diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/69014-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/69014-0.txt | 8527 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 8527 deletions
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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |