> - -<p> -They came to the City late, and as soon as they -pulled up Ned slipped down on the side away from -the lights, and went down the middle of the street -towards the Mill. He knew that George now lived -in a new house and wondered how he should find it. -He didn't like to speak to anyone. But by the Mill -he found an old Chinaman and spoke to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss live up there," said the Chinaman. "You -tee um, one plenty big house, velly good house." -</p> - -<p> -He pointed to George's house and Ned followed -the path he indicated. Ten minutes later he -knocked at the door and it was opened by Sam. -But he was not let in till Sam had satisfied himself -that this was really the brother of the Boss. He -went to the door of the sitting-room, opened it just -enough to put his head in, and said—— -</p> - -<p> -"One man, alla same beggar-man my tinkee, say -he wantee see you, Sir. My tinkee him velly dlunk. -He say your blother. My tinkee t'at not tlue." -</p> - -<p> -But George ran out and found the beggar man -shivering on the steps. -</p> - -<p> -"Ned, why, what's brought you?" -</p> - -<p> -The hall was dimly lighted and he couldn't see -Ned's face. But by his voice he knew he was in -trouble. He trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"George, I've—I've killed Mary," he said in a -dreadful whisper, "help me to get away." -</p> - -<p> -"You—my God," said George. He took the -wretched man by the sleeve. "You've done what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Killed Mary," said Ned shivering. "For God's -sake help me over the border or they'll hang me." -</p> - -<p> -He broke down and wept. George stood and -looked at him in the dim light. Sam could not pass -them to go back to the kitchen, and waited. The -sitting-room door was ajar. Someone inside moved. -</p> - -<p> -"Who's with you?" asked Ned. -</p> - -<p> -He knew nothing about Jenny. But George -forgot that he knew nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Go in," he said, "it's Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He thrust Ned inside and turned to Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"Sam, boy, you savvy no one has come. If -anyone ask you say no one. You savvy?" -</p> - -<p> -"My savvy all light, my savvy plenty," said Sam -doubtfully. "My tinkee him your blother all light, -Sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Quin. He stood with his hand on -the handle of the door after Sam had returned to -the kitchen. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said George again. He went into the room. -</p> - -<p> -When Ned had gone in he failed to recognise -Jenny, and thought she was a white woman. She -was nicely dressed, and now her hair was done very -neatly. Sam had taught her how to do it. When -she stood up, in surprise at the unexpected entrance -of Ned, it was obvious even to his troubled eyes -that she was near to becoming a mother. She -gasped when she saw him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mr. Ned," she cried. He looked dreadful: -his clothes were disordered, ragged; his grizzled -beard and hair unkempt and long. He looked -sixty, though he was no more than fifty, and his eyes -were bloodshot. -</p> - -<p> -"Who are you?" asked Ned sharply. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm Jenny," she murmured, looking abashed and -troubled. -</p> - -<p> -And then George came in. When Jenny saw him -she cried out— -</p> - -<p> -"What's the mattah, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -There was matter enough to make her man pallid. -But he was master of himself, for he had to look -after the poor wretch who now fell into a chair by -the fire and sat huddled up in terror. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you by and by," said George. "Give -him a drink, Jenny girl, and give me one. I've got -to go out." -</p> - -<p> -She brought the whisky to him. He poured some -out for Ned, who swallowed as a man, who had -thirsted for a tropic day, would swallow water. -George took some himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Sit quiet, Ned," said George. "I'll be back in -half an hour, Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -She followed him to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't let him move. If anyone calls, say I'm -out, dear." -</p> - -<p> -"What's the mattah, Tchorch? He looks very -ill," she murmured, with her hand on his shoulder. -George told her what Ned had told him, and Jenny -trembled like a leaf. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor, poor Mary!" she sobbed. "Oh, the cruel man!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said George, and Jenny controlled her -tears. -</p> - -<p> -"What you do, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm going to get someone to take him across the -other side," said George. "I must, I must." -</p> - -<p> -He ran out and down the hill path, and Jenny -went back reluctantly to the room where the -murderer sat. He was shivering, but the liquor had -pulled him more together for the time. He wanted -to talk. How was it that Jenny was here? He -remembered he had seen Pete on the road. -</p> - -<p> -"I saw Pete to-day," he said suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny stared down at the floor and answered -nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm a wretched man, girl," said Ned; "did -George tell you?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny did not reply, and Ned knew that she knew. -He burst into tears. -</p> - -<p> -"I've killed Mary," he said. His face was -stained with the dust of the road and the tears he -shed channelled the dirt. He looked dreadful, -ludicrous, pathetic, hideously comic. "I—I killed -her with a shovel. She was a good woman to me, -and I got mad with drink. I'll never touch it -again." -</p> - -<p> -He looked eagerly towards the bottle on the table. -He had taken some more when the others were out -of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"I've killed her, and they'll hang me, Jenny! -Where's George gone?" -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down Jenny's face. -</p> - -<p> -"He's gone to get someone to take you away, -Mr. Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -They might come any moment and take him -away! There was quite a big jail in the City. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I saw Pete this morning, no, yesterday. I -don't know when," said Ned. "When did you -come here, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny said it was long ago. She dried her tears -for shame was hot within her. And yet joy was -alive within her. She loved Tchorch! -</p> - -<p> -"I couldn't leave Tchorch now," she said to herself, -as Ned went on talking. "I'd rather he killed -me. Poor Mary!" -</p> - -<p> -If Pete had been brutal, Mary had always been -kind. She hated Ned suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -He took another drink and sat crouched over the -fire. Every now and again he looked round. At -any noise he started. Perhaps the police were -trying to look into the house. Jenny could have -screamed. It seemed hours since George went away. -Ned muttered to the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary, Mary," he said in a low voice. He and -Mary had been lovers once, for when she first went -to him he was a man, and she was quite beautiful. -Across the dark years he saw himself and her: and -again he saw her as she lay in blood upon the -earthen floor of his shack, what time he had run -out and taken his horse for flight. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll hang me," said Ned, choking. -</p> - -<p> -And there were steps outside. He sprang to his -feet and hung to the mantel-shelf. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he asked. The next minute -they heard George enter the house with some other -man. -</p> - -<p> -"It's the police," screamed Ned thinly. He -believed George had denounced him. And George -put his head inside the room and beckoned to him. -Ned ran to him stumbling. The door closed on -them and Jenny fell upon her knees. Then she sank -in a heap upon the floor. She had fainted. -</p> - -<p> -In the hall was someone Ned did not know. But -George knew him and knew that he was a capable -strong man. He was Long Mac of the Pony Saw, -as strong as he was long. In the winters he hunted, -and knew all the country round about. -</p> - -<p> -"Take him across the river to-night, and away by -Whatcom to-morrow, Mac," said George; "do your best." -</p> - -<p> -Mac never did less, whether it was for evil or for -good. On the balance he was a good and fine man. -But he cared nothing for the Law and had a curious -respect and liking for George Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do that," said Long Mac. He took Ned by -the arm, and Ned without a backward glance -shuffled into the darkness. -</p> - -<p> -George went in to Jenny and found her unconscious -on the floor. He sprinkled cold water in her -face, and she moaned. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor little woman," said George. "Oh, but it's -hard lines on these poor squaws. If I died what'd -happen to her?" -</p> - -<p> -He knew their nature and knew his own. -</p> - -<p> -"But Mary's dead," said Quin. "Better for her." -</p> - -<p> -Yet Mary wasn't dead, though Mac was dragging -a whining, puling wretch of a man on a dark trail -to a country where there's a very poor trail indeed -cut for the slow and burdened army of the Law. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVII -</h3> - -<p> -Next day the Pony Sawyer was wanting at the Mill -and no one knew what had become of him, the finest -and steadiest man in the place. George White was -pleased to hear of it, for it was always his notion -that Quin would some day fire him and put Long -Mac at the lever of the Hoes. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Ginger, "we never can tell: some -crooked business, I dessay! They crack up -M'Clellan 'sif he was a gawd-a-mighty, but to my -tumtum he ain't nothin' extra." -</p> - -<p> -He put Shorty Gibbs from the Shingle Mill in -Mac's place, and found his usual pleasure in piling -poor Shorty up. For of course Gibbs, though he -understood the Pony, couldn't run that lively -animal at Mac's pace. When Ginger stood up and -groaned publicly at Shorty, the new man was cross. -It led to a scene at last, but one which only puzzled -the others. For Shorty Gibbs was one of the very -quietest men who breathed. He said he hated rows -like "pison." When Ginger came round to him the -second time and said "Oh, hell," Shorty had had -enough. He stopped the Pony carriage and walked -over to Ginger. He nodded to him and said— -</p> - -<p> -"Say, see here, Ginger!" -</p> - -<p> -Ginger was an uninstructed man, he was very -hard to teach. -</p> - -<p> -"Get on with your work," said Ginger. -</p> - -<p> -Shorty was up to his shoulder. He lifted an -ingenuous face to the sawyer. -</p> - -<p> -"Ain't you bein' rather hard on a new hand, -Ginger?" he asked politely. And Ginger White -mistook him, altogether. He swore. What -happened then the other men missed; it was all so -quiet. -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, you red-headed bastard," said -Shorty in a conversational tone, or as near it as the -clatter of the Mill would allow, "look here, you -slab-sided hoosier, if you as much as open your head -to me agin I'll rip you up from your fork to your -breast-bone. See!" -</p> - -<p> -And Ginger saw. -</p> - -<p> -"You can't bull-doze me," said Shorty, becoming -openly truculent, "any more than you can bull-doze -Mac, you white-livered dog!" -</p> - -<p> -White was never brave, but since the saws had -killed Skookum his nerve was bad indeed. There -were spikes in every log for him by now. He went -back to the lever without a word and ran so slow -that Gibbs got a chance to clear the skids. -</p> - -<p> -By the time Gibbs knew what was what with -the Pony, Mac returned. He had taken Ned somewhere -to the neighbourhood of Seattle and left him -there. He went to see George Quin the moment -he got into town. And by that time there was news -from Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"I've planted him with an old partner of mine -that runs a hotel back o' Seattle," said Mac. -"Jenkins will keep him away from too much liquor. I -rely on Jenkins." -</p> - -<p> -George thanked him. -</p> - -<p> -"But after all," said George, "I hear that the -woman isn't dead, Mac, and what's more she lets -on that it wasn't my brother that hurt her." -</p> - -<p> -He looked at the sawyer. -</p> - -<p> -"Good girl," said Mac, "but he did it right -enough, Sir; he talked of nothing else all the -way across." -</p> - -<p> -"But if she dies what she says won't be everything," -said George. "It's best he should stay. -Thank you for going with him. Gibbs is taking -your saw." -</p> - -<p> -"Hell he is," said Mac pensively; "has he had -trouble with White?" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin hadn't heard of it. Just of late White -hadn't gone to the office with so many complaints. -Since the spiking of the logs Quin had been less easy -to deal with. He was troubled in his mind about -Pete, and about Jenny. If Pete had spiked the -logs, as Quin believed, he was capable of anything. -And poor little Jenny was about to be a mother. -It wouldn't be more than a month or two now. -</p> - -<p> -Until Jenny had come into his life in real earnest, -the Mill, the Stick Moola, had been the man's whole -desire. He loved it amazingly: there wasn't a -plank in it he didn't love, just as there wasn't a job -in it that he couldn't do in some fashion, and no -fool's fashion either. He had run the old Moola -"good and strong," caring for everything, seeing -that it had the best of everything. There wasn't a -makeshift in it: it was a good Mill and Quin was -a good manager. An accident of any kind hit -him hard. For accidents there must and will be -when saws are cutting lumber. To have a man -killed troubled him, even if it were a sheer -accident. But to have a man killed by a spiked log -was very dreadful to him. It was the more dreadful -that he had provoked the spiking. It shook Quin -up more than he had ever been shaken. It broke -his nerve a little, just as it had broken Ginger's. -And by now he was very fond of Jenny, even if he -cursed her, as he sometimes did. He dreaded this -devil of a Pete, who wasn't the kind of Siwash that -one found among the meaner tribes, the fishing, -begging Indians. He had some red and ugly blood -in him. He got on Quin's nerves. -</p> - -<p> -And then Mary was Pete's sister. If she hadn't -been he would never have known Jenny, and if he -had given Pete a job it would have been like giving -it to any Siwash. Now Pete would be more than -ever down on them both. George began to think it -worth while to find out where Pete was. He sent -up to Kamloops to ask. At the same time he sent -word to the hospital that Mary was to have anything -she wanted. There was a deal of good in George -Quin, and somehow little Jenny brought it out. -</p> - -<p> -The poor girl in the hospital knew there was good -in him. And in the old days there had been good in -Ned. Even now she loved him. When they asked -her how she had come to be injured, she declared -that it was not Ned who had done it. She said that -as she lay swathed in bandages before she knew how -much she had been hurt. She said it with white -lips that trembled when she had seen herself for the -first time in the looking-glass. Perhaps few women -would have been so brave, for she knew that -henceforth no one would look on her without strange -white bandages to hide the wound which her mad-man -had made. For she had been beautiful, and -even now there was beauty in her eyes and in the -sunken cheek and curved chin that had been spared. -But henceforth she went half covered in white linen, -since none but a doctor could bear to look upon her -without it. -</p> - -<p> -"It wasn't Ned that did it," she said to the Law -when it came to her. "It was a stranger." -</p> - -<p> -And everyone knew better than that, unless -indeed too much liquor had made Ned a stranger. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to see Ned," she murmured. And yet -she was very strong. A weak thing would have -died. But she loved life greatly, though she -wondered why. She made one of the nurses write to -her man saying that she wanted him. That brought -Ned back from Seattle. George received him -sullenly. Jenny refused to see him. -</p> - -<p> -"Watch out for Pete," said George when his -brother went up-country. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete, oh, to thunder with Pete," replied Ned. -</p> - -<p> -"Look out for him," repeated George. -</p> - -<p> -"You ain't wanting me to be scared of a Sitcum -Siwash, are you?" asked Ned angrily. "Perhaps -you're scared of him yourself. You took his -klootchman anyhow. It's more'n I did." -</p> - -<p> -George Quin was afraid of him. Many who knew -his record would have said that he was alike -incapable of fear or love, but some might have known -that love for the mother of his first and unborn -child took the courage out of him and made him -full of fears. Now he was always "watching out." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVIII -</h3> - -<p> -Difficult to think of anything at the Landing, Sir, -but what was going on! Give you my word it was -hurry; it hummed, and hissed and sizzled and -boomed. The forest fell down before the axe and -saw: felling axe and cross cut; and shacks arose, -shacks and shanties and shebangs, drinking shanties, -gambling shanties, stores which sold everything -from almonds to axes, and all that comes after A -right down to Z. -</p> - -<p> -The Landing's in the Wet Belt. It rains there, -it pours there, the sky falls down. Sometimes the -Lake (it's on the Shushwap, you know, close to the -head of it) rises up in dancing water-spouts. It -was once a home and haunt of bears (and is again -by now likely), but when Pete stepped ashore from -the hay-laden lake wagon called the s.s. <i>Kamloops</i>, -it wouldn't have been easy to find a bear or a -caribou within earshot. The Street, the one Street, -was full of men. There were English, French, -Germans, Dutch, Swedes, Norwegians, Russians, -Finns and Letts, mixed with autochthonous -Americans with long greasy hair (Siwashes who -lived on salmon) and other Americans of all sorts. -It was a sink, a pool, a whirlpool, it sucked men -up from down country: it drew them from the -mountains. To go East you had to pass it: going -West you couldn't avoid it. -</p> - -<p> -Men worked there and drank there and gambled -there. There were Chinamen about who played the -universal Fan-tan. There were Faro tables: Keno -went there: stud-horse poker had its haunts and -votaries. The street was a mud channel: men -drank and lay in it. By the Lake they lay in piles, -and more especially the Swedes did. They are -rousing drinkers "and no fatal error." -</p> - -<p> -There was night there, of course, for the sun -couldn't and wouldn't stay to save them oil, but as -to peace or quietness, the peaceful quiet of a human -night, there was no such thing. Sunday was rowdier -than other days, if any day could be rowdier. -If a man wanted work he could get it. Devil -doubt it, work was to be had at fine prices. Bosses -employed men to come and pretend even for two -and a half a day. They dragged men in and said, -"Take my dollars, sonny, and move some of this -stuff." Men worked and took the dollars and -gave them to the stores and gamblers. It seemed -impossible that there could ever be a lack of work. -You could get work on the grade, tilikum; you -could have a little contract for yourself, my son. -You could drive a team if you could handle horses -and mules over a toat road that would make an -ordinary driver weep: why, there were all kinds -of work, with axe and saw and pick and shovel, -and bar and drill and wedge and hammer, and maul -and all sorts of other tools. It was a concert truly, -a devil's dance of work, and of hurry and scurry -and worry. -</p> - -<p> -Why, tilikum? -</p> - -<p> -Because the railroad was being put through and -coming to an End, to two ends, to two Ends of -Track, now closing up rapidly. Once the work had -been spread over four thousand miles, away by -Montreal and Quebec and the Lake of the Woods -and the Great Lake Side, and away to Winnipeg -and Medicine Hat and Calgary and the Rockies. -Now the work narrowed to a few hundred miles, -to a hundred; to-morrow, perhaps to fifty. All -the world of the road was rammed and jammed and -crammed into a little space, as if it were but the -Gulf of Athlone. Men thrust each other aside, it -was elbow work, jostling, it was a high old crowd. -Betcher life, tilikum, it was a daisy of a time and -place that dark-eyed Pete stepped into out of that -old scow of a stern-wheeler. -</p> - -<p> -The Town scooted: she hummed: she sizzled. -What ho, and let her rip! That was the word. The -soberest men grew drunken on mere prospects: -there was money in everything: no one could miss -it: dollars grew on trees: they lined the roads: -they could be caught swimming in the Lake. Men -lived fatly: hash was good and none too dear, after -all. "For hayf a dollar" one could get piled up, -get stodged, pawled. