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diff --git a/old/69014-h/69014-h.htm b/old/69014-h/69014-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0b19308..0000000 --- a/old/69014-h/69014-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14276 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Prey of the Strongest, -by Morley Roberts -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The prey of the strongest, by Morley Roberts</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The prey of the strongest</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Morley Roberts</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 19, 2022 [eBook #69014]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Al Haines</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST ***</div> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST<br /> -</h1> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - MORLEY ROBERTS<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON:<br /> - HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED,<br /> - Paternoster House, E.C.<br /> - <br /> - 1906<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -PREFACE -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - To Archer Baker,<br /> - European Manager of the Canadian<br /> - Pacific Railroad<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR BAKER, -</p> - -<p> -Of all the men I worked with on the Canadian -Pacific Railroad in the Kicking Horse Pass and on the -Shushwap, when you and men like you were hustling to -put it through, I am not, nowadays, in touch with one. -They are, doubtless, distinguished or have gone under. -Some of them, perhaps, lie in obscure graves beside the -track of other roads, which, in their parlance, "broke -out" when the C.P.R. was finished: when End of -Track joined End of Track: when the very bottom of -their world fell out because two Worlds, East and West, -were united by our labour, yours and theirs and even -mine. Others of them are perhaps famous. They may -have some mighty mountains and a way station named -after them, as you may have, for all I know: they may -even be Managers! And what so great as a Manager -of a Through Continental Road, after all? There are -Ministers and Monarchs and other men of note, but to -my mind the Managers top them all. That is by the -way, and you shall not take it as flattery: the humble -worker with the pick and shovel and hammer and drill -and bar, like myself, cannot but think with awe of the -cold clear heights in which they dwell. -</p> - -<p> -Years ago, when I was toiling on another grade, in -another sort of rock-cut, hewing out a trail for myself -in the thick impenetrable forests of which the centre -may be Fleet Street or where Publishers dwell, I came -across you. And it is to my credit that I never let you -go. Most men represent other men or shadows, but you -represented yourself and a great part of my old life: you -stood for the Grade, for the Mountains, and the Passes, -for the steel rails, for the Contractors with whom I -worked, for the Road, for all Railroads, for Canada and -British Columbia, linked and made one at last. You -know what Colonial fever is: that disease of desire which -at intervals afflicts those of us who have come back out -of the Wilderness. You were often the cause of it and -the cure of it. Perhaps I owe you one: perhaps but for -your giving me a chance of vicarious consolation in -our talk, I might have laid my bones by some other -railroad in the West on the illimitable fat prairies of -our Canada. Therefore I offer you this book. I offer -you only a sketch, a rough and incomplete sketch, of -certain obscurer aspects of life in one of the finest -countries in the world, a country for which I have as -much hope as I have affection. I have not tried to put -the Pacific Slope into a pannikin. To cram British -Columbia into a volume is as easy as trying to empty -Superior with a spoon. For it was a full country when -I knew it: when your Big Bosses came along with drills -and dynamite and knocked the Rockies and the Selkirks -into shape to let your Railroad through. In those days -the World emptied many thousand of its workers into -your big bucket, and in that bucket I was one drop. I -had as partners, as tilikums, men from the Land of -Everywhere: not a quarter, hardly a country, of the -round world but was represented in the great Parliament -of the Pick and Shovel and Axe that decreed the Road, -the Great Road, the one Great Road of all! -</p> - -<p> -I have seen many countries, as you know, but none -can ever be to me what B.C. was when I worked there. -It fizzed and fumed and boiled and surged. It was in -a roar: it hummed: it was like the Cañon when the -grey Fraser from the North comes down to Lytton and -smothers the blue Thompson in its flood. We lived in -those days: we worked in those days: we didn't merely -exist or think or moon or fool around. We were no -'cultus' crowd. We lit into things and dispersed the -earth. Some day, it may be, I shall do another book to -try and recall the odours of the majestic slain forests -and the outraged hills when your live Locomotives -hooted in the Passes and wailed to see the Great Pacific. -In the meantime I offer you this, which deals only -incidentally with your work, and takes for its subjects a -Sawmill and the life we lived who worked in one on the -lower Fraser, when we and the River retired from the -scene that to-day ends in busy Vancouver and yet spreads -across the Seas. -</p> - -<p> -It is possible that you will say that there is too much -violence in this story, seeing that it is laid in British -Columbia and not South of the Forty Ninth Parallel. -Well, I do not hold you responsible for the violence. -Even in law-abiding B.C. man will at times break out -and paint the Town red without a metaphor. There is -a great deal of human nature in man, even when -suppressed by Judge Begbie: and Siwashes will be Siwashes, -especially when "pahtlum," or drunk, as they say in -the elegant Chinook with which I have adorned a -veracious but otherwise plain story. Take it from me -that there is not an incident, or man, or woman in it -who is not more or less painted from real life. That -amiable contractor for whom we all had quite an -affection, whom I have thinly veiled under the name of -Vanderdunk, is no exception. He will, I feel sure, -forgive me, but some of the others might not and they are -veiled rather more deeply. This I owe to myself, for I -may revisit B.C. again and I cannot but remember that, -for some things I said of folks out there many years ago, -I was threatened with the death, so dear to the Western -Romancer, which comes from being hung by the neck -from a Cottonwood. If ever I do see that country again, -I hope it will be with you. As my friend Chihuahua -would have said, "Quien sabe?" My best regards to -you, tilikum! Here's how! -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Your sincere friend,<br /> - MORLEY ROBERTS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -I -</h3> - -<p> -"Klahya, tilikum." -</p> - -<p> -As Pitt River Pete spoke he entered the humming -Fraser Mill by the big side door chute down which -all the heavier sawed lumber slid on its way to the -yard. He had climbed up the slope of the chute and -for some moments had stayed outside, though he -looked in, for the sun was burning bright on white -sawed lumber and the shining river, so that the -comparative gloom of the Mill made him pause. But -now he entered, and seeing Skookum Charlie helping -the Wedger-off, he spoke, and Skookum, who could -not hear in the uproar, knew that he said "Klahya." -</p> - -<p> -The Mill stretched either way, and each end was -open to the East and the West. It was old and -grimed and covered with the fine meal of sawdust. -Great webs hung up aloft in the dim roof. In front -of Pete was the Pony Saw which took the lumber -from the great Saws and made it into boards and -scantling, beams and squared lumber. To Pete's -right were the Great Saws, the father and mother of -the Mill, double, edge to edge, mighty in their curved -inset teeth, wide in gauge and strong whatever came -to them. As they sang and screamed in chorus, -singing always together, the other Saws chimed in: -the Pony Saw sang and the Great Trimmer squealed -and the Chinee Trimmer whined. Every Saw had -its note, its natural song, just as naturally as a bird -has: each could be told by the skilled hearer. Pete -listened as he stepped inside and put his back against -the studs of the wall-plates, out of the way of the -hive of man, he only being a drone that hour. And -the Big Hoes, Father and Mother of the Mill, droned -in the cut of logs and said (or sang) that what they -cut was Douglas Fir, and that it was tough. But -the Pony Saw said that the last big log had been -Spruce. The smell of spruce said "spruce" just -as the Saw sang it. And the Trimmers screamed -opposing notes, for they cut across the grain. -Beneath the floor where the chorus of the Saws -worked was the clatter of the lath-mill and the -insistent squeal of the Shingle Saw, with its -recurrent shriek of pride, "I cut a shingle, phit, I cut a -shingle, phit!" -</p> - -<p> -The whole Mill was a tuned instrument, a huge -sounding board. There was no discord, for any -discord played its part: it was one organic harmony, -pleasing, fatiguing, satisfying; any dropped note -was missed: if the Lath Mill stayed in silence, -something was wanting, when