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, come in and Eat," said one house. -</p> - -<p> -"We give the best Pie," said another. Pie -fetched the men every time. Your worker loves his -pie: there's a fine lumberers' song about Pie which -is as popular with the men of the Woods as "Joint -Ahead and Centre Back" is with Railroaders. -They all gave good pie at the Landing. You bet, -tilikum. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, in all his born days, had never seen or heard -or dreamt of such an astonishing hubbub, such go, -such never-let-up, as he saw at the busy Landing. -He was a stunned, astonished Siwash for a while and -wandered around with his eyes out of his head, -feeling lonely, stranded, desolate. And then he -found that he knew men here and there and -everywhere. Some of them slapped him on the back: -some said "Howdy": some said "Hev a drink, -sonny!" Men were generous: they felt they were -millionaires or on the way to be: it was a fine old -world. Pete smiled and smoked and drank in this -house and that and forgot for awhile all about -Mason, who was supposed to be running a little -saw-mill in the woods, that Missouri Simpson had -told him of. Pete put his woes into the background; -he couldn't hear or see them at the Landing for -quite a while. There was truly a weakness of -revenge in him. If either or both of the Quins had -followed him up and said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look hyar, Pete, come and hev a drink and let's -talk about these klootchmen——" -</p> - -<p> -Why, it is at least possible that Pete would have -drunk till he wept and have taken dollars to forgive -them about Jenny and Mary. He had a weakness -in him, poor devil, as so many have. -</p> - -<p> -But when finally he did get work in a big stable -helping the head stableman who looked after some -of the C.P. Syndicate's horses, he found many who -remembered or had heard, or had just learned all -about Jenny and Mary. That's the best or the -worst of B.C., as I said some time ago, everyone -knew everyone and all about them. They talked -scandal like a lot of old or young women: told you -about this man's wife or that: they raked up the -horrid true story of Ned Quin's killing one poor -klootchman by kicking her. They asked Pete for -information about Mary. When some were drunk -they mentioned Jenny. They never gave poor Pete -a chance to forget, and over and above the mere -mischief of drunken scandalous chatter, there were -one or two who hated the Quins. Neither of them -hesitated about downing a man by way of business, -though of late years Ned had been no more than a -shooling no-good-sort of man all round. So one -or two said: -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Pete, you ain't let up on them Quins, hev -you? Them Quins are two damn smart-alecks, -that's what they are! I say they're mean, oh, -mean ain't the word. I hear Ned Quin cut your -sister to slivers with an axe. Is it true?" -</p> - -<p> -They got him crying about Mary and Jenny, and -presently it was understood that Pete had forgotten -nothing. All he was after was a few dollars. Why? -"Well, to tell the trewth, tilikums, I believe, -straight, that the boy's idea is to kill one or both o' -them Quins and then skip across the forty-ninth -Par'lel and away." -</p> - -<p> -They put that into Pete's head: told him it was -easy to skip out. They knew better. But one -man, named Cumberland, who had been done in a -deal by George and done pretty badly, cheated, in -fact, and outfaced, egged the boy on daily. -Cumberland had all the desire to be "a bad man" -without the pluck, or grit, or sand to be an imitation -of one. But he never forgot. -</p> - -<p> -In all the fume and roar of this short-lived Town -it was easier to get money than to save it. -Everything cost money, cost dollars; "two bits" was the -least coin that went, and that's a quarter of a -dollar. Pete had an Indian's thirst, and drank -more than was good for him. If it hadn't been -that the rush of work handling hay-bales, sacks of -oats, maize, flour, mats of sugar, cases of dynamite, -and tools and all the rest, sweated the alcohol out -of him he would have got the sack promptly, the -Grand Bounce. As it was he stayed, being really a -worker, and as nice a boy to work alongside as -one could wish. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete's a clever boy for a Sitcum Siwash," said -the Boss. For clever in the vernacular of the West -means nice. They quite liked him, even though -the real white men looked down on him, of course, -as real Whites will on everyone who isn't White. -But he had his tilikums even there, an Irish Mike -who hadn't learned to look down on anyone and -would have actually consorted with a nigger, and -another half-breed, originally from Washington -Territory and by his mother a D'wamish, or Tulalip, -of the Salishan, but educated, so to speak. They -both looked down on the Indians of the Lakes, who -caught salmon and smelt wild and fishy, like a bear -in the salmon-spawning season. Oh, yes, Pete had -his friends. But no friend that was any good. For -D'wamish Jack was a thick-headed fellow and the -Micky always red-headed for revenge on everyone. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll stick 'um," he used to say. He was going to -stick everyone who disagreed with him. He had an -upper lip almost as long as an American-Irish -caricature. When he was drunk he moaned about Ireland -and Pete's woes and his own. -</p> - -<p> -With such partners in the hum of the Town it -wasn't a wonder that Pete didn't accumulate the -shekels, or pile in the dibs or the dollars, or the -t'kope chikamin. He had as many cents to his -name by the time it was high summer as when he -came to the Landing. And then he struck a streak -of luck, as he said, and as D'wamish Jack said and -as the Mike said. He went one Sunday into a -Faro lay-out, run by an exceedingly pleasant -scoundrel from Arizona, who was known as Tucson -Thompson. You will kindly pronounce Tucson as -Tewson, and oblige. -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't another such a man as Tucson in the -Town, or the Wet Belt, or the Dry Belt, or all B.C. -He was born to be a gambler and was really polite, -so polite that it was impossible to believe he had -ever killed anyone when you were with him and -quite as impossible to doubt it when you went away -and thought of him. He was nearly fifty, but as -thin as a lath, he could talk like a phonograph, tell -stories like an entertainer, and the few women in the -town held the belief that he was exceedingly -handsome. He wasn't, but he had a very handsome -tongue. When he lost, if he did lose, he didn't seem -to mind. When he won, he appeared to take the -money with some regret. At the worst he did -it as a pure matter of business: he gave you so -many cards, and you gave him so many dollars. He -said he ran a straight game. There wasn't a man in -the Town equal to saying he didn't, and when one -understands that no one is allowed to kill anyone -else in British Columbia for saying he is a liar, it will -be understood that there was more to Tucson -Thompson that lay on the surface. He inspired -respect, and required it with a politeness which -was never urgent but never unsuccessful. -</p> - -<p> -He had his lay-out in the back-room of the -Shushwap House, where they sold "Good Pie," and said -so outside in big letters. -</p> - -<p> -It was there that Pete acquired what he looked on -as a competency. It was two hundred and fifty -dollars, a very magnificent sum. Whether Tucson -really ran a straight game, or thought it was about -time to give himself a great advertisement, cannot -be said, but this time Tucson or the straight cards -let Pete in for a mighty good thing, which turned -out a bad thing, of course. The only point about it -was that Tucson didn't get the cash back again, as -he might very reasonably have expected, seeing that -gamblers are gamblers, and that a Sitcum Siwash -doesn't usually hang on to dollars till the eagles -on them squeal in anguish. -</p> - -<p> -And the reason of this was that someone from -Kamloops, a storekeeper on the look out for business -at the Landing, was in the gambling shanty when -Pete raked in his pile. He slapped Pete on the back -first of anyone and took him on one side. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Pete, old son, hev you heard about your -sister?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Heard what?" asked Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"She's outer the hawspital." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you seen her?" -</p> - -<p> -The storekeeper nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"She's dreadful hurt, Pete," he said with horrid -unction. "I saw her the day she kem out. She's -wropped up all one side of her face, like a corp, all -in white. They say Ned Quin cut half her face off." -</p> - -<p> -Pete's face was as dreadful as his sister's. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"She's gone back to Ned," replied the storekeeper. -"She would go back: it warn't no good arguin' with -her. Mrs. Alexander offered her a job in her kitchen, -bein' a good old soul, but Mary would go back to -him, she would." -</p> - -<p> -Pete stood him a drink and then took one himself -and then another. He flatly refused to play any -more. But he spent ten dollars on the crowd. The -more he drank the soberer he seemed to grow. The -liquor hid the tension in him, and the excitement of -the game. Mary was cut to bits and was back with -Ned! He chewed on that as he drank. The -storekeeper got hold of him again. -</p> - -<p> -"Some enemy o' Ned's got home on him, Pete, and -no fatal error," said he, with his eyes fixed on the -young fellow; "some enemy got home on him and -no fatal error." -</p> - -<p> -"What?" said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"They ran his cattle, some fine fat steers and a -few good cows, into the cañon back of his place, and -killed most of them." -</p> - -<p> -Pete grunted and looked on the floor. -</p> - -<p> -"He allows you done it, Pete. But there ain't no -evidence you done it, boy. The men araound -Kamloops allows it sarves him right, Pete. Ned Quin -ain't a single friend araound Kamloops. The poor -girl! She used to be so pretty. I reklec' her as a -little girl: there warn't a tenas klootchman araound -ez' could hold a candle to Mary, bar your wife Jenny. -I heerd George Quin hez give her dresses and rides -her araound in a carriage, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -There were many times when the Kamloops -steamer left the Landing at night. She couldn't -keep to times: she came and went when she was -full or empty. The owners of the cranky old scow, -turned into a sternwheeler, coined money out of -her, though her steam-chest leaked and she shook -as she went. Now she tooted her horn, blew her -whistle. It was nigh on to midnight, but there was -a high white moon above the hills, and on the quiet -lake a moon's wake shone. Pete thrust the -storekeeper aside and went to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Hullo, Pete, old chap, where you goin'? Halo -klatawa, you son of a gun!" said many. But Pete -paid no attention. His wife was riding around in -carriages with George Quin, and Mary had gone -back to Ned. He ran down to the wharf where the -steamer lay and jumped on board as she backed off -the shingle. -</p> - -<p> -He saw the fairy lights of the Landing die down, -and then the steamer rounded a point and the -Landing saw him no more. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kill em' both," said Pete. He could not -see the quiet wonder of the night and the glory of the -moon above the peaceful pine-clad hills. He saw -poor Mary in a shroud, and Jenny laughing at him -from the side of George Quin, who also smiled in -triumph. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIX -</h3> - -<p> -What the storekeeper told Pete was true enough, -but such a man as that could know nothing of the -deep inside of things, and the heart of such a strange -woman as Indian Mary was hidden from him and all -like him. It was hidden from herself, even when she -knew she was maimed and disfigured, for still in spite -of her bitterness and grief she yearned to go back to -him who had hurt her and made her very dreadful -to see. She had given herself to him once for all, -and her heart was steadfast to the man he seemed -to be when he took her to his house. Even then she -had known his history, and had not been ignorant -of his cruelty to a little dead woman who lay with -an unborn child in the cemetery at the back of -Kamloops town. When they first met he was -grieving, as even such as Ned must, for the deed -that made him lonely, and he was doing his poor -best to keep away from drink. In those days he -was a handsome man, taller and finer looking than -his brother, and he captured Mary's heart. She was -taken, as women can be taken, by seeing a strong -man grieving, and she believed that he was more -unfortunate than evil. For ten years she had -hoped against hope, and now knowing that it was -almost hopeless, was yet faithful rather to the dead -man within him than to the wretch that he was. -</p> - -<p> -"I must go back to him," she said. She could do -no other. -</p> - -<p> -And yet when he came to the hospital, and asked -for her, she fell into a deadly tremble of sickness and -would not see him. He had made her hideous, for -though white linen hid her face, she could see beneath -it, and knew. The man would hate what he had -done, and hate her to whom he had done it. He -went away mournfully, and for once went out of -Kamloops quite sober, carrying no liquor. But -before he went he was spoken to by the same -sergeant of police whom Pete had feared after he had -destroyed the cattle, and Ned was sick of heart to be -so spoken to. -</p> - -<p> -"It's lucky for you the gal didn't die, Quin," said -the sergeant. "We'd ha' hung you high for it. She -allows you didn't do it, but we know better. Run -straight and keep sober, or we'll have you yet. -You're a disgrace to a civilized community, a disgrace -to a civilized country, Sir, that's what you are, -you damned cayoot!" -</p> - -<p> -Ned Quin had to take that and chew on it. And -once, as he knew, he had been a man. He cried as -he rode back to his ranche. He met old -acquaintances who would not know him, and when he got -back home to find it lonelier than his worst -imagination, he feared to face it. Even the corrals were -empty. The cattle that he had loved were dead: -the cañon stank with them. One solitary cow lowed -near the shack: Mary's horse was on the hill behind -it with horses that belonged to Missouri Simpson, -one of those who that day had met him on the road -without the salutation that any stranger would get -in a hospitable and kindly land. -</p> - -<p> -He "hung it out" for days without drinking. He -worked all he could: he rode over to the Nikola and -rounded up a few head of steers that hadn't been -handy when Pete drove the rest to death. He -mended the broken fences of his corrals: he cleaned -up the cold, neglected house. He cleaned up Mary's -blood, and shivered as he scraped the earthen floor -of the signs that were so nearly those of murder and -of death. -</p> - -<p> -He suffered agonies at night-time and still struggled, -perhaps in his last fight against alcohol. -</p> - -<p> -And when he had been alone a week Mary came -back. She could not help coming: her heart was a -mother's, seeing that she had no children, and the -poor thing she loved was her child. She was lonely -without him. Perhaps he would be kind now, -perhaps he would forgive her for being so hideous. -For one side of her face was still beautiful: both -her sorrowful eyes were lovely. She left the hospital, -and never entered a house in town. She went out -at night lest they should see her, and faced the -hill-road, as it wound up the hills at the back of the -town, in a starry darkness. Her strength was not -much, but she had enduring Indian blood in her -veins, that blood that helps poor squaws to carry -loads their lordly men will not touch: that blood -that helps them to suffer uncomplaining: that -blood which, in their male children, helps to endure, -if need be, the dreadful torture of the hostile fire -and stake. She went swiftly through the night, and -long before dawn came over the last hill in the trail -which led to the desolate ranche where her steadfast -heart lay. Under the stars and a faint fine glow -that was the dawn, she saw the little shack, and -then her heart and limbs failed her. She sat down -and cried softly for her sad life and her tortured -love, and her lost beauty under the shroud of white -linen over her right cheek and jaw. Would he be -kind to her, or would he hide his eyes and drive her -from him? She knew nothing but that her sad -heart needed him, even him, rather than any kind -and gentle man that lived. She rose up trembling -but set forward on the trail, and at last came to the -house. A little chill breeze blew down from the -hills, and a cloud hid the faint rose of dawn, so -that it was full night as she crossed the threshold. -For Ned, sleeping uneasily and afraid of the very -house, had set the door open. She stayed and heard -him move in the bed. She reached out her empty -arms, but not to any God. She reached them to -her wretched child, her man. And then Ned woke. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he cried aloud. He saw a dark -figure against the lucid night beyond the door. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he cried again. His voice shook. -</p> - -<p> -"It's Mary," said the ghost he saw and feared. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you——" he cried. She heard him shake. -"Have you come back?" -</p> - -<p> -She fell upon her knees by the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Ned." -</p> - -<p> -He reached out a hand to her. It was cold as -ice: for the blood had gone to his heart and brain. -</p> - -<p> -"You've come back—to me?" -</p> - -<p> -He knew it was a miracle, and, brutish and -besotted as he was, he felt the awful benediction -of her presence. -</p> - -<p> -"To me!" -</p> - -<p> -To him, to a man who had cursed her life at its -springs, who had given her no joy, who had cut her -to pieces by their bed and warm hearth! She had -come back. -</p> - -<p> -"If you want me," she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -He shook and trembled. If he wanted her! He -wanted nothing but her: she was the world to -him. -</p> - -<p> -"If I want you!" -</p> - -<p> -He clutched her hands and kissed them. She felt -the hot tears run on them. He wept for her, the poor -man wept. She dragged herself close to the bed and -tried to speak, tried to tell him that she was so -altered. She spoke as if he had nothing to do with -it: as if she had been smitten by some strange -accident, by some disease, by some malignant and most -unhappy fate. He heard her whisper. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm, I'm not pretty now," she sobbed dryly. -"Ned, I'm not toketie any more!" -</p> - -<p> -For once, perhaps, he suffered more than she did: -for that time he exceeded her grief, because this was -his deed. He groaned. -</p> - -<p> -"But if you want me!" -</p> - -<p> -"I want you, Mary," he screamed suddenly, "no -one else, dear Mary: oh, what a wretch I am!" -</p> - -<p> -The best of him, long hidden, long concealed, in a -drought of tears, came up at last. He hid his head -in the pillow and cried like a child. She sat upon the -bed in an urgent desire of maternal help and held his -head between her hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -She took him at last in her arms and murmured -to him gently. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh, my man, my Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -He felt the linen on her face and shivered, but -spoke no more. She lay down by him and, overcome -by her strange pure passion and the fatigue -of the miles she had travelled to come to him, she -at last fell asleep. -</p> - -<p> -Then the slow dawn grew up over the clouds, and -came in colour across the sunburnt hills and entered -their home. Ned sat up in bed beside her and saw -her dear face covered by its shroud. -</p> - -<p> -"Help me, oh, God!" said the man. -</p> - -<p> -And perhaps help might come, not from any -God, but from the deep heart that prayed to the -spirit of man which hides in all hearts and only -answers to prayer, if it answers at all to any -pleading. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -XX -</h3> - -<p> -Though the railroad, the mighty railroad, the one -and only Railroad of the Big Admiring World, was -the chief topic of talk from Montreal to the Pacific, -and not least so in little Kamloops by her blue -river and lake, yet there was time for talk of other -things even there. The men cackled and chattered -in saloons and out of them, as is the fashion in -sparsely inhabited countries as well as in suburbs, -of all the windy ways of men. Like dust was the -talk lifted up, like dust it fell and rose again. And -the boys often talked of Ned, who, it seemed, had -struck a new streak of virtue and avoidance of -liquor. -</p> - -<p> -"'Twas nip and tuck with him and the law," -said one, "and he's still scared." -</p> - -<p> -"True 'nough, Indian Mary nigh payssed in her -checks. One more cut and she'd ha' bin mimaloose. -They say so at the hawspital," said another. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if he's done with Pitt River Pete, -yet," wondered a third. "D'ye think he druv -them steers into the cañon?" -</p> - -<p> -"Who else? No, Ned Quin ain't through with -Pete. Now I like Pete, he's a first-class Siwash, -not bad by no means. And I never cottoned to -Ned. He's got religion now, eh? Oh, shucks!" -</p> - -<p> -So the fates and men disposed of things even at -the time that the <i>Kamloops</i> sternwheeler came -sweeping west through the quiet waters of the -lakes and the quick stream of the connecting river, -bearing Pete and his strange fortunes. -</p> - -<p> -He fell instantly among such thieves of reputation, -such usual slanderers of hope in sorrowful men, -and heard the worst there was to hear, made better -by no kindly word. Perhaps they knew well in -their hearts that reformation was a vain thing: -they scorned Ned's efforts to be better, and made the -worst, as the world is apt to do, of all he had done. -They drew frenzying pictures of Mary with the -half-hid face: they told Pete of her sad aspect, -and related, in gross passages of bloody words, -exaggerations constructed out of stories from the -hospital of mercy. -</p> - -<p> -As if their incitements were insufficient, the coast -talk of George and Jenny came up stream to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Him and her's havin' a hell of a good time, Pete. -He took your pretty klootchman over to Victoria -as bold as brass, as if he was Lord High -Muckamuck and she my Lady Dandy oh! Druv her -araound in carriages, little Jenny as we knowed -in Mis' Alexander's kitchen: she ez praoud ez any -white woman, dressed to kill, and no fatal error. -He's giv' her silks and satins like as if she wuz his -wife, and she gigglin' happy. I say it's a dern -shame for a man to kapsualla a chap's klootchman. -Bymby he'll throw her over, chuck her out. And -they say she's got a kid now, and it ain't yours, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -There was love of offspring deep in Pete's heart, -hidden from himself till this moment. He ran out -of the shanty into the street. -</p> - -<p> -"There ain't no need to fill the boy up the way -you're doin'," said one of the loafers uneasily. -"If ain't no good to make him so ez he'll murder -them Quins." -</p> - -<p> -The others laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"None of us is stuck on the Quins," they -declared. "And if Pete is burro enough to bray -too loud and kick up his heels, forgettin' he's only -a Siwash, they'll fill him up with lead. And even -in this yer British Columbia, which is a dern sight -too law-abidin' for a man, we reckon that -self-defence is a good defence sometimes. Here's the -worst of luck to Judge Begbie, anyhaow." -</p> - -<p> -Next morning Pete rode on a hired horse towards -the Nikola, being full of liquor ere he set out with a -bottle in his pocket. He had tried to buy a gun, -a six-shooter, but there are few in most British -Columbia towns, and those who wore them by -habit, in spite of the law, were not sellers. When a -man has carried a "gun" for years he feels cold -and helpless without it. That's one of the facts -that are facts, tilikum. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete didn't care. There were such things as -shovels, said Pete furiously. -</p> - -<p> -It was a heavenly bright morning, and the far -distance of the warm hills, rising in terraces above -the Lake, shone clear and warm. Such is the -summer there, so sweet, so tender, so clear, and -every day is a bride of kindly earth. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode hard and saw nothing but the wan -aspect of his sister, and the giggling jeer of Jenny, -clad in scarlet and bright shame. -</p> - -<p> -The good brown earth with the lordly bull-pines -scattered on rising hills was very fair to look upon. -On the higher levels of the terraces were pools of -shining lakes: some shone with shores of alkali -and some were pure sweet water. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, riding a doomed man however he wrought, -drank no pure water with his heart. He sucked -bitter water from the bitterest lakes, poor fool, -going to do his duty, as his Indian blood said, and -as much white blood would have said as well. -</p> - -<p> -The sun, unclouded as it was, shone without the -fierceness of the later summer. The grass, though -it was browned, had still sap within it. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode half-drunken, with fire within him. -</p> - -<p> -And then at last he topped the rise that hid -Ned's shack. He saw a woman by the shack, and -with his eyes discerned even from afar that she -wore white linen on her head. But he could not -hear her sing. And yet poor Mary sang: it seemed -that out of her sorrow there had grown so great a -joy that song would come from her wounded -healing heart. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode down the trail. So in fine weather -among the hills a storm may break. So may a -cyclone, a tornado, approach a city. So may fire -burst out at quiet, sleepy midnight. In one moment -there was horror in the happy and repentant and -praying home where Ned and Mary had come -together once again. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mary," said Pete. He came riding fast. -She looked up, did not know him, and looked again, -and knew him. She called to Ned, who came out -at the sound of galloping. -</p> - -<p> -"It's Pete," she cried, but Ned stood there -stupidly. In his great repentance and his new -found peace he could not believe in bitter enmity, -in war or in revenge. -</p> - -<p> -There is a power of strange madness in the Indian -blood, diluted though it be. Under the maddening -influence of liquor the nature of the Indian flowers -in dreadful passions, forgetful of new circumstances, -oblivious of punishment and of law. None knew -this better than Ned Quin, and yet he stood there -foolishly, with a doubtful smile upon his face, a -smile almost of greeting. He was even ready to -forgive Pete for what he had done. He felt his -heart was changed, and without a touch of religion -or creed this was a natural and sweet conversion. -But Mary tugged at his arm, for she knew. -</p> - -<p> -The whirlwind came down on them: Pete rode at -him and, ere he awakened and turned, rode him -down. Ned fell and was struck by the horse, -reluctant to ride over him, and Pete leapt from the -saddle. He saw Mary with her hands up, but -chiefly saw the white shroud on her face. He forgot -her, forgot his horse, and only remembered that -one of the brothers he hated lay sprawling before -him, half stunned, raised on one hand. With a -club, a branch of knotted fir, that he seized on, he -went for the man and battered him. Mary flew at -him, and he sent her headlong with a backward -motion of his left arm. She reeled and fell and got -upon her knees, screaming with bitter rage at her -brother. But she was weak, and though she got -to her feet again, she fell once more. She saw -Ned bleeding, saw him fall supine, saw his empty -hands open and shut: she heard the blows. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," she cried. Within the shack there -was a shot-gun. It stood in the corner, there were -cartridges handy. She crawled for the house, and -got on her feet again and staggered till she reached -it. She found the gun and the cartridges, threw -the breech open, rammed one in and closed it. The -possession of the weapon gave her strength. She -ran out, and Pete saw her coming, saw the gun go to -her shoulder. With the club in his hand he ran at -her as quick as he had been in the Mill. And as he -nearly closed with her she fired. He felt the very -heat of the discharge, was blinded by it and by the -grains of powder, and fell unhurt, save for a burnt -and bloody ear. Mary struck him with the butt and -knocked him senseless: he lay before her like a -log. She dropped the gun and ran to Ned and fell -upon her knees. She lifted his battered head and -prayed for his life, and even as she prayed she -believed that he was killed. There was no motion -in him; her trembling hand could feel no -heart-beat. She heard her brother groan. -</p> - -<p> -"He's killed him," she screamed, "he's killed him!" -</p> - -<p> -She laid her man down with his head upon a sack -that lay near by. She turned to Pete with blazing -eyes and saw the man she believed she had slain -sitting up and staring about him foolishly. From one -car blood ran: his white face was powder-scorched. -</p> - -<p> -"You devil," said his sister, "you've killed my -man, the man I loved; oh, you wicked beast, you -cruel wretch, you pig——" -</p> - -<p> -She screamed horrible abuse at her brother, -dreadful abuse and foolish. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll hang you, hang you, hang you!" -</p> - -<p> -She yelled this at him as she stood before him -like a fury. The words went by him like a breeze: -they entered his ears but not his brain: he was still -stupefied, half unconscious. He turned away and -was violently sick. She pitied him not and was -remorseless. She took him by the shoulder and -shook him. He turned a foolish and wondering -face at her, with some dawn, a very dim dawn, of -consciousness in him. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll get you hanged," she said. He heard the -word "hanged" and again "hanged" and wondered -sickly what it meant. She ran from him and -he watched her. She went to the horse which -stood some twenty yards away. The animal -started and walked away and she stopped and -spoke soothingly to it, using low words and bidding -it be gentle. She went round in a circle and got -upon the other side of it, and at last the horse -stood still and let her grasp the bridle. Pete -wondered what horse it was and why she was catching -it. She brought it to the shack and slipped the -bridle reins over a post. -</p> - -<p> -He saw her use incredible strength and drag -Ned Quin into the house. She cried aloud and -sobbed most dreadfully. She put her man in the -shadow, laid his head upon a pillow and covered -his wounded face with white, even as her own was -covered. She shut the door and came out. Pete -still sat upon the ground with both hands outspread -behind him. She said that he would be hanged, -again she said it. He saw her get upon his horse -and ride away towards the road. Where was she -going? Who was it that was going? What was -this woman going for? -</p> - -<p> -These were horrible problems, but he knew, as a -man knows things in a nightmare, when he cannot -move, that their solution concerned him. They -concerned him seriously. He struggled to solve them. -It seemed that he spent years, aye, centuries, in the -bitter attempt and still he saw the woman astraddle -on a horse go up the rise to the north. This was a -woman, oh, God, what woman?—a woman with a -white cloth on her face, a ridiculous fierce figure who -had said "hanged!" What was "hanged"? -What did it mean? And why did she say it to -him? What was he for that matter, and who was -he? He struggled hard to discover that. So far -as he could see, he was an unnamed, peculiarly -solitary speck of aching, struggling matter in a -world of pain. So they say the disembodied may -feel. His senses were numbed: they sent foolish -messages to him, messages that warned him and -alarmed him without being intelligible. He knew -that he was in some great danger. He saw a house, -but did not know it; a gun, but could not say -what it was and why it lay there in the pounded, -trodden dust. Something wet dripped from his -head: he put his hand up and saw blood upon -it. Whoever he was, he was hurt in some way. -He sighed and still saw the woman. Now she -disappeared. It mattered very much. Why was -she leaving him? He spoke suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -"What's my name?" said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -If he could only get that. On that point hung -everything: he felt sure of that. Now he knew -he was a man; he had got so far. But what -manner of man he could not tell. How silly -everything was! He groaned and grinned. Then he -started. -</p> - -<p> -"My name's Pete," he said suddenly. "It's Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -This was the clue: this the end of the tangled -cord of things. It was, he felt, utterly idiotic and -alarming to know so much and no more. It was -infinitely annoying. He said "I'm Pete, am I Pete, -I'm Pete, eh!" and then sat staring. He wanted -some kind of help, but what help he did not know. -The task of discovering what all things were from -what seemed the primal fact of all, that he was -called Pete, appeared hugely difficult. He cried -about it at last. And then some chickens came -round the corner of the shack, and pecked in the -dust. A big rooster came after them and stood upon -a log, and whooped a loud cock-a-doodle-doo! It -was a natural sound. Pete knew it and stared with -sudden intelligence at the brilliant bird upon the -log. Of a sudden the whole veil over all things was -lifted. He knew who he was and why he was there -and what he had done! Above all he knew what -the word "hanged" meant. It was his sister who -had said it. He got upon his knees and staggered -till he could hold on to the house. It was a help -to hold on to something while he thought. -</p> - -<p> -"Hanged," said Pete. He had killed a man. -Where was he? It was Ned Quin. But if he had -killed him how had he got away? -</p> - -<p> -"I won't be hanged," said Pete. "I won't. -She's gone to tell 'em I've made Ned mimaloose, -killed him. I'll stop her!" -</p> - -<p> -That was a very clear idea, and the notion satisfied -him for a while as he swayed to and fro. But -how? The woman with the white linen had taken -his horse. It was again a hard problem, but since -he knew who he was, things were very much easier, -though they were still a struggle. He didn't know -how he got there, but presently he found himself -in the stable, leading out Ned Quin's horse, a lean -and old, but still sound, sorrel. It was wonderful to -find that he had a horse already saddled and bridled. -He didn't know that he had put the saddle on and -cinched up the girths himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I'm all right. That kloshe," said Pete. -He almost forgot in his satisfaction what he wanted -the horse for. But presently he remembered that -he had to stop that woman (his sister, was she?) -from going somewhere. Was there such a place as -Kamloops? Very likely there was. Then he saw -the gun. -</p> - -<p> -"She shot at me," he said with feeble indignation, -"I'm bleeding." -</p> - -<p> -He wept again. -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly he saw all things as clear as day. -He had killed Ned: she had shot him and then she -had said she would go into Kamloops and denounce -him. There wasn't any time to lose. He "hung -up" the horse and picked the gun from the ground. -He went to the house and opened the door. It was -very dark inside and the outside sun was now -burning bright. He stumbled across something and only -saved himself from falling with great difficulty. -What had he stumbled over? He peered on the -ground and as the pupils of his eyes dilated he saw -a body stretched out with a white cloth over the -face. He trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"It's—it's Ned," he said, shaking. "They'll -hang me!" -</p> - -<p> -He wanted to lift the white cloth but dared not. -He went round the body to the shelf where he knew -the cartridges were kept. He put a handful in his -pocket and then went out with his eyes straight -before him. But he still saw the white cloth. When -he was outside he loaded the gun in both barrels -and clambered on the old sorrel with great -difficulty. As he rode he swayed to and fro in the -saddle. -</p> - -<p> -But he had to catch Mary, had to stop her. That -notion was all the thought in him. It helped to -keep him from falling off. Yet he rode like a -drunken man, and the landscape reeled and shifted -and danced. The big bull-pines swayed as if there -were a great wind and the road was sometimes a -double track. Yet far ahead of him he saw a figure -on a horse. It must be Mary. He clutched the -gun and the horn of the saddle and spurred the old -sorrel with a solitary Mexican spur which he had -borrowed in the town. And as he rode the world -began to settle down before him at last. Though -his head was splitting he rode without his hat. It -lay in red dust by Ned's house. -</p> - -<p> -At first he went at a walk, but presently he urged -the sorrel to a reluctant lope. The figure before him -loped too. He saw he made little headway. He put -the sorrel into a gallop and knew that he gained on -her who now hated him. It was unjust of her: -what he had done was for her, not for himself. Ned -had hurt her horribly. Pete couldn't understand -her. She appeared to love the man who had cut -her down. It was foolish, strange. -</p> - -<p> -And she meant to have him "hanged." That -was the last spur to him: his vision cleared and -became normal. The shifting planes of the terraced -land in front of him sat down at last. He drove the -spur into the sorrel brutally and set him at a furious -gallop. He knew the horse that Mary rode was -tired: it was not much of a cayuse at any time. He -saw her plainly now. -</p> - -<p> -And then she looked round and saw a horseman -coming furiously. What horseman it was she knew -not. Yet it might be Pete, though he was disabled. -She made her horse gallop: she flogged him with a -heavy quirt that hung to Pete's saddle. -</p> - -<p> -But the man behind her gained. She saw him -coming in front of a cloud of white dust. She looked -back through dust. But perhaps it wasn't Pete. -</p> - -<p> -Then she knew the action of the old sorrel, and -panic got hold of her. It was Pete. Yes, that was -certain. She screamed to her horse, and struck him -hard. Now she heard above the sound of his hoofs -upon the road the following echo-like thud of the -sorrel as he crept up to her. She topped a little rise -and raced down hill recklessly. Behind her now -there was a moment's cessation of the following -sound. Then she heard it again and looking back -saw Pete come down the hill. He was within a -quarter of a mile of her and she was not yet half-way -to Kamloops! -</p> - -<p> -She was his sister and an Indian. She was usually -merciful to animals in spite of that: merciful and -kind. But now she feared for herself, and the deep -nature within her flowered as it had done when she -sought Pete's life. She flogged the horse till she -was weary and then pulled out a little knife she -carried and stabbed it through the hide just behind -the saddle. It was a bitter and cruel spurring. -Under the dreadful stimulus her tired horse -responded and galloped furiously. But the old horse -behind her was the better animal: he answered -that gallop of his own accord and was emulous, -eager. -</p> - -<p> -She heard Pete's voice, she turned and saw him -creeping up to her: she saw he had the gun. She -looked at him over her shoulder as they galloped: -his face was dreadful to see: part of his ear was -hanging loose: the blood was on his neck and -shoulder. She saw him open his mouth: he was -speaking: telling her to stop! -</p> - -<p> -But he had killed her man! She believed it! -She would not stop. -</p> - -<p> -Now he crept further up to her, and her old horse -was urged on by the following thunder of near hoofs. -She turned from her pursuer: he saw nothing of -her face but the white cloth. She heard him cursing -awfully. He called her foul names: he screamed -insults. Though she kept her eyes upon the road -she saw dimly that he was ranging up alongside her. -</p> - -<p> -"Stop," cried Pete. She answered on her horse -with the quirt: she had dropped her knife a mile -back. Behind the saddle there were blood marks. -She was in a whirlwind: the sun burnt: the dust -rose: she saw cattle run across the road. Beyond -that slope Kamloops lay: through a fold of one of -the terraces she saw a patch of the lake away to the -east: yonder was the crystalline and azure Thompson. -In front, the dark stained hill beyond the -river and beyond Kamloops rose more clearly. Then -she heard nothing of what he said: she saw his -furious face, saw the blood again, the flapping -cartilage of his ear, and then she saw him lift the -gun. This then meant death! But when the -explosion burst upon her like a blow, she felt the horse -throw up his head, and knew that they were both -falling. She saw, even as she fell, the one clear -picture: the horse with his bleeding neck -outstretched and his legs failing: the white road: the -radiant prairie: the tall brown trees: the splendid -river. Then the earth rose at her: she pitched -headlong, and rolled over motionless. -</p> - -<p> -On the road the wounded horse lay, lifting up his -head as one aghast at death. He made no sound: -the blood poured from the burst arteries and his head -sank back. -</p> - -<p> -Pete never looked behind him as he threw the gun -away and went at a merciless gallop for the last level -mile before the uplands opened on the valley of the -Lake. He cursed his sister and Ned Quin and -himself. How could he get away? -</p> - -<p> -Before he got to the pitch of the road he turned -in his saddle and looked back. He saw the dark -patch that the dead horse made. He saw the cattle -coming to find out what the unusual spectacle -meant, for their curiosity was insatiable. Some -already stood, staring and tossing their heads, in a -half-circle round Mary and the horse. -</p> - -<p> -Soon all the world would be in a circle round the -victims! Where was he to go and how was he to -act? He pulled up suddenly and put his hand to -his aching head. If he went into Kamloops as he -was, with a horse all flaked with foam, and with his -own ear bleeding, all the little world of the town -would be agog to know what had happened. -</p> - -<p> -And yet if he hid till dark, some would find Mary, -perhaps dead, upon the open road. Someone might -go to the shack and discover Ned. It was hard to -know how to act. He remembered for the first time -that he had a bottle in his pocket. He asked advice -of that: it sent him flying down the road to -Kamloops. It was best to risk things, best not to wait, -not to dodge or to hide. His only chance was to get -down to the coast and out of the country. To get -north to the Columbia and then to Sand Point -through Kootenay, practically the only alternative -route out, was impossibly dangerous. And as he -rode he saw a steamboat coming down the river from -the Lakes. If he rode hard he might catch it and -get away before a word was said. As he rode he -bound up his head and ear with a big coloured -handkerchief. It was red enough to hide the oozing -blood. -</p> - -<p> -It was an hour or more after noon when he rode -into Kamloops. He came in at a lope and took on -a careless air, calling "Klahowya" to some of his -tilikums as they passed him. He even saluted a -mounted policeman and went by him singing till he -came to Alexander's, where he had got his horse -from. He had to explain how he came back on Ned -Quin's instead of the one he hired. But the -stableman, who knew he had hired out a wretched crock, -was easy enough to satisfy. -</p> - -<p> -"That damned kieutan fell with me," said Pete, -swaggering, "fell at an easy lope and burst my ear. -I left him at Ned Quin's, sonny, and Ned'll bring -him in to-molla and fetch out this old sorrel. Here's -four bits for you." -</p> - -<p> -He had paid the hire before he took out the horse -that now lay dead upon the road. He heard the -steamer's whistle at the nigh wharf and ran to catch -her. In ten minutes he was on his way down stream -to the Ferry. -</p> - -<p> -He knew it would be, or so easily might be, "a -close call" for him. And yet there was nothing else -to do but to risk it. As the cool air of the river -struck him he shivered. For he thought he had killed -Ned Quin and, now that the heat went out of his -blood, chilling the fever of revenge in him, he began -to be very much afraid. -</p> - -<p> -But he took a drink. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Far back upon the road the cattle ringed round -Mary's body and the body of the horse, and a million -flies blackened the pool of blood and drank against -the dust that soaked it up. The cattle to leeward, -smelling the horror of a spilt life, tossed their heads -uneasily and challenged strange death, that horror -of which their instincts spoke to them. Some to -windward came closer and blew at the flies. They -rose in black swarms and settled again. From a -distance other cattle marched to the wavering ring -about this wonder. Some came running. One of -the inside steers touched Mary's body with his horn. -She moaned and lifted her hand. The steer ran -backwards, snorting, backing on others, who horned -each other angrily. Then the steers crept up again -to Mary and blew at the dust in which she lay. -</p> - -<p> -But this time she rose to a sitting position, and the -ring of cattle with their lowered heads retreated -from her. -</p> - -<p> -She wondered where she was, and how she came -to be there. Then she saw the dead horse, and the -gun that a cow smelt uneasily. She remembered -that Pete had killed Ned, and that he had perhaps -tried to kill her. She scrambled to her feet and the -cattle jostled each other to get away from her. She -staggered as she stood: for she had no strength, and -all desire of life had gone out of her. And with that -there came a sickness of the notion of revenge: it -would only be trying to revenge herself on the -inexorable destiny which was hers. Pete had killed -her man and had gone. She would go back to her dead. -</p> - -<p> -Overhead the sun burnt as she staggered on the -road, the long, endless, wearying road, so like to life. -She went at a foot pace, and the miles were weary -endless spaces without hope. For her man was dead, -and Pete was a cruel madman, and there was nothing -left for her. Yet still she walked, like some painful -hurt creature returning to its lair. She ached in -every limb: her head seemed splitting: the physical -torture of her being dulled her mind. And as -it seemed to her only the sun of all things moved -swiftly. It was drawing on towards evening when -she came to her house and stood outside the door. -Her knees trembled: she clutched at the latch and -door-post to prevent herself falling. -</p> - -<p> -Inside was her man dead: her man who had been -so good and so cruel. She began to weep and -opened the door, letting the westering sunlight in. -The next moment she screamed dreadfully, for the -place where she had left him was vacant! -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Ned, Ned!" she cried in a most lamentable -voice. And yet within her murdered heart there -sprang a faint poor flower of hope even as she cried. -If he had been moved was it not that someone had -come and taken him away? Then—then, oh, God, -perhaps he was not dead! Her brain turned: she -reeled again and clutched at the table and held to it. -</p> - -<p> -"My God, listen to me, be merciful, where is my -man, the man I love?" -</p> - -<p> -She wrestled with the dark gods of fate whose -blinded eyes knew not, nor cared, whom they trod -down upon the dusty roads of earth. -</p> - -<p> -And then she heard a rustle in the room, as of -something stirring! She prayed that this was true: -that she did not hear amiss and that when her eyes -opened she would see Ned once more. -</p> - -<p> -She heard a groan and ran to it blindly and found -her man there, on the bed, their bed, still alive, -though half blinded, blood-covered and hardly conscious! -</p> - -<p> -"Ned, Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -In her mad desire for revenge she had left him, -believing him dead. She fell beside him with a -scream that was no more than a sigh, and when she -became conscious again after that awful shock of -joy, she found his wounded hands seeking hers. She -heard his hurt mouth whisper for water. For the -little good that came with all the evil she thanked -her God very humbly and brought the man water. -He spoke to her and did not know that she had been -away from him. He knew not how he had reached -the bed, or come back to life and to her. He was -very weak and gentle. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear," he said feebly. She washed his -wounds and bound them up. She cried softly over -his pain, which was so much less than her own. -</p> - -<p> -"I've been a brute to you," he mumbled. "But -God help me I'll be that no more." -</p> - -<p> -"You've always loved me," she said. It was true -in spite of everything. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said old Ned. Then he fell asleep and -woke in an hour and wandered a little in his talk. -But she soothed him into peace again and he rested -quietly. Yet she could not leave him to get help -till next morning, and when she went over to their -nearest neighbour, Missouri Simpson, he was away -from home. It was noon when he returned and rode -into Kamloops for the doctor. He told the police -what had happened, and found that someone had -already brought into town Ned's gun and told them -of the horse. They telegraphed to all stations to -the Coast to hold a certain Sitcum Siwash, known as -Pitt River Pete. But by that time Pete was in -hiding on the south side of the Fraser, over against -the Mill, with a canoe, stolen from a house near -Ruby Creek, where he had left the train. For it -seemed to him that he could not escape if he went -further. That he had not been arrested yet was a -miracle. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll catch me and hang me," he said with a -snarl. -</p> - -<p> -He felt sure they would and he had something to -do before they did. -</p> - -<p> -As he lay in the brush, across the river, he tried -to pick out the lights of the house, high upon the -hill, in which Jenny and George Quin lived. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXI -</h3> - -<p> -The news that one Pitt River Pete was wanted by -the police, by the "bulls," spread fast through the -town and into Shack City. As soon as they heard, -and as soon as Indian Annie was chuckling grossly -over the possible delight of seeing Pete hanged, the -police came down and searched every hole and -corner in the sawdust swamp. They routed out -Annie almost the first of the lot, and she -screamed insults at them as they searched her -den. -</p> - -<p> -"Kahta you damn plisman tink I hide Pete?" -she yelled. "Pete hyu mesachie, him damn bad -Siwash; if him come I say 'mahsh, klatawa, go, -you damn thief.' Oh, you damn plisman, what -for you make mess my house? You tink Pete -him one pin I hide him lik' dat?" -</p> - -<p> -They bade her dry up and when she refused they -took her by the scruff of the neck and bundled her -outside. She sat in sawdust and yelled till they -left her shack and searched the others. They -found nothing, of course, but they found out one -thing, and that was the readiness of most of the men -of the Mill, Siwashes or Whites, to give away Pete -with both hands. For they, at any rate, were -certain that it was he who had spiked the logs and -killed poor old Skookum Charlie. And since he had -killed a Chinaman, too, all the men from the Flowery -Kingdom were ready to do the same. Old Wong -said so to the "damned plismen." But as the -Chinamen relied on the police to save them from abuse -and injury, they were even readier to help than -the Siwashes. -</p> - -<p> -"Supposee we savvy Pete, we tellee you allo -tim'," said Wong. "My tink Pete damn bad man, -spikee logs, killee my flin Fan. Fan velly good man, -my flin, and Pete spoilum 'tumach,' killee him dead. -All light, we come tellee." -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a doubt about it, that if Pete -turned up in Shack-Town he would be given away, -and though the police went away empty-handed -they had high hopes of nailing him shortly. -</p> - -<p> -They had had a considerable pow-pow that -morning in the Engine-Room before work started -up and there wasn't a soul found there to say a -word for Pete. This was natural enough. -</p> - -<p> -"A man that'll spike logs ain't a human being, -boys," said Long Mac seriously. -</p> - -<p> -"Killing his own tilikums," said Shorty Gibbs. -"It was horrid seein' pore old Skookum!" -</p> - -<p> -"The Chinky was horridest," said Tenas Billy. -"I picked him up." -</p> - -<p> -"So you did," said Shorty. "But what d'ye -think Pete's doin'?" -</p> - -<p> -"He'll be on the scoot." -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure, but where?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, to hell and gone out of this." -</p> - -<p> -"That's your tumtum. It ain't mine by a -mile. If he's been spoilin' Ned Quin's face what'll -he do 'bout George, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Mac intervened. -</p> - -<p> -"Waal, boys, these Injuns are a rotten crowd. -You can't bet on what they'll do. Some o' them -don't care a damn if their klootchmen quit. I -know, for I've run with 'em on the Eastern Slope o' -the Rockies and on the plains. Sometimes they -will though." -</p> - -<p> -He told a ghastly tale. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete's a holy terror, that's what," said Tenas -Billy. "I never give him credit for sand, I admit, -but he has it." -</p> - -<p> -"Sand be damned," said Long Mac; "he -hasn't sand. It's only Injun temper. I know 'em. -They ain't sandy in the way we speak of it, boys. -Bein' sandy is bein' cool. Pete don't do notion' -unless he's mad. None of 'em do, at least none -of these fish-fed coast Injuns. They's a measly -crowd." -</p> - -<p> -The men chewed on that. -</p> - -<p> -"Nevertheless," said Shorty, considering the -matter fully, "I'd rather be me than George Quin -with Pete loose on the tear. The man that spiked -our boom and hunted old Cultus Muckamuck's -steers into a dry cañon and then hammered him -to pulp with a club mayn't have sand, but he's -dangerous." -</p> - -<p> -"He's the kind of Johnny that'd fire the Mill," -said Ginger White, who so far had held his tongue. -</p> - -<p> -"White's on the target," said Mac as the whistle -blew. But he forgot about it when the song and -the dance of the day commenced. There's fine -forgetfulness in work. -</p> - -<p> -Quin was as foolish as the rest of them. That -is to say, he talked to the police and came to the -conclusion that Pete wasn't likely to be on hand -now and for ever after. He knew what Mac knew -and despised the average Coast Indian. It was -true enough they weren't up to much unless they -were "full," full, that is, of liquor. And a man -like Quin knew by instinct the weakness there was -in such as Pete, in spite of his now bloody record. -For Quin had a fine square jaw and Pete hadn't. -But then Quin was incapable of underhand night -work. And he didn't know that Pete was like a -rat in a trap, as a criminal is in British Columbia. -And there was another thing. He knew that Ned -wasn't dead, by any means. It never occurred to -him that Pete believed he had killed Cultus and -must be desperate if he wasn't out of the country. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish the swine was dead," said George Quin. -"I believe I'd marry Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -She had twined herself round his heart, and when -he saw her nursing the one child he had ever been -father of he was as soft as cream with her. Not a -soul about the City would have believed it was -George Quin if they had seen him with his naked -boy in his arms. Only the Chinamen knew about -it, for Sam told them, being delighted, as they all -are, with male offspring. They really sympathised -with the big boss as they thought of their own wives -far away in "China-side" and the children some -of them hadn't seen. Old Wong wept secretly, -for he had worked and gone home to marry a wife, -and she had died. It wasn't likely he would ever -make enough money to buy another, unless he got -it by gambling. He was as bad at that as old Papp, -the German, who still hadn't made sufficient to go -home to "California," in spite of all his work, and -those muscles which made him feel as if he would -"braig dings" if he didn't toil. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, tilikum, George Quin, "Tchorch," was -happy, as happy as he could be. -</p> - -<p> -And Jenny was nearly as happy as she could -be. Her child was a gift from heaven, even if -heaven frowned as it gave her the beautiful boy. -She never saw the Bible or the horrid pictures and -she saw instead the scripture of the child's pure -flesh hourly and read the dark language of her -man's heart. He adored what she had given him, -and she knew, as a woman may know, that underneath -his awkward roughness and his careless ways, -sometimes not wholly gentle, there was real love -for her and the wish to be good. And when he sat -with her and smoked, she caught the paternal -look of full satisfaction that he feigned to hide -from himself. What a boy it was! -</p> - -<p> -He was as fat as a prairie chicken, and as full -of life as a fresh-run salmon. How pink he showed -in hot water: how he squealed like a dear little -pig and kicked his crumpled dimpled legs! Was -there ever such a boy before? -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Tchorch, see," said Jenny. She showed -him the baby's thick dark hair. The child was a -garden of delight that she cultivated all day long. -</p> - -<p> -But she never forgot "Tchorch," who had been -so good to her, and had taken her to Victoria and -driven her about in a fine carriage: who had -showed her the world. If she had only been his -wife the whole earth could have offered her nothing. -</p> - -<p> -And yet behind her was the dark shadow of Pete. -George never spoke of him, and if he had known -that Sam did he would have kicked the Chinaman -from the house to the Mill. Yet it wasn't Sam's -fault, though he was a chatterbox and always -ready for "talkee" at any time. Jenny asked him -about things. She knew that men said it was Pete -who had spiked the logs. Sam told her of the death -of his poor countryman. She wept bitterly about -Skookum, who had always been a kind, thick-headed -chap, very good to his klootchman. She -had now taken up with another who wasn't good -to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor old Skookum," said Jenny. Oh, it was -dreadful of Pete. And yet it was her fault. -</p> - -<p> -But she had her boy! Oh, not for anything, -not for life or heaven or all the round world -contained of good, would she have parted with her -child and George's. She hadn't lived before. And -now "Tchorch" loved her so much more. He was -so satisfied, so content to sit and smoke. Her -Indian blood was happy to see her man sit solemnly -and puff the clouds into the air without a word. -</p> - -<p> -Now she knew of the search for Pete, and knew -what he had done, just as she knew what wicked -Ned had done to poor Mary. She hated Ned, and -was sure he was utterly bad. Nevertheless, Mary -had gone back to him. That she knew was natural. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Mary loves him," she said, "but she has no baby!" -</p> - -<p> -If the sky was clear, it was for her little boy: -when the breezes blew they were for him: the -beauty of the river was his: the loveliness of stars -and the goodness of her milk were the gifts of God, -who was not angry with her but only sorrowful -because she was not married. -</p> - -<p> -"He would marry me if——" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, yes, if Pete were dead! She could not say -it, but could not help the bad thought rising within -her. To be married to George! She trembled to -think of it. -</p> - -<p> -In her heaven Pete was the dark cloud. Perhaps -her constant thought of him put it into George's -head to say, as he did say, very suddenly that -same night— -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I could marry you, tenas!" -</p> - -<p> -She crept to his knee, and laid her head on his -hand. She got more beautiful every day, more -gentle, more tender. -</p> - -<p> -"There's not a spark of vice in the little woman," -said her man, with tears in his eyes. He said he -was a damn fool and spoke gruffly next time. -But she understood her Chief, her great man, and -was pleased to serve his gruffest speech. -</p> - -<p> -"If only that cursed Siwash was dead," said George. -</p> - -<p> -But if he wasn't he would either be in the "pen" -for years or would be seen no more on the Fraser -River. That seemed certain. -</p> - -<p> -And still George was uneasy. It was impossible -to say where the man was. The belief of the police -that he had escaped out of the country went for -nothing. British Columbia might be a mouse-trap, -but it was a handy place for holing up in, and the -brush alongside the river would have hidden a -thousand. George had a talk about the matter -with Long Mac, who was the only one of the workers -in his Mill who had brains beyond his daily task. -</p> - -<p> -"What do you think, McClellan?" asked the Tyee. -</p> - -<p> -Mac's eyes showed that he could think. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a dangerous skunk, that's my tumtum, -Mr. Quin," said Mac. He told him what Ginger -White had said and Quin frowned heavily. -</p> - -<p> -"Fire my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -The Mill was his life, and till Jenny had borne -him a child it had been his true and lasting passion. -There was a fascination about it and the work of -it that he loved. The scent of the lumber: the -sound of the saws: the rush of the work: the -hustling of the men, made something beyond -words. The Mill was a live thing, warm, strong, -adequate, equal to its work. It filled Quin's -alert, strong mind. -</p> - -<p> -"Fire my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -That was Long Mac's "tumtum," his thought, -his notion. -</p> - -<p> -"If he ain't really skipped out, that's what a -cuss like Pete would do to you, Sir," said Mac. -"He's made a holy record for himself, ain't he? -We know he spiked the logs and killed poor -Skookum, and there ain't the shadder of a doubt he -fixed your brother's cattle. And then he's laid him -out, and started off down here. They traced him -to Ruby Creek, and it's tol'ble sure he kapsuallowed -a canoe there. But no one's got on his tracks. -It's bad luck there's been such a mighty poor -salmon run this year, or he'd ha' been seen on the -River." -</p> - -<p> -As it was, the lordly tyee salmon, the quinnat, -had been making a poor show in the Fraser that -year, as he will at intervals, more or less regular. -The canneries were fairly frozen out and shut down. -The river was empty of boats and men. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll set another night-watchman on," said -Quin. "There's something in what you say, -McClellan. The police are damn fools, though." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll take a night or two at it myself, if you like, -Mr. Quin," said Long Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"You're the very man," replied Quin. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -That night Pete got his hidden dug-out into the -water. But his chief thoughts were not of the Mill. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXII -</h3> - -<p> -It was all very well for George Quin, who had -brought all the trouble on himself by running after -other people's klootchmen, to say the police were -fools, but as a matter of fact they had done as -much as could be expected of them, and perhaps -more, seeing that Quin wasn't very popular with -them. His Mill with its Shack-Town gave them -more trouble than the whole of the City, and within -a year two "damn plismen," as Annie called them, -had been laid out cold with clubs in its vicinity. -And nobody had gone into the penitentiary for -the murderous assaults. Nevertheless they had -searched every likely hole and corner for Pete, -from his old native hang-out, Pitt River, down to -the Serpentine and beyond it. They had beaten -the brush along both sides of the Fraser, North and -South Arm and the Island. And, indeed, they -came within a throw of the dice of catching Pete. -One of them missed him and his canoe by a -hair's-breadth, and the Sitcum Siwash had been about to -cave in and show himself when the man turned aside. -</p> - -<p> -As it was, the very search for Pete worked him -up to desperation just as he was beginning to get -cold on revenge and to think rather of escape. -If the police were so keen as to search the brush -and go up and down the river, how was he to get -away? Like most of his sort he didn't know the -country, and would have been puzzled to get even -as far as Whatcom. And even if he did there would -be someone waiting for him. And to go down -stream in the dug-out would be to run right into -a trap, like a salmon. His rage began to burn in -him again, and to this was added hunger. He had -over a hundred dollars in his pocket but hadn't -eaten for four-and-twenty hours. He would have -given his soul for a square meal and a long drink, -and as hunger bit him he knew that if he lingered -any longer mere famine would induce him to give -himself up. Then he would be hanged, and get -nothing more than he had got already as the price -of his neck. When the second night fell he was -wholly desperate. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem to-night, or they catch me," said -Pete. "One ting or the other, Pete, my boy!" -</p> - -<p> -If he only could get a drink! With a drink -inside him he would be equal to anything. He -wondered if he dare trust any of his old tilikums -of the Mill. He thought of Chihuahua and of -Chihuahua's klootchman, Annawillee, and then of -old Annie. They would give him away for a dollar; -he knew that, and very likely there was a price on -his head. If poor old Skookum hadn't been -killed he would have done anything for him. Pete -was very sorry he had killed Skookum, very sorry -indeed. -</p> - -<p> -But he kept on thinking about that drink. If -there was one woman or man in Shack-Town who -always managed to have liquor in her shanty, it -was old Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"I'd choke her for it," said Pete, as he shoved off -in his dug-out and paddled lightly against the last of -the flood coming in from the great Pacific. "I'd -choke her for it." -</p> - -<p> -The night was moonless and cloudy and as dark -as it ever gets on the Fraser in summer. There was -even a touch of an easterly wind about, and the -faint chill of it made him shiver. Without a drink -he felt almost hopeless. -</p> - -<p> -"I try," said Pete in sudden desperation. The -lights were out all over the town. Hardly a solitary -lamp starred the opposing darkness of the hill above -the river. The world was asleep. There was only -a moving lamp in the Mill. He knew it belonged to -the night-watchman, a sleepy-headed old German, -once a worker in the Planing Mill with old Papp. -But since he lost his hand he had been made -night-watchman. -</p> - -<p> -"I give heem plenty light by-by," said Pete. He -slanted across the river and came to an old deserted -rotten wharf a little above the Mill. There in the -black shadow he ran his canoe ashore and stepped -into the mud. He crept silently to where the shore -shelved, and, climbing up, thrust his head out -between some broken flooring of the wharf. The -world was quiet as a tomb. There was even peace -in Shack-Town. Whether he got that drink or not -he had business there that night. Though -Chihuahua most likely wouldn't give him a drink, Pete -meant to make the Mexican help him. For at the -back of Chihuahua's shanty, which was only a -one-room hiding hole, there was a little outhouse. In -that Chihuahua always kept some kerosene. -</p> - -<p> -Pete slipped across the road like a shadow, -dodging among the piles of lumber as he went. -His senses were as alert as a cougar's. And the -sawdust under foot made his steps soundless. On -the other side of the road he waited to be sure -that no one moved. There was only one light in -Shack-Town, and it was at Annie's. That meant -that she was either awake or had fallen asleep drunk -on the floor, forgetful of her lamp. Perhaps she -had a bottle, said Pete thirstily. He felt cold and -nervous and forgot about the kerosene. He ran -lightly across the road and came to Annie's. He -had a sheath knife in his belt. It had once belonged -to Jack Mottram, but Pete had stolen it. He had -no intention of using it on Annie, that is unless -he had to, of course. He carried a heavy stick -in his hand. -</p> - -<p> -He looked into Annie's window, which was -naturally enough foul within and without. He saw -nothing at first but the dim light of the lamp, but -as everything was quiet he rubbed the glass of one -pane with his cap. Then he saw that Annie was -lying on the floor, a mere bundle of rags. Was that -a bottle by her? -</p> - -<p> -You bet it was, tilikum! Pete knew a bottle -when he saw it. Perhaps by good luck it wasn't -empty. He shortened the club in his hand and -tapped lightly on the door with it. Annie never -moved. He pushed the door open, and still she -didn't move. He crept in like a cat until he could -reach out and touch the bottle. It lay on its side -and the cork was out. Nevertheless, a bottle can -hold quite a good drink in it even on its side. It -was as full as it could be in such a position, and -careless of the silent woman he drank it to its fiery -dregs. Hot life ran through his veins. It was -fire: such fire as makes murder light and easy. -He grinned happily and put the bottle down again -by Annie's limp hand. -</p> - -<p> -His life ran warm within him and all his desire of -vengeance grew in alcohol as grass will grow in a -warm rain of spring. -</p> - -<p> -He found the kerosene in Chihuahua's little den, -and started, not for the Mill, but for George Quin's -house. -</p> - -<p> -"My klootchman, ha," said Pete fiercely. "She -have a papoose!" -</p> - -<p> -The papoose slumbered in his loving mother's -arms. By her side big George lay. The night was -so sweet and quiet. If George could marry her he -would. Oh, wonderful, sorrowful world that it was. -And here was the world within her arms and within -her reach. -</p> - -<p> -"I just love Tchorch and baby!" -</p> - -<p> -She woke and slept. Oh, heavenly night and -heavenly day when baby slept, or waked, or stared -solemnly, as Indian blood will and must, at the -strange hard world that meets its wondering eyes. -</p> - -<p> -The summer had been warm and rainless, -everything was dry with the good warmth of summer. -The brush showed brown: the paths were white: -the lumber, whether in stacked piles or in framed -houses, was ready for fire. A spark would light -it: a single match might cause a conflagration as it -would in a dry forest of red cedar or the resinous -spruce. -</p> - -<p> -And Pete carried kerosene. He drenched a -southern wall of boards with it and laid against the -wall dry brush and pieces of sawed lumber that lay -about from the building of the house. He knew the -wood must flame like tinder. If it ran unchecked -for a minute it would take the river to put it out. -And it was high above the river. He grinned and -lighted a match. -</p> - -<p> -The next minute he was running down the hill -like a deer. In less than a minute he dropped, -still carrying the half-emptied kerosene can, through -the hole in the wharf. Then he waited and saw a -warm blaze high upon the hill. -</p> - -<p> -"That fix heem and her," said Pete, intoxicated -with his deed and with the alcohol. "That teach -heem, damn Shautch Quin, heh! I kill his blother, -heh, and burn his house!" -</p> - -<p> -His heart was warm within him as fire. It -seemed so good to be revenged. Now they would -wake, and perhaps would not escape. All the world -would wake and go up there, and then the Mill -would be left alone. Already the flame on the hill -was so fierce that many must see it. -</p> - -<p> -And, indeed, many saw it, and some came running -and there was a growing sound of men, and far off -he heard men call. And then from up above there -came the sound of firearms, used as an alarm. By -this he knew that Quin was up. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem and now I fix his Mill;" said Pete -hoarsely. He had forgotten all they had told him -of the scheme by which a man pays a little so that -he shall not lose all. What did it matter? The -Mill was Quin's, and he loved it. Pete knew that. -</p> - -<p> -As all the town woke he dropped down stream in -his canoe and came to the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -It was built, as all such are when they border on -a river or any water, partly on the land and partly -on great piles sunk in the river bed. The wharves, -where scows and steamboats and schooners loaded -the lumber, were even further towards the deep -water. At high tide a boat could pass underneath -them all, and get beneath the deep shadow of the -Mill. There fish played constantly, schools of little -candle-fish, the oolachan that the fur-seals love, -that is so fat that when it dries it drips oil. And -there were places in the Mill that dripped oil, as -there are in all works where machinery moves -swiftly, and bearings are apt to grow hot. For -many years the Mill had never ceased to run, save -when heavy frost fixed the moving river in thick-ribbed -ice, and it was saturated with all that burns. -In every crack dry sawdust lay that was almost -explosive: the bearings of belts were fat with oil. -Pete knew it would burn like tinder, like dry, dead -resinous spruce, like the bark of red cedar. -</p> - -<p> -As he moved in the darkness, over the sound -of the lapping water he heard the sound of the -waking city. Where so much was built of wood, fire -was dreadfully interesting. He knew the world -would wake and be upon the hill. Now he saw the -glimmer of the fire he had lighted show a gleam upon -the water under the sky. He laughed to himself -quietly, and, holding on to a pile, listened. Was -there anyone above him on the floor of the Mill? -Or had even the watchman run to Quin's house to -help? He knew how fire drew a man, how it drew -all men. -</p> - -<p> -There was no sound above him. He ran his -canoe into deeper darkness and left it on the mud -and climbed straight among crossing interlaced -timbers to the first floor, where the Shingler worked -and laths were made. He moved lightly, his feet -in silent mocassins, and entered the dark hole -under the Chinee Trimmer. Above him was the -chute by which matched-flooring came down to the -Chinamen, who carried it to the Planers and the -machines that worked it. He heard the hum of a -far-off crowd and saw the light of the burning -house. He climbed into the upper Mill. And as he -thrust his head out of the chute at the left hand of -the Trimmer, then idle in the casing, he saw the -house itself through the great side chute of the -Mill, down which he had fallen the day he struck -Quin with the pickareen. -</p> - -<p> -The Mill was empty. He looked round cautiously -and then leapt out upon the floor. There was -sufficient light for him to see by, and he saw that -some man had at least taken precautions against -him. There were buckets of water here and there: -there was even a hose-pipe with a pump, a -force-pump. There was another hose coming from the -Engine-Room. These things showed him he had -been feared: they showed him it would be hard -to get away. But he had no time to think. With a -savage grin he pulled out his knife and sliced the -hose into pieces. He capsized the buckets as they -stood. Then he fetched his oil-can from where he -had put it, close to the Pony Saw, and emptied it -at a spot which he chose, because the oil would run -upon the sawdust carrier and go down past the fine -cedar dust from the Shingler. Below the Shingle -Mill was the water. He knew exactly where to find -the spot where the oil would drip into the river. He -ran back to the chute by which he had ascended -and as he slipped into the chute he heard someone call. -</p> - -<p> -"Hallo, Dutchy, Dutchy!" said a voice. -</p> - -<p> -But Dutchy, the old one-handed German watchman, -did not answer. Pete heard him who spoke -break out swearing. -</p> - -<p> -"Goldarn the old idiot, I believe he ain't here," -said the voice. It was the voice of Long Mac, a -man to be feared, a strong man, a keen and quick -man, a man with brains and skill and grit. -</p> - -<p> -Pete heard him enter the Mill and run upstairs, -and he knew that in another moment Mac would -know someone had been there, although old Dutchy -had done what he should not have done, and had -left the Mill to go to the other fire. There was no -time to lose. He went silently for the canoe, and -found it, got into it, and worked his way to the -space under the Shingle Mill. Now the light of the -burning house was bright upon the lip of the river, -running on the first of the ebb against a warm -Chinook wind. -</p> - -<p> -He heard Mac burst out into blasphemy. He had -found no Dutchy, but cut hose instead. And then -old Dutchy came running. He heard Mac curse him. -</p> - -<p> -"What did I tell you, you old fool? Didn't I -say look out lively here! That swine's about now, -by God! He's cut the hose, maybe lighted the -Mill already!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ach, mein Gott, mein Gott," said Dutchy, "I -haf not been afay von minute." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, to hell," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -He found the capsized buckets and burst out -again. He spoke rapidly, and Pete, as he clutched at -a pile, caught but a word or two. -</p> - -<p> -"Run—police—boat!" -</p> - -<p> -He understood what this meant: if he didn't do -it now, he would have no time. At the sound of -old Dutchy's steps on the boards as he ran -overhead Pete struck a match and lighted dripping -kerosene. The flame circled on a patch of board, -and burnt blue and flickered, drawing upward -through a crack. The Mill was fired! -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete; "if they catch me I fix -heem all the same." -</p> - -<p> -He thrust his canoe for the open water and then -stayed aghast. It seemed that the world was very -light. His lip fell a little. And he heard a voice -speak overhead, a voice which was like a bow -drawn at a venture. -</p> - -<p> -"I know you're about hyar, Pete," said Mac in -a roar like that of a wild beast. "I know you're -hyar!" -</p> - -<p> -He didn't know, but his instincts and his -knowledge told him the truth. Underneath him -somewhere lay the incendiary. In some dark hole or -corner the beast of fire was hidden. Pete's heart -stood still and he knew what a fool he had been to -meddle with aught on the upper floor. -</p> - -<p> -And he heard the light crackle of his new fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Come out, you hound," cried Mac. And then -the flame caught the sawdust carrier and Mac saw -the creep of light under a crack and knew the Mill -was fired—fired irredeemably and beyond hope. -He pulled his gun and shot down through the floor -at a venture, and by a wonderful chance the bullet -cleared any beam and struck the water close by Pete. -The Siwash let go and thrust the dug-out into the -stream. -</p> - -<p> -And in the Mill the fire was like an explosion. It -ran along the carriers and the ways of the belts -and reached out into inaccessible corners where lay -the warm dust of years and grew up through a -thousand cracks like red-hot weeds at the breath of -spring in a tropic garden. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my God," said Mac. The breath of the -fire choked him: he ran back from it: it burst -up about him: to escape he leapt over it, but before -he got to the great Chute the flame spurted from -beneath the Big Hoes and licked at the teeth of -shining steel. Then it played about the Pony Saw -and far off under the Bull-Wheel it grew up and -danced. Then it went like a fiery creeper, like a red -climbing rose, and touched the dusty roof. In the -next moment the body of the Mill was fire. Mac -went back, missed his footing and slipped headlong -down the chute, even as Pete had once fallen. He -rose with a shout which was half a shriek, for he had -dislocated his shoulder, and folks running in the -road to the lesser fire, turned to the greater and -saw the Mill ablaze. -</p> - -<p> -And out in the river Pete was paddling hard. -But the lamp that he had lighted was a very bright -one, that made the river suddenly a golden pool -and shone afar off on the other side of the white roof -of the Big Cannery. One man on the wharf saw -him and called to Mac, who came fast. -</p> - -<p> -"By the Lord, that's Pete," said Mac, "that's -Pete and my shoulder's out. Get a boat, boys, get -a boat! There's one under the wharf at the other -end. Get a boat and go after him!" -</p> - -<p> -But to go out on the river at midnight after a -killer and an incendiary from mere love of the law -or even of hunting was beyond those who heard -the man from Michigan speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell, not me! Tain't my funeral," they -said. And then Quin came running to them. He -was white as the ashes of his house would be on the -morrow, but he saw what Mac and the others saw. -That must be Pete on the river! -</p> - -<p> -"He's got us, Sir, he's got us," said Mas. -</p> - -<p> -Even in that moment Quin saw how he held his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"You're hurt?" -</p> - -<p> -"I fell down the chute, Sir, the fire almost caught me." -</p> - -<p> -The flames roared now. The inside of the Mill -was a furnace. Fire played fantastic games on the -high sloping roof. -</p> - -<p> -"There's a boat——" -</p> - -<p> -"I know," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"These hoosiers ain't game," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -A bigger crowd of those who weren't game to -tackle wild beasts gathered round them. Faces were -white in the glow of the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"At the house, Sir——" -</p> - -<p> -"They're all right. I'll go after him," said Quin. -He ran, and Mac cried— -</p> - -<p> -"Take my gun, Sir——" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin did not hear him. He ran round the -end of the Mill and was lost. -</p> - -<p> -In another moment they saw him in the boat out -upon the river. Pete went out of sight. The crowd -watched till Quin was out of sight, too. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the bettin' we'll see either of em' again?" -asked a man in the crowd. -</p> - -<p> -The odds were against it. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"I fix heem all right," said Pete. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXIII -</h3> - -<p> -It was Jenny who first wakened in the house on the -hill, for she slept lightly as a young mother does. -And yet when she woke, sleep was not wholly out of -her eyes and mind, and it seemed to her that it was -morning, and that Sam, her good Sam, was up -betimes in the kitchen. She heard the fine crackling, -at first a mere crepitation, of the crawling -flame, and felt comfortable as one does at the notion -of the good creature fire, the greatest servant of man. -Deep in the hearts of men lies the love of it, for fire -has served them through the innumerable generations -of their rise from those who knew it not. A -million ancestors of each have sat by brave flames -in dark woodlands and have warmed themselves and -found comfort in all the storms of the open world. -For the house is the fire, the covering of the fire, and -the hearth is the great altar, where a daily sacrifice -is made to the gods. -</p> - -<p> -She fell asleep again. -</p> - -<p> -And then she smelt smoke and roused herself -suddenly and saw a strange light outside in the -darkness. The fire flickered like a serpent's tongue, and -she saw it, and her heart went cold. For the servant -becomes a tyrant, and the god is oftentimes cruel -to his people. She clutched the child, and with her -other hand caught hold of George. She cried to him -aloud, and even before he was awake he stood upon -the floor, knowing that some enemy was at hand. -And even then the red enemy looked in at the -window and there was the tinkle of broken glass. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, this is Pete's work," he said. But he said it -not aloud. "Get up, girl. Come, tenas," he cried. -He opened the door and found the house full of -smoke. Below, he heard the work of the fire. And -the outer wall below the window was one flame. -</p> - -<p> -"This is Pete's work," he said. And he said to -himself— -</p> - -<p> -"What of the Mill?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny clutched the baby to her bosom, and he -slammed the door to. It was not the first time he -had met fire and he understood it. He wetted a -handkerchief and tied it over his own mouth. There -were some who would have wondered at his swiftness, -and the cool courage of him in so threatening -a fight. He bound wet rags across the brave lifted -mouth of Jenny, and the child cried as he did the -same for him. Then he caught her in his arms and -rushed the stairs, and as he ran he called aloud, "Sam, Sam!" -</p> - -<p> -The smoke was pungent, acrid, suffocating, and -the heat of the air already cracked the skin. Out of -the smoke he saw licking tongues of flame, flame -curious and avid, searching, strenuous, alive. One -tongue licked at him and he smelt, among all the -other odours of the fire, the smell of singed hair. -He heard the crying of the child, its outraged mind -working angrily. Jenny whimpered a little. Her -hand was steel about him. He rushed an opaque -veil of blinding smoke, interpenetrated by lightnings, -and bull-headed burst in Sam's door. He heard the -boy cry out. But they were saved, if it were not -that Pete stood outside to kill those whom he had -driven from their shelter. That might be; Quin -knew it. And yet he could not go first. Sam -caught his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh, Mista Quin!" he cried, "oh, oh, velly -dleadful, my much aflaid." -</p> - -<p> -Sam had pluck enough, as he had more than once -shown when some white young hoodlums of the -town had small-ganged him. But when fire is the -master many are not brave. -</p> - -<p> -"Open the window," said Quin. Outside to the -ground was a drop of twelve feet. But the ground -was hard. Quin put Jenny down by the window -and got a blanket from the boy's bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Out you go first, Sam," he said. -</p> - -<p> -But Sam, though not "blave" and "velly much -aflaid," knew it was the right thing for the "Missus" -to go first. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, Mista Quin, my no go first. Missus she -go and litty chilo. My not too much aflaid." -</p> - -<p> -He trembled like a leaf all the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Get out of the window chop-chop," said Quin in -a voice that Sam had only heard once before when -he had dared to be insolent. He sprang to the -window, and, clutching the blanket that Quin held, -he slid to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -"Now my catchee Missus," he said exultantly. -And with the fire beneath the boards of the room, -Quin had no choice. He tied a quilt round Jenny's -waist and lowered her and the child till Sam could -touch her. He let go, and sliding down the blanket, -which he had made fast to the frame of Sam's bed, -he, too, reached the ground safely. And people -came running up the hill. Whether this was Pete's -work or not they were safe. But their house was -a torch, the flames soared above the gambrel of the roof. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny sat upon a rock, clad only in her nightgown, -with the quilt thrown about her shoulders. Her -home was burning and all their beautiful things were -destroyed. She could not cry, but her heart wept, -and the child was her only comfort. She knew well -enough that this was Pete's work, she felt it in her -heart. -</p> - -<p> -And a crowd gathered. There were many from -the City: those whose work it is to put out fires, -and some of the police. There was a fat -saloon-keeper whom she knew by sight and the old boss -of the Farmers' Home. With them were many -Siwashes from Shack-Town: among them the -wedger-off who had replaced Pete. She saw old -Papp, the German from "California," and Chihuahua, -with his beady eyes flashing, and his teeth all -a-grin. With him came his klootchman, Annawillee, -the one who always sang the song of the mournful -one, also called Annawillee. Then there were -Chinamen in wide flapping pyjamas, old Wong, the wise -man, and Fan-tan and Sam Lung, and Quong. They -made a circle about her and the fire, and chattered in -Chinese, in Chinook, in Spanish, for now Spanish Joe, -the handsome man, came up and palavered with -Chihuahua. She felt their eyes upon her. She had -"shem" that they should see her, for she was not -Quin's wife, and his child cried upon her knees. She -hid her bare feet under the nightgown. Sam stood -by her. She saw Quin speak to the police, to the -firemen. Any help was vain. Then Long Mac ran -up the hill, as light as a wapiti on his feet. He said -but a word and ran back. But it was a wise word, -though too late. -</p> - -<p> -"Send someone down to the Mill, Quin. If this -is Pete, it won't satisfy him. I'll get a boat and go -on the River." -</p> - -<p> -"Do," said Quin. "I'll see this through and be -with you in a minute." -</p> - -<p> -But the swift minutes passed, and before they -gave up all hope (though Quin never had hope) and -before he could say what should be done with Jenny, -someone cried out suddenly— -</p> - -<p> -"The Mill, the Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -As if they had been turned on their heels by some -strange machinery the big crowd turned and saw a -running light in the Mill. It was as if the crowd of -workers danced with lamps: as if there were some -Chinese Feast of Lanterns in its dark floors. Then -the flickering, dancing lights coalesced and they saw -flames flow out, and flow down and climb up. -</p> - -<p> -"The Mill!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Bad enough to lose his house, his home, which now -he loved, but to lose the Mill was a thousand times -worse. The house was but a new thing and the Mill -was old. Thousands of days he had watched the -work and heard its song: not a board of it, not a -rafter, not a stud or beam or scantling or shingle -that wasn't his delight. It was part of himself, the -thing wherewith he worked, the live muscles with -which he toiled: his spirit extended to it: he ran it -with his steam, with his belts, with his mind, his -energy. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -Barefoot as he was, being clad only in his shirt and -trousers, he leapt down the hill and never felt his -wounded feet. Jenny saw him go, saw the crowd -break and waver, saw it turn and flood the lower -hillside, moving down. Their lighted faces turned from -her, she saw them run. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Tchorch, oh, Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -But George never heard her feeble cry in the -torrent. He had forgotten her and the boy. -</p> - -<p> -And when she could again see for her tears she -was alone save for Sam, her faithful Sam, and -Annawillee and Indian Annie, the last to climb the hill. -Even Chihuahua had gone and all the Chinamen. -She saw Wong departing last of all. The fire drew -even the philosopher. She heard Annie speak to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Ho, tenas Jenny, toketie Jenny, dis your man, -mesachie Pete. Evelybody savvy Pete done um, -Jenny. Oh, what peety toketie house mamook piah, -all bu'n, all flame." -</p> - -<p> -"Oho, hyu keely, hyu keely," moaned Annawillee, -"pletty house mamook piah. Mamook nanitch you' -papoosh, Jenny, let me see papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -These were foul and filthy hags, and now Jenny -knew it. She cried and Sam did not know what -to do. -</p> - -<p> -"Missus, you no cly," he said despairingly. But -still she cried, and Annie sat down by her. -</p> - -<p> -"Where Mista Quin klatawa? Ha, Moola mamook -piah all same yo' toketie house, tenas. Now -you got halo house, you come mine, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -And Annawillee lifted the quilt from the baby and -saw it. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyu toketie papoosh, hyu toketie, ha, I love -papoosh, Jenny's papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -"What I do, Sam?" moaned Jenny. The Mill -was in a roar of flames. It lighted the town and the -river and the white canneries across the wide red -flood. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you come down to sto'e," said Sam. Where -else could she go but to the store? Why hadn't the -big boss told him what to do? For everything -outside the house Sam was as helpless as the very -papoose. He hated and loathed the Siwashes and -their klootchmen. They were dreadful, uncleanly -people. It was his one great wonder in life that -"Missus" was a Siwash klootchman. -</p> - -<p> -"You come down to sto'e," he said. -</p> - -<p> -"You come my house, Jenny," said Annie, who -thought if she gave Jenny shelter she would get -more dollars from Quin, who lately had refused her -anything. "You come my house, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -But Sam held her tight and helped her on the -difficult path. Her feet were bare and so were his. -Neither Annie nor Annawillee had mocassins on, the -soles of their feet were as hard as horn. -</p> - -<p> -They went down the hill slowly, and still the old -hag said— -</p> - -<p> -"You come my shack, tenas, bad for papoose to -be out night." -</p> - -<p> -Every stick and stone of the path was lighted for -them. Jenny's heart was in ashes for the grief of -"Tchorch," who so loved his Mill and his house. All -her beautiful clothes were burnt. Perhaps Pete -would kill him even now. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where is Tchorch?" she cried as they came -to the bottom of the hill. And the wavering crowd -kept on saying where he was. -</p> - -<p> -"The boss is on the river." -</p> - -<p> -"Went in a boat, pardner——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but he was mad! I wouldn't be the Siwash——" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't hanker none to be Quin if Pete gets him. -Pete's a boy, ain't he? Solid ideas, by gosh——" -</p> - -<p> -"See, there's the Planin' Mill goin' up the flume!" -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis a mighty expensive fire, this. Eh, what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Licks me Moolas don't burn mor' off'n, pard!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, we're out of a job, tilikums." -</p> - -<p> -The crowd moved and swayed and moaned. They -cried "Oh!" and "Ah!" and "See!" The Mill -was hell. Old Dutchy sat on a pile of sawed lumber -with his lighted lamp on his knees; the poor doddering -fool trimmed the wick and cried. Jenny heard -old Papp speak to him in German. -</p> - -<p> -"Sei ruhig, alte dummkopf." -</p> - -<p> -And Papp went on in English. -</p> - -<p> -"Dain'd your vault, old shap, iv so be Pete -wanded to purn ze Mill, he vould purn it all same. -If I had him I vould braig him lige a sdick, so!" -</p> - -<p> -There was no pity for the man who had spiked -the logs. They would have hung him if they had -had hold of him. They would have thrown him on -the fire. Then the front of the Mill fell out. The -crowd surged backwards, and Jenny was near -thrown down. Old Papp fell against Sam, and both -went down. Annie and Annawillee caught hold of -Jenny and her papoose, and dragged her to their -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"That all light, tenas. You come. I give you a -dlink, tenas. Here, Annawillee, you hold papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -She snatched the baby from Jenny's weakening -arms and Annawillee ran on ahead with him. -</p> - -<p> -When Sam recovered his feet Jenny was gone. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where my Missus, where my Missus?" -roared Sam, blubbering. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the infernal Chinaman kickin' up such -a bobbery about?" asked the scornful crowd. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXIV -</h3> - -<p> -The canoe in which Pete had set out in his great -adventure was both heavy and cranky, and no one -but a Siwash of the river or the Lakes would have -paddled it a mile without disaster. But he had -been bred in the sturgeon-haunted water of Pitt -River, and knew the ways of his craft and could -use the single-bladed paddle with the same skill -that he showed with the maul and wedges on a great -sawlog. Now as he left the light of the fired Mill -behind him he knew (or feared) that he had not -left his enemies behind him as well. The whole -of the Mill would be his enemies. That he was -sure of: he remembered poor old Skookum -Charlie. He understood the minds of those he -had endangered as well as the heart of such a man -as Quin. And if Quin himself had escaped from -the fire of the house he would be on the river! -That Pete was sure of in his heart. And his heart -failed him even as he swept outward on the first of -the ebb, which ran fast, being now reinforced by -the waters of the big river fed by the melting -snows of a thousand miles of snow-clad hills. -</p> - -<p> -This was, indeed, the nature of the man, as Long -Mac knew it. He was capable of fierce resentment, -capable of secret though unsubtle revenge, but he -was not capable of standing up like a man at the -stake of necessity; not his the blood of those nobler -Indians of the Plains who could endure all things -at the last. His blood was partly water, of a truth, -and now it melted within him. -</p> - -<p> -"They catch me fo' su'e," said Pete. His -muscles weakened, his very soul was feeble. What -a fool, a thrice-sodden fool, he had been to cut the -hose in the Mill. But for that they might not have -known he had fired it. But Long Mac knew, and -perhaps Long Mac himself, who had nerves and -muscles of steel, was out after him in the night. -Oh, rather even Quin than that man, whom Quin -himself treated with a courtesy he denied to all the -others who worked for him. -</p> - -<p> -But now the light of the Mill faded. On both -sides of the river were heavy shadows: the great -moving flood was but a mirror of darkness and a -few stars that flicked silver into the lip and lap of -the moving waters. Pete knew the ebb and current -ran fastest in the middle of the stream, and yet to -be out in the middle meant that he would be seen -easier, if indeed he was pursued. He could not -make up his mind whether to chance this or not. -He sheered from the centre to the banks and back -again. And every now and again it seemed to him -that it would be wisest to run ashore, turn his -dugout loose and take to the brush. And yet he did -not do it. He was weak, now that fear was in him, -and the alcohol died out of him, and he felt -renewed pangs of hunger. To wander in the thick -brush would be fatal. They would renew their -search on the morrow: every avenue of escape -would be guarded. And hunger would so tame -the little spirit he had within him that he would -give himself up. -</p> - -<p> -"They hang me, they hang me," he said piteously, -even as Ned Quin had said it. But there was none -to help him. The very men who had been his -brothers, his tilikums, would give him up now. -</p> - -<p> -He cursed himself and Jenny and Quin and the -memory of Skookum Charlie. He took the centre -of the river at last and paddled hard. It was his -only chance. If he could but get out to sea and -then run ashore somewhere in the Territory, among -some of the Washington Indians who knew nothing -of him, he would be hard to find. The very -thought of this helped him. He might escape -after all. -</p> - -<p> -And then his ears told he was not to escape so -easily. He heard the sound of oars in the rowlocks -of a boat. Or was it only the beating of his own -heart? He could not locate the sound. At one -moment it seemed to him that after all it was but -someone further down the river and then it seemed -behind him. If it were down stream it might be -only some stray salmon boat doing its poor best in -a bad year. Even they would say they had met -him. He ceased to row and sheered across towards -the darkest shadow of the bank. -</p> - -<p> -And, as he sheered inwards, from behind the last -bend of that very bank there shot a boat which -was inshore of him. For Quin knew the river below -the City as Pete did not, and he had kept in the -strongest of the stream, which sometimes cut its -deepest channel close to the shore. He was but -a hundred yards from Pete when the Sitcum Siwash -saw him and knew it was Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Here the great river below the Island, where -North and South Arms were one, was at its widest. -And by the way his enemy came Pete knew that -his hour had arrived. Though he paddled for -awhile in sheer desperation he knew that his -wretched heavy dug-out had no chance against a -light boat, driven by the strongest arms in the -City, perhaps the strongest in the whole country. -And Quin was an oarsman and had loved the water -always. The wretched fugitive changed his tune -even as he strove in vain. -</p> - -<p> -"He fix me, oh, he fix me——!" -</p> - -<p> -Hot as he was with paddling, the cold sweat now -ran down his brow and cheeks. He felt his heart -fail within him: he felt his muscles fail. Yet still -he strove and kept a distance between himself and -Quin that only slowly lessened. For now Quin -himself slackened his pace. He was sure he had -the man, and yet it needed coolness to secure him. -</p> - -<p> -To Quin, Pete had become the very incarnation -of the devil, and he was wholly unconscious now -that he had ever wronged him. The fact that he -had stolen Jenny from him was but an old story. -And Pete had brought it upon himself. No one -but Quin in the whole world could have known -(as Quin did know) that any kindness, any decency -of conduct, in Pete would have secured Jenny to -him against the world itself. She was pure -faithfulness and pure affection, and malleable as wax -in any warmth of heart. But Pete had been even -as his fellows. He should have wedded some -creature of the dust like Annawillee, to whom -brutality was but her native mud. And Jenny -was a strange blossom such as rarely grows in any -tribe or race of men. -</p> - -<p> -It was not of Jenny that Quin thought. He -forgot her very danger that night and forgot his -own. He even forgot his child. He remembered -nothing but the burnt Mill, nothing but the spiked -logs. Oh, but he "had it in" for Pete! -</p> - -<p> -"He's burnt my Mill," said Quin. In spite of -any help the loss would be heavy, but it was not -the loss that Quin thought of: it was of the Mill -itself. So fine a creature it was, so live, so quick, -so wonderful. Rebuilt it might be, but it would -no longer be the Mill that he had made: that he -had picked up a mere foundling, as a derelict of the -river, and turned to something so like a living -thing that he came to love it. Now it was hot -ashes, burning embers: the wind played with it. -It was dead! -</p> - -<p> -There was no sign of red fire behind them now, -but the fire burnt within Quin. The fire was out -in Pete. He wished he had never seen Jenny, never -seen the Mill, never played the fire. He went blind -as he paddled, ever and ever more feebly. If Quin -had called to him then the Siwash would have -given in: he would have said—— -</p> - -<p> -"All right, Mista Quin, I'm done!" -</p> - -<p> -That was his nature: the nature of the Coast -Indians, as Long Mac knew it. There wasn't in -him or his tilikums, pure-blooded or "breeds," -the stuff to stand up against the bitter, hardy -White, who had taken their country and their -women, and had made a new world where they -speared salmon, or each other. He knew he had no -chance. -</p> - -<p> -But Quin never spoke, even when he was within -twenty yards of his prey. -</p> - -<p> -The terror of the white man got hold of Pete, -and the terror of his silence maddened him anew. -There was not so much as a grunt out of his pursuer. -Pete saw a machine coming after him. It was not -a man, it was a thing that ran Indians down and -drowned them. So might a steamer, a dread -"piah-ship," run down the dug-out of some poor -wild Siwash in some unexplored creek. Quin was -not a man, or a white man, he was the White Men: -the very race. There had always been a touch of -the wild race in Pete: an underlying hint of the -wrath of those who go under. He had avenged -himself, but it was still in vain. The last word was, -it seemed, with the deadly thing behind him. -</p> - -<p> -Of a sudden Pete howled. It was a horrid cry: -like the cry of a solitary coyoté on a bluff in -moonlight on a prairie of the South. The very forests -echoed with it, as they had echoed in dim ages past -with the war-whoops of other Indians. It made -Quin turn his head as he rowed. It was just in -time, for with one sweep of his paddle Pete had -turned his canoe. The next instant it ran -alongside the boat, and Pete with one desperate leap -came on board with his bare knife in his hand. -He fell upon his knees and scrambled to his feet as -Quin, loosing his oars, got to his. The capsized -dug-out floated side by side with the boat. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix you," said Pete. Even in the darkness -Quin could see the white of his eye, the uplifted -hand, the knife. The boat swayed, nearly went -over, Pete struck and missed, staggered, threw out -his left arm and Quin caught it. The next -moment they were both in the river, fighting -desperately. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix you," said Pete. They both mouthed -water and Quin got his right wrist at last. But -not before a blow of Pete's had sliced his ribs and -cut a gash that stung like fire. -</p> - -<p> -Both of the men could swim, but swimming was -in vain. Both were strong, and now Pete's strength -was as the strength of a madman who chooses -death in a very passion for the end of all things. -He seemed as if made of fine steel, of whip-cord, of -something resilient, tense. There was in him that -elasticity which enables the great quinnat to -overcome the awful stream of the Fraser in its narrow -Cañon. It was with difficulty, with deadly difficulty, -that Quin held the wrist that controlled the knife. -He knew that he must do that even if he drowned. -It was his last thought, his last conscious thought, -just as Pete's last thought was to free himself and -find Quin's heart. -</p> - -<p> -They sank, as they struggled, far below the -surface of the flood. Quin held his breath till it -seemed that he would burst. His lungs were -bursting with blood: his brain fainted for it. He -struggled to preserve his power of choice, for it -appeared better to be stabbed if even so he could -breathe. But even as he fought he was aware in -some cool and dreadfully far-off cell of his brain -that though he let go he would not yet rise. It -was a question of who could last longest. As he -was drowning he remembered (and recalled how -he had heard the saying) that the other man was -probably as bad. He even grinned horribly as he -thought this. Then he saw Jenny and the child. -The vision passed and he saw the burning Mill. -He heard Mac speak, heard the roar of the flames, -and the murmur of the crowd. Then he came to -the surface and knew where he was, knew that he -was alive but at handgrips with Death himself. -He sucked in air, filled his lungs and rolled over, -and went under once again. -</p> - -<p> -When consciousness is past there is a long space -of organized, of purposed, instinctive struggle for -life left in a man. So it was with Quin. He knew -not that he slipped both hands to Pete's right -wrist: he was unaware that when they once more -rose Pete howled as his wrist snapped. Even -Pete did not know it: he knew that he was a fluid -part of nature, suffering agony and yet finding -sleep in agony, sleep so exquisite that it was a -recompense at last for all the woes of the world. -And he was all the world himself, one with the -river, one with the night and the great darkness -which comes in the end to all. Pete sighed -deliciously and sank, and rose and sank again, into -the arms of one who was perhaps his mother, -perhaps his dear Jenny whom he now loved so -tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -And a blind creature, still unconscious, -unknowing, hung on to Pete's wrist. That was what -Quin thought. But what he hung to was the -boat, capsized but still floating, which had gone -down stream with them. He was in a cramp of -agony: if he could have let go he would have -done so, but something not himself, as it seemed, -made him hold on. He still fought with the dead -man who rolled below him at the bottom of the -river. -</p> - -<p> -Then he came back to the knowledge that he -was at least alive. Yet at first he was not even -sure of that. He was only sure that he suffered, -without knowing what it was that suffered. -It seemed monstrous that he should be in such -agony, in all his limbs and body and brain. But -he could not distinguish between them for a long -time after he was able to discern, with such curious -eyes as an infant may possess, the fact that there -were lights in the dim sky. That was the first thing -he named. -</p> - -<p> -"Stars!" he said doubtfully. -</p> - -<p> -And then he knew that there was such a creature as -a man! He gasped and drew in air again and with -it life and more far-off knowledge. He remembered -the Mill which was burnt in some ancient day, and -Jenny, long since dust, of course. And then the -past times marched up to him: he knew they were -the present, and that he had lost Pitt River Pete -in the river, and that he hung feebly to a capsized -boat. The rest of his knowledge of himself was -like an awful flood: it was overwhelming: it -weakened him and made him cry. Tears ran -down his face as he lifted his chin above the water. -</p> - -<p> -And still he floated seaward. -</p> - -<p> -A huge and totally insoluble problem oppressed -him. He was aware now that water was not his -element. This dawned on him gradually. At -first all his remembered feelings were connected -with water. He had, it seemed, been born in it. -It was very natural to be floating in it. There -was at least nothing to contradict its being natural. -But now he felt for something with his feet, for he -was conscious of them. What he wanted was land. -Men walked on land. Houses, yes, houses and -Mills were built on land. -</p> - -<p> -That was land over there! It was a million -miles off. How did one get so far? To be sure, -one swam! He shook his head feebly. One -couldn't swim, one would have to let go the boat! -He forgot all about the land far a very long time. -When he remembered it again with a start it was -much nearer, very much nearer. He saw individual -trees, knew they were trees. Branches held out -their arms to him. Though swimming, was -impossible it was no longer wholly ridiculous. He -remembered doing it himself. He even remembered -learning swimming. He had won a race as a boy in Vermont. -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure," said Quin. The current swept -him closer in shore. Something touched his feet. -He drew them up sharply and shuddered. Pete -was down there somewhere. Oh, yes, but he was -dead! Dead men were disagreeable, especially -when they had been drowned and not recovered -for days in hot weather. He touched bottom -again. It was very muddy. It was easy to get -stuck in mud. One could drown in it. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, I may be drowned yet," said Quin. It -was very surprising to think of! -</p> - -<p> -"No, I won't be drowned," said Quin. "I'll -hang on to this boat. Why not?" -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless the water was cold. It came down -from the mountains, from much further off than -Caribou and from the Eagle Range. There was snow there. -</p> - -<p> -"I am cold," said Quin. "I ought to get ashore." -</p> - -<p> -The boat itself touched a mud-bank. Quin felt -bottom again and just as he was deciding to let go -the boat swung off. Quin cried and was very angry. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do it next time," said Quin. But he didn't. -He was afraid to let go. And yet the shore was very -close. Once more the boat touched and his feet -were quite firm in the mud. But there was a bottom -six inches down. He thought he prayed to -something, to God perhaps, and then he saw the boat -swing away from him. He was quite alone and very -solitary. To lose the boat was like losing one's -home. He staggered and fell flailing and found -bottom with his hands. He hung to the very earth, -but was dizzy. He waited quite a while to be sure -of himself and then scrambled with infinite and most -appalling labour to the shore. His limbs were as -heavy as death, as lead. He dragged them after -him. He ached. -</p> - -<p> -But at last he came out on the land. -</p> - -<p> -It was earth: he had got there. Was there ever -in all human experience such a pleasant spot to lie -down on, to sleep in? He just knew there wasn't. -He forgot he was wet, that he was cold, that Pete -was dead, that he was alive, and he went on his knees -and scrabbled like a tired beast at the ground. And -then he went to sleep, holding himself with his arms -and making strange comfortable little noises. -</p> - -<p> -Sleep rolled over him like a river. Artillery -would not have awakened him, nor thunder, nor the -curious hands of friends or the hostile claws of -creatures of prey. -</p> - -<p> -And within a few minutes of his going to sleep -other boats came down the river and passed him. -</p> - -<p> -They picked up the capsized boat. -</p> - -<p> -"Quin's dead then," they told each other. -</p> - -<p> -It was quite possible Quin's body believed that, -too. But his warm mind knew better, of course. -He had got earth under him, and he warmed it. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXV -</h3> - -<p> -"Oh, oho, the toketie papoosh: I love the papoosh, -Jenny's papoosh," said Annawillee, as she held the -baby. The shack was lighted by the burning Mill -rather than by the stinking slush lamp on the foul -table. Jenny cried for her baby, but Annawillee -was after all a woman and loved children in her own -way. For years she hadn't handled one. Her only -child had died. Its father was not Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give him me, Annawillee," said Jenny. -He was George's child, and now she knew that -"Tchorch" was out on the great lonely river, hunting -unhappy Pete. Men said they would never come -back. Her soul was burning even as the Mill burnt. -"Tchorch" loved her and yet had forgotten her. -</p> - -<p> -"Give him to me." -</p> - -<p> -But Annawillee sat on the floor and sang about -the papoosh, a song of a poor Klootchman deserted -by her man and left with her child: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Oh, nika tenas<br /> - Hyas nika klahowyam,<br /> - Hyu keely,<br /> - Konaway sun,<br /> - Nika tenas.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Ah, my little one,<br /> - Sad am I——<br /> - I mourn and weep,<br /> - Ah, still must cry,<br /> - Ah, my little one, every day!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Annie screamed at her. -</p> - -<p> -"Pelton Annawillee, halo mamook Jenny keely, -make her not mournful, pelton, oh, fool!" -</p> - -<p> -"I love papoosh," said Annawillee. She burst -into tears. -</p> - -<p> -"Take heem, Jenny, take yo' papoosh. Mine -mimaloose, is dead." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny took the baby to her bosom, and sat down -desolately on the edge of Annie's bed. Her body -shivered at the foulness of things, even as her soul -shivered for fear about George. An hour ago -she had been happy, happy, happy! Now—— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," she prayed. But she could not weep. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, you have dlink, you tak' one dlink, tenas -toketie?" said Annie. What else was there but -"dlink" for misery, for the loss of a home, for the -loss of her man? -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -"I got one," said Annie. For she remembered -she had not finished the bottle before she went to -sleep by the fire. She hunted for the bottle and -found it. It was empty! -</p> - -<p> -"Some dam' tief stealum," screamed Annie. -Who could it have been but Annawillee? -</p> - -<p> -"I never takum," yelled Annawillee when the old -hag got her by the hair and tugged at it. "You -old beast, leggo me. I never tak' um." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny cried out to Annie. It was awful to see -this in her agony of grief. -</p> - -<p> -"I get mo'," said Annie. "I got dolla. I find -Chihuahua, he buy bottle whisky!" -</p> - -<p> -She went out. Annawillee wrung her hair into a -horrid coil and knotted it clumsily at the back of her -neck. She cried about her dead papoosh. The tears -ran down her dirty face. -</p> - -<p> -Outside the hum and murmur of the crowd still -endured. Every now and again there was a crash, -as some of the great Mill fell in. Piles of lumber -caught: they roared to the skies in wavering -columns. The crowd laughed and moaned and -roared and was silent, as the sea beach is silent -between great breakers. -</p> - -<p> -And George was on the river hunting Pete! -Jenny clutched her baby to her bosom. Annawillee -went on crying. Then the door opened and Annie -came back. -</p> - -<p> -"I send Chihuahua. He get dlink. Dlink velly -good for you, Jenny. By-by Shautch Quin come -back and say I good to you, and he be good to poor -old Annie, who get you for heem, tenas!" -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny only heard her words as part of the -sounds of the night. If George did not come back! -She moaned dreadfully, and shivered in spite of the -heat of the great fire, which made itself felt even in -the shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch, Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -She felt him in her arms, as she had held to him -when he bore her through the fire. He was a man, a -real man. She saw poor Ned, who wasn't one. She -saw Mary. But Mary had no child. Poor Mary -and poor Annawillee! -</p> - -<p> -The door opened and Chihuahua came in with a -bottle. -</p> - -<p> -"You dam' thief, you open um and dlink," said -Annie furiously. Chihuahua laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Hey, hermosa Annie, why you tink I no do dat?" -</p> - -<p> -He was half drunk already. He saw Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Hallo, Jenny, peretty Jenny! Peretty womans -make mischief. All for dis Pete burn the Moola, -and we all out of jhob!" -</p> - -<p> -That was true enough, and Jenny knew it. But -Chihuahua was a beast. He came over to her and -put his arm about her waist and hugged her. -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, peretty," he whispered; "if de boss -no come back, I kick Annawillee out and have you -for klootchman!" -</p> - -<p> -It was as if he had struck her down and dragged -her in the mud. She turned cold with horror. Oh, -if George didn't come back what would she do: -what would she do? -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, peretty Jenny!" said the hot breath -of the beast. And Annawillee mourned upon the -floor, but heard not. Annie took a drink. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, toketie, my own tenas Jenny, you have -dlink," said Annie. She spoke in Chinook, and -Jenny answered in it. It was the first time she had -used the Jargon since she went to George. -</p> - -<p> -"Nika halo tikegh, I no want it," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"You have it, pelton," said Annie. "What for, -kahta you so fool? Him velly good whisky." -</p> - -<p> -"Take it, Jenny," said the hot breath in her ear. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't," said Jenny. She knew all it meant -now. Again Chihuahua put his arm about her. -She wrenched herself away from him and Annawillee -saw what her man was doing, and scrambled to her -feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you dam' man you do dat," she screamed -jealously, forgetting her dead child and its dead -father. -</p> - -<p> -"You s'ut up, dry up," said Chihuahua, "or I -keek you, Annawillee." -</p> - -<p> -He took the bottle from Annie and drank. -</p> - -<p> -"I lov' Jenny, toketie Jenny; Jenny mia hermosa -muchacha, and she lov' me." -</p> - -<p> -He caught at her again, and Annawillee came at -him with her claws. He knocked her down, and she -lay where she fell. Annie screamed at him. -</p> - -<p> -"You no do dat, Chihuahua. You leave Jenny -alone, man. When Shautch Quin come back he keel -you——" -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua grinned. -</p> - -<p> -"He no come back no more. Pete fix him on the -river, I sure of dat, Annie. Jenny she be my -klootchman, eh, Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny was as white as death. She had lived for -more than a year with George and this was hell for -her. And if George didn't come back! Chihuahua -came staggering to her. She caught the empty -bottle by the neck and stared at him with blazing -eyes. He stopped. -</p> - -<p> -"You peretty devil!" said Chihuahua. "I lik' -kees you all same, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll keel you," she whispered. There was -murder in her eyes, and drunk as he was he knew -it. And Annie had picked up a burnt bar of iron -that served her as a poker. Chihuahua quailed -before them. -</p> - -<p> -"I on'y jhoke," he said. "My klootchman she -Annawillee, very good woman, Annawillee. You -geeve me one mo' dolla I get mo' whisky, Annie." -</p> - -<p> -But all Annie had to give him was the iron bar. -</p> - -<p> -"You bad man, you beas', you go!" -</p> - -<p> -And Chihuahua whitened, as he had done more -than once before when Annie got mad. He went -out like a lamb, and Jenny sat down on the bed, and -sobbed for the first time as if her heart would -break. -</p> - -<p> -And the fire still burnt, but without great flames. -Some of the crowd went home. It was past two -o'clock and soon would be dawn. -</p> - -<p> -"You no tak' my man, Jenny?" moaned Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, no," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Chihuahua him a beas' to me," said Annawillee. -"I hat' heem, but I hav' no other man now and I no -more a pretty klootchman. What I do if he tak' -other klootchman?" -</p> - -<p> -"I rather die, Annawillee," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Him no so velly bad," said Annawillee, "but -easy for young and toketie gal lik' you fin' nodder -man." -</p> - -<p> -She murmured, snuffling, a song that the Siwash -women often sing: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Kultus kopet nika,<br /> - Spose mika mahsh nika,<br /> - Hyu tenas men koolie kopa town,<br /> - Alkie wekt nika iskum,<br /> - Wake kul kopa nika."<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "'Tis naught to me,<br /> - If you act so,<br /> - For I can see,<br /> - Young men who go<br /> - About the town, and when I can<br /> - I soon will take another man."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"You soon fin' a man, you," said Annawillee. -"All men say you toketie. S'pose Shautch Quin -mimaloose any man tak' you, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"Dat so," said Annie soothingly. "I fin' you -Shautch, Jenny, and I queek fin' other one, my -pretty Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -And Jenny's heart was cold within her. For her -child's sake perhaps—— -</p> - -<p> -And then there came a knock at the door, and her -heart leapt again like a babe. Annie opened the -door, and outside stood Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"My Missus here, oh, where my Missus?" he -cried dolorously. "My loosee my Missus in the -clowd!" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny cried out to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Sam, Sam!" -</p> - -<p> -He had always been good and kind and was clean -and bright. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Missus here, my heap glad, Missus. What -for Missus stay inside house like t'is, no good for -Missus, no clean, bah!" -</p> - -<p> -She cried out for George, and Sam shook his head -mournfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss no come back, Missus, Moola-man say Boss -low boat in liver, looksee t'at tief makee fy in Moola -and house. Bymby boss catchee. You come, -Missus." -</p> - -<p> -But Annie had no mind to let her go. -</p> - -<p> -"Dam' Shinaman, klatawa, you go. Jenny she -stay wit' Annie." -</p> - -<p> -She stood in the doorway, and Jenny was behind -her. Annawillee went on with her song. "Soon -Jenny get another man. That easy for Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where I go, Sam?" -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee you go Wong's, Missus. Him velly -good man, house heap clean." -</p> - -<p> -"She no go dam' Shinaman," roared Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"I will go," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -But Annie slammed the door in Sam's face. The -boy was furious. -</p> - -<p> -"All light, Missus! One Moola-man, him Long -Mac, wantshee you. My tellee Wong and him. -Bymby my comee back. Yah, old cow-woman, -Annie!" -</p> - -<p> -He ran to Wong's shack and told the old man he -had found the "Missus." By the time they came -again to Annie's, Chihuahua and Spanish Joe had -gone there and, being more drunk than ever, -Chihuahua had burst the door in. Joe tackled -Annie and took the iron bar from her. She screamed -like a wild-cat in a trap. Both the men went for -Jenny, who stood in the corner and shrieked for -George and Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ole your tongue, peretty one," said handsome -Joe. "I always lov' you; now you be my -woman——" -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua trampled over Annie to get to Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"She mine, Joe, she mine!" -</p> - -<p> -Joe turned on Chihuahua with a very evil smile, -and spoke to him in Spanish. -</p> - -<p> -"I take her, see, Chihuahua!" -</p> - -<p> -Outside, Wong knocked at the door. Perhaps he -was not a very brave man. It is not wise to be very -brave in an alien country, but he owed a good deal -to George Quin and liked him. Sam stood behind -him wringing his hands and crying out, "Missus, -Missus!" -</p> - -<p> -Joe had her round the waist. Annawillee -screamed and held to Chihuahua's legs. He kicked -her hard, and panted furiously at Joe. -</p> - -<p> -"You say you help me, Joe!" -</p> - -<p> -"I help myself, you fool," said Joe. Chihuahua -had been a mat for him to wipe his feet on for years. -"I wait for her; now I have her." -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua kicked Annawillee again and got free. -Annie got up and ran to their end of the room. She -caught Joe by the arm: he sent her headlong and -she fell against the table. It went over and the -lamp fell on the floor. The only light in the room -came from the live embers of the great dead Mill. -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly Jenny felt Joe loose her. He made -an awful sound, which was not a cry, and something -hot and warm gushed upon her bosom. She saw -him stagger, saw his arms go up in the air, and heard -a growl from Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Fool," said the Mexican. He had sliced Joe's -throat right open and cut his voice and his cry -asunder. The Castilian reeled again and fell, and -then the door was burst open. Long Mac stood in -the opening. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, my girl," he cried; But Jenny did not -answer. She lay insensible on the bed: she was -dyed crimson. Her child screamed, but she heard -nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Long Mac!" said Chihuahua. He feared him -always, and now feared all men. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny here," he said in a quavering voice. And -Mac strode in. He stepped across Joe and found -Jenny and her child. He took them in his arms, -though he ached dreadfully in his set shoulder, and -carried them out. -</p> - -<p> -"Missus, oh, Missus," said Sam. Chihuahua -crept out after them and then ran into the shadows, -casting away his stained knife. Annawillee had -lost her man, and the police found him the next -day. A poor fool of a white woman in the City -shrieked about the dead Castilian. No one but -that poor fool was sorry. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXVI -</h3> - -<p> -Mac carried Jenny into Wong's shack, and laid her -on the bed. Though the house smelt of China and -of opium it was clean as fresh sawdust. They -washed the blood from her and the child, while -Sam cried, fearing she was hurt. And she came -back to consciousness. Mac was very solemn. -</p> - -<p> -"Where the boss, you tink?" asked Wong. -</p> - -<p> -The men who had followed George Quin down -the river were home again by now. They brought -back with them the empty boat. -</p> - -<p> -"I reckon he's dead," answered Mac. Sam cried, -for he was "heap solly." Quin had been a good boss -to him and there are many Chinamen who understand -that after all, whatever we may say about them. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, the Missus, the Missus," said Sam. He -sat down and sobbed. Jenny opened her eyes -and saw old Wong, with a million wrinkles on his -kindly face, inscrutable in every feature. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch," she murmured. The tears came -to Mac's eyes, though he was hard to move and -knew much of the bitterness of life. -</p> - -<p> -Wong's face was like that of some carved god -who sits in the peace which is undisturbed by -human prayer. And yet his hands were kind and -his voice gentle. He murmured to himself in his -own tongue. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is Tchorch?" asked Jenny. Now she -saw Long Mac, whom Quin trusted. She appealed -to the strong man. -</p> - -<p> -"He has not returned, ma'am," said Mac. She -was no longer a little Siwash klootchman to him, -but a bereaved woman. -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him long and steadfastly, and -read his face. She was an Indian, after all, and -could endure much. -</p> - -<p> -"My baby," she said. Sam had the boy. He -gave it her. She murmured something to the -fatherless, and lay back with him in her arms, -She motioned to Mac and he came nearer. -</p> - -<p> -"Is Tchorch dead, Mister Maclan?" -</p> - -<p> -She could not speak his name. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid so, ma'am," he answered. -</p> - -<p> -"Have they found him?" -</p> - -<p> -"Only the empty boat." -</p> - -<p> -Then no one spoke. She turned her head away, -Outside the dawn came up and looked down on -ashes. In the distance they heard Annawillee -mourning. She sat in the road with dust upon -her head, like an Indian widow. -</p> - -<p> -"I loved Tchorch," said Jenny. Then she rose -in the bed and shrieked awfully. -</p> - -<p> -"I want Tchorch, I want Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -She was like steel under the powerful hands of -the man who sat by her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, ma'am," said Mac. He said—"I've lost many." -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down his face. Sam was like a -reed shaken by the wind. Old Wong stood by the -window and stared across the river, now open to -the view, since the Mill was gone. -</p> - -<p> -"My poor girl!" -</p> - -<p> -She held his hand now as if it was life itself. -And yet it might have been as if he were Death. -</p> - -<p> -"He was so good," she said. -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't what many would have said. But -Mac understood: for he had lost many, and some -said that he, too, was a hard man. -</p> - -<p> -She lay back again. Wong still stood by the -window without moving. He, too, had lost one -he loved; she, who was to have brought him -children who would have honoured his ashes and -his ancestral spirit, was dead in child-birth far -away across the long, long paths of ocean. -</p> - -<p> -But now he looked across the river as the dawn -shone upon its silver flood. Perhaps he looked at -something. It seemed so to Sam, who rose and -went to him. The old man spoke to him very -quietly. They both went outside. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch is dead," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -But Tchorch was not dead. Something spoke -of hope to Mac, something he didn't understand. -Perhaps the wise old Wong could have explained -it. He and Sam stood by the wharf and looked -across the river to the further bank. His eyes -were strong, they were the eyes of an old man who -can see far. Now he saw something on the other -bank, something moving in the half darkness of -the dawn. As the day grew, even Sam saw that -a man came stumbling along the bank of the -shore. Who was it? -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, even yet he may not be dead, Jenny," -said Mac. It was as if some dawn grew in him -because the dawn grew in the East: some hope -within him because there was hope in the heart of -a poor serving boy and a wise old man. She -clutched his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch was very strong," she said. -</p> - -<p> -And Sam came walking to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Wong wantchee see you, Sir," he said. He -came in without raising his eyes. Mac pressed -Jenny's hand and went out. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Missus," said Sam. -</p> - -<p> -His heart was full. -</p> - -<p> -Though the river was wide the day was now -bright. A strong man's voice might reach across -it in a windless time. But strong men may be -weak, if they have struggled. -</p> - -<p> -Wong stood still as Mac came up to him. -Though he could see so well he was a little deaf. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it, Wong?" asked Mac. Even as he -spoke it seemed to him that he heard a faint far-off -call. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee t'at Mista Quin," said Wong as he -pointed across the river. He spoke as quietly as -if he had said that he thought he could see the -rosy cone of Mount Baker shining in the rising sun. -</p> - -<p> -"You think—oh, hell!" said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -He smote Wong on the shoulder and the old man -turned to him. There was something like a smile -upon his face at last. -</p> - -<p> -"Ta't the boss fo' su'," he said; "my can see." -</p> - -<p> -Mac ran a little way up-stream, past the burnt -wharves, and came to one where there was a boat. -He thrust it down the shore into the water and -forgot his aching shoulder, bad as it was. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, poor Jenny, poor Jenny!" he said. He -heard the call again. -</p> - -<p> -"That's Quin's call. By the Holy Mackinaw -that's him," said Mac. Now that he knew, the -ache came back to him. He pulled in one oar and -sculled the boat from the stern with the other. -</p> - -<p> -And George Quin sat down on the edge of the -water and waited. -</p> - -<p> -"If he says 'How's Jenny?' first of all, I'll -recken he's worth the little klootchman," said -Mac. He saw Quin rise up and stand waiting. -He was torn to rags and still soaking, but his face -was strong and calm. -</p> - -<p> -"That you, Quin?" asked Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"That's me," said Quin. Then he spoke aright. -</p> - -<p> -"How's Jenny, old man?" -</p> - -<p> -"All hunkey," said Mac. "But we tho't you -was mimaloose." -</p> - -<p> -"Pete is," said Quin. He climbed into the -boat stiffly. His wound smarted bitterly, but he -said nothing of it. -</p> - -<p> -"You must have had a close call, Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Tol'rable," said Quin. "Where's the little -woman?" -</p> - -<p> -"Old Wong's lookin' after her. 'Twas him -spotted you over here." -</p> - -<p> -"Wong's all right," said Quin. "'Tis a clean -sweep of the old Moola, Mac." -</p> - -<p> -"That's what," said Mac. They came to the -shore. When they were both on dry land Mac -held out his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Shake," he said. -</p> - -<p> -They "shook," and walked up to the road. -</p> - -<p> -"You and the little gal kin hev my house till -you've time to look araound," said Mac. "It's -not dandy, but I reckon you can make out in it." -</p> - -<p> -Quin nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"Right," he said. He stood still for a minute -and looked at the open space where the Mill had -been. -</p> - -<p> -"You and me and the boys will build the old -Moola up again, Mac," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I reckon," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -And Quin went across the road to Shack-Town -and came to Wong's. The old man saluted him -gravely. -</p> - -<p> -"You're all right," said Quin. What more -could any man say? -</p> - -<p> -He heard a cry inside the shack, and Sam came -out with the papoose in his arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mista Quin, my heap glad you not dead, -my heap glad!" -</p> - -<p> -"You damn fool," said Quin with a smile. He -went in and found Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch!" she said. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, my girl!" -</p> - -<p> -He held her in his arms and she laid her head -upon his heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch!" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but you've had a time," said George. -</p> - -<p> -"I jhoost want Tchorch," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -<i>Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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