the Shingler said -nothing, the last fine addition to the music fell away. -And yet the one harmony of the Mill was a background -for the soloes of the Saws, for the great -diapason of the Hoes, for the swifter speech of the -Pony, for the sharp cross note of the Trimmers. -The saws sang according to the log, to its nature, to -its growth: either for the butt or the cleaner wood. -In a long log the saws intoned a recitative: a solemn -service. And beneath them all was the mingled -song of the belts, which drove the saws, hidden in -darkness, and between floors. Against the song of -the Mill the voice of man prevailed nothing. -</p> - -<p> -When any man desired to speak to another he -went close to him and shouted. They had a silent -speech for measurements in feet; the hand, the -fingers, the rubbed thumb and finger, the clenched -hand with thumb up, with thumb down, called numbers -for the length of boards, of scantling, what not. -</p> - -<p> -"Eleven feet!" said the rubbing thumb and forefinger. -</p> - -<p> -If any spoke it was about the business of the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Fine cedar this," said Mac to Jack, "fine -cedar—special order—for——" a lost word. -</p> - -<p> -But for the most part no one spoke but the -saws. Men whistled with pursed lips and whistled -dumbly: they sang too, but the songs were swallowed -in the song of the Saws. They began at six -and ran till noon unless a breakdown happened and -some belt gave way. But none had given this day -and it was ten o'clock. The men were warm and -willing with work, their muscles worked warm and -easy. It was grand to handle the lever and to beat -in the iron dogs: to use the maul upon the wedges -as the Saws squealed. They worked easy in their -minds. They looked up and smiled unenvious of -idle Pitt River Pete. They knew work was good, -their breath felt clean: their hearts beat to the -rhythm of the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -As mills go it was a small one. It could not -compete with the giants of the Inlet and the Sound who -served Australia, which grows no good working wood, -or South America. It sent no lumber to Brisbane, -no boards to Callao or Valparaiso. It served the -town of New Westminster and the neighbouring -ranches: the little growth of townships on the River -up to Hope and Yale. Sometimes it sent a cargo to -Victoria or 'Squimault. A schooner even now lay -alongside the wharf, piled high with new sawed stuff, -that the saws had eaten as logs and spewed as lumber. -</p> - -<p> -As logs! Aye, in the pool below, in the Boom, -which is a chained log corral for swimming logs, a -hundred great logs swam. Paul (from nowhere, but -a tall thin man) was the keeper and their herder. He -chose them for the slaughter, and went out upon -them as they wallowed, and with a long pike stood -upon the one to be sacrificed and drove it to the -spot whence it should climb to the altar: a long -slope with an endless cable working above and below -it. He made it fast with heavy dogs, with chains -may be, and then spoke to one above who clapped -the Friction on the Bull-Wheel and hove the log out -of the water, as if it were a whale for flensing. It -went up into the Mill and was rolled upon the skids, -and waited. It trembled and the Mill trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, now, that log, boys. Hook in, drive her, -roll her, heave and she's on! Drive in the dogs and -she goes!" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but it was a good sight and the roar was -filling. Pete's eyes sparkled: he loved it: loved the -sound and the song and itched to be again on the -log with the maul. Those who speak of sport—why, -let them fell a giant, drive it, boom it, drag it -and cut it up! To brittle a monarch of the forest -and disembowel it of its boards: its scantlings: its -squared lumber: posts, fences, shingles, laths, -pickets, Oho! Pete knew how great it was. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, klahya, tilikum, my friend the log." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke not now to Skookum, but strong Charlie, -and lazy Charlie, understood him. At one hour of -the day even the lazy surrendered to the charm of -the song of the work and did their damnedest. So -Skookum understood that his old friend (both being -Sitcum Siwashes, or half breeds) loved the Mill and -the work at that hour. -</p> - -<p> -White, the chief Sawyer, the Red Beard, was at -his lever and set the carriage for a ten inch Cant -when the slabs were off and hurtling to the lath mill. -Ginger White no one loved, least of all his Wedger-Off, -Simmons (a man, like silent Paul of the Boom, -from nowhere), for he too was gingery, with a gleam -of the sun in his beard and a spice of the devil in -his temper. He was the fierce red type, while White -was red but lymphatic, and also a little fat under the -jowl and a liar by nature, furtive, not very brave but -skilled in Saws. Simmons took a wedge and his -maul and waited for the log to come to him. The -carriage moved: the saws bit: the sawdust squirted -and spurted in a curve with strips of wood which -were not sawdust, for they use big gauges in the soft -wood of the West and would stare at a sixteenth -gauge, to say nothing of less. Now Simmons leapt -upon the log and drove in the wedge to keep the -closing cut open for the saws. The lengthening cut -gave opening for another and another. Simmons -and Skookum played swiftly, interchanging the -loosened wedge and setting it to loosen the last -driven in. The Wedgers-Off on the six-foot log -were like birds of prey upon a beast. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give it her," yelled Skookum. It was a way -of his to yell. But Ginger drove her fast, hoping to -hear the saws nip a little and alter their note so that -he could complain. Simmons knew it, Skookum -knew it. But they played quickly and sure. They -leapt before the end of the cut and helped to guide -the falling cant upon the skids. Chinamen helped -them. The Cant thundered on the skids and was -thrust sideways over to the Pony Saw. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe kahkwa," said Pete. "That's good!" -</p> - -<p> -And as he sent the carriage backward for another -cut, Ginger White looked up and saw Pete standing -with his back to the wall. Ginger's dull eye -brightened, and he regarded Simmons with increased -disfavour. Pete he knew was a good Wedger-Off, a -quick, keen man very good for a Siwash, as good as -any man in the Mill at such work. He had seen -Pete work at the Inlet. Oh, he was good, "hyas -kloshe," said White, but as for Simmons, damn! -He was red-headed, and Ginger hated a red man for -some deep reason. -</p> - -<p> -It was a busy world, but even in the rhythm of the -work hatred gleamed and strange passions worked as -darkly as the belts, deep in the floor, that drove the -saws. Quin, the manager (and part owner), came -in at the door by the big Saws, and he saw Pete -standing by the open chute. He smiled to himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Back again, and asking for work. Where's his -wife, pretty Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -She was pretty, toketie klootchman, a pretty -woman: not a half breed: perhaps, if one knew, -less than a quarter breed, tenas Sitcum Siwash, and -the blood showed in the soft cheeks. She was bright -and had real colour, tender contours, everything but -beautiful hands and feet, and they not so bad. As -for her face, and her smile (which was something to -see), why, said Quin, as he licked his lips, there -wasn't a white woman around that was a patch on -her. Jenny had smiled on him. But Pete kept his -eye on her and so far as it seemed she was true to -him. But Quin—— -</p> - -<p> -In the busy world as it was Quin's mind ran on -Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Sir," he used to say, "we're small but all -there. We run for all we're worth, every cent of it, -every pound of beef. If you want to see bigger, try -the Inlet or Port Blakeley. But we cut here to the -last inch. Thirty thousand feet a day ain't a hell of -a pile, but it's all we can chew. And, Sir, we chew -it!" -</p> - -<p> -He was a broad heavy man, dark and strong and -much lighter on his feet than he looked. If there -hadn't been Skookum Charlie it might have -been Skookum Quin. He was as hard as a cant-log. -</p> - -<p> -"We're alive," said Quin the manager. They -worked where he was, and, hard as they had worked -before, White set a livelier pace and made his men -sweat. Quin smiled and understood that Ginger -White was that kind of a man. Now Mac at the -Pony Saw always took a breather when Quin came -in. Just now he walked from his saw, dropped -down through a trapdoor into a weltering chaos of -sudden death and threw the tightener off his saw's -belt. The Pony Saw ceased to hum and whined a -little and ran slow and died. The blurred rim of -steel became separate teeth. Long Mac stood over -the saw and tightened a tooth with his tools and took -out one and replaced it with a better washleather to -keep it firm. He moved slow but again descended -and let the tightener fall upon the belt. The Pony -Saw sprang to valiant life and screamed for work. -Quin smiled at Mac, for he knew he was a worker -from "Way Back," and the further back you go the -worse they get! By the Lord, you bet! -</p> - -<p> -So much for Quin for the time. The Stick Moola, -as the Chinook has it, is the theme. -</p> - -<p> -It was a beast by the water, that lived on logs. -It crawled into the River for logs, and reached out -its arms for logs. It desired logs with its sharp -teeth. It hungered for Cedar (there's good red -cedar of sorts in the ranges, and fine white cedar in -the Selkirks), and for Spruce (the fine tree it is!) and -Douglas Fir and Hemlock or anything to cut that -wasn't true hardwood. It could eat some of the -soppy Slope Maple but disdained it. It was greedy -and loved lumber. Men cut its dinner afar off -and towed it around to the Mill, to the arms, the -open arms of the Boom with Paul helping as a kind -of great kitchen boy. -</p> - -<p> -At early dawn its whistle blew, for in the dark (or -near it) the underlings of the Engineer stirred up the -furnaces and threw in sawdust and woke the steam. -At "half after five" the men turned out, came -tumbling in for breakfast in the boarded shack by -the Store and fed before they fed the Mill. The first -whistle sounded hungry, the second found the men -hungry no more, but ready to feed the Beast. -</p> - -<p> -In winter it was no joke turning out to begin the -day early, but when frost had the Fraser in its arms -the Mill shut down and went to sleep. One can't -get one's logs out of eighteen inches of ice and then -a frozen log cuts hard: it shines when cut. But at -this season, it was bright at five and sunny at six. -The men came with a summer willingness (that is, -with less unwillingness than in frost time, for, -remember, it takes work to make work easy and -your beginner each day hates the beginning) and -they were drawn from all ends of the earth. -</p> - -<p> -There were British Canadians: -</p> - -<p> -And Americans: from Wisconsin, Michigan, -Texas, Iowa and the Lord knows where. -</p> - -<p> -And Spaniards: one a man of Castile, and one -from Mexico. -</p> - -<p> -There were two Kanucks of the old sort from the -East or there was one at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -There were Englishmen. Well, there was one -Jack Mottram and he a seaman. -</p> - -<p> -There was one Swede, Hans Anderssen, in the -Mill. There were two Finns outside it. -</p> - -<p> -And one Lett (from Lithuania, you understand). -</p> - -<p> -There was a Scotchman of course, and, equally of -course, he was the Engineer. -</p> - -<p> -There was a French Canadian, not by any means -of the <i>habitant</i> type but very much there, and he -knew English well, but usually cursed in French -as was proper. -</p> - -<p> -There were two Germans. One was as meek as -one German usually is unless he is drunk. But -one was not meek. More of him anon. -</p> - -<p> -It was an odd crowd, a mixed crowd at meal -times in the Mill hash house. To add to everything -Chinamen waited: Chinamen cooked. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, Sing, chuck the chow on!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sing-Sing (that's where you ought to be), -where's the muckamuck?" -</p> - -<p> -"Sacré chien——" -</p> - -<p> -"Der Teufel——" -</p> - -<p> -"By the great Horn Spoon——" -</p> - -<p> -"Holy Mackinaw!" -</p> - -<p> -"Caramba—Carajo——" -</p> - -<p> -"By Crimes——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh! Phit!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where's the grub, the hash—the muckamuck, -you Canton rats! Kihi, kiti, mukha-hoilo!" -</p> - -<p> -And the hash was slung and the slingers thereof -hurried. -</p> - -<p> -The hash-eaters talked English (of sorts), -American (North and South), Swinsk, Norsk, -Dansk, true Spanish (with the lisp), Mexican Spanish -(without it and soft as silk). They interlarded -the talk (which was of mills, lumber, and politics, -and Indian klootchmen, and the weather, and of -horses and dogs and the devil and all) with scraps -of Chinook. And that is English and French and -different sorts of Indian fried and boiled and -pounded and fricasseed and served up in one jargon. -It's a complete and God-forsaken tongue but Easy, -and Easiness goes. It is as it were brother to -Pidgin English. -</p> - -<p> -The grub was "muckamuck" and luckily was -"kloshe." But as it happened (it usually did -happen) there was salmon. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus slush, I call it," said one. "Cultu -muckamuck." -</p> - -<p> -"That's Ned Quin's nickname up to Kamloops," -said Jack Mottram. -</p> - -<p> -"Our man's brother?" -</p> - -<p> -"Him," said Jack. He picked his teeth with a -fork and Long Mac eyed him with disgust. -</p> - -<p> -"I know Ned, he's tough." -</p> - -<p> -But Jack was tough himself: he had been salted -in all the seas and sun-dried on all the beaches of -the rough round world. He made short stays -everywhere: passages not voyages: skippers were glad -to give him his discharge, for after sixty days at -sea he sickened for the land and became hot cargo. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I'm tough enough," he would prelude some -yarn with. -</p> - -<p> -Now Shorty Gibbs spoke, he of the Shingle Mill. -Lately the Shingle Mill had annexed half a thumb of -his as it screamed out to him. "He's a son of a——" -</p> - -<p> -He completed the sentence in the approved round -manner. -</p> - -<p> -They all admitted that Quin the Manager was -Tough, but that Ned Quin of Kamloops was tougher -admitted not a doubt. -</p> - -<p> -They swept the food from the table. Just as the -logs were divided by the Saws and fell into various -Chutes and disappeared, so the food went here. -Most of the men ate like hogs (the better Americans -least like): they yaffled, they gurgled, they sweated -over the chewing and got over it. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm piled up," said Tenas Billy of the Lath Mill. -He too was minus a thumb and the tops of some -fingers, tribute to the saw. Especially do the -Shingle Saw and Lath Saw take such petty toll. -When the Hoes ask tribute or the Pony Saw it's -a different matter. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm piled up." -</p> - -<p> -As to being piled up, that was a Sawmill metaphor. -</p> - -<p> -"You've put the tightener on your belt!" -</p> - -<p> -To be sure they all had. -</p> - -<p> -But as to piling up, when things were booming -and men were warm and feeling the work good, -and when nothing went wrong with the belts or -with the Engines and the logs came easy and sweet, -it was the ambition of the Chief Sawyer to pile -up the Skids of Long Mac who had the Pony Saw. -Then it was Long Mac's desire to pile up the skids -for the Chinee trimmer (not run by a Chinee) and -it was that Trimmer's desire to pile up the man -opposing. To be piled up is to have bested one's -own teeth, when it comes to chewing. -</p> - -<p> -"My skids are full," said the metaphorical. -</p> - -<p> -At six the whistle blew again, with a bigger -power of steam in its larynx. The Mill said:— -</p> - -<p> -"Give me the logs, the boom is full and I'm in -want of chewin'! Nika tiki hyas stick! Give me -logs: I've new teeth this morning! I'm keen and -sharp. Hoot—too—oot—too—oot! Give me Fir -and Pine and Spruce—spru—ooce!" -</p> - -<p> -The Hash-Room emptied till noontime, when -next Hash-Pile was proclaimed, and the men -streamed across the sawdust road and the piled -yard to the open Mill. Some went in by the door, -some by the Engine-Room, some climbed the Chutes. -The sun was aloft now and shining over the Pitt -River Mountains (where Pete came from) and over -Sumach. The river danced and sparkled: scows -floated on its tide: the <i>Gem</i> steamer got up steam. -The Canneries across the big River gleamed white. -The air was lovely with a touch of the breath of the -mountains in it. The smell of the lumber was good. -</p> - -<p> -The men groaned and went to work. -</p> - -<p> -They forgot to groan in twenty minutes. -</p> - -<p> -It was good work in an hour and good men loved -it for a while. -</p> - -<p> -But it was work that Pitt River Pete saw as he -leant against the wall. It wasn't an English -pretence, or a Spanish lie, or an Irish humbug: -it was Pacific Slope work, where men fly. They -work out West! -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Klahya!" -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if I can get a jhob," said Pete. And -the job worked up for him under his very eyes, for -Quin had a quick mind to give him work and get -pretty Jenny near, and Ginger White was sore -against Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, Pitt River Pete, you can get "a jhob!" Devil -doubt it, for you've a pretty wife, and -White drove the carriage fast and faster still, -drove it indeed faster than the saw could take -it, meaning to hustle Simmons and have present -leave to burst out into blasphemy. Things happen -quick in the Mill, in any mill, and of a sudden -White stopped the carriage dead and yelled to -Simmons on the log: -</p> - -<p> -"Can't you keep her open, damn you? Are -you goin' to sleep there? Oh, go home and die!" -</p> - -<p> -Simmons, on the log on his knees, looked up -savagely. Though the big Hoes were silent there -was row enough with the Pony Saw and the Big -Trimmer and Chinee Trimmer and the Lath Mill -and the Shingle Saw and the Bull Wheel and the -groaning and complaining of the planing machines -outside. So Simmons heard nothing. He saw -Ginger's face and saw the end had come to work. -He knew it. It had been coming this long time -and now had come. But Simmons said nothing: -he grinned like a catamount instead, and then -looked round and saw Quin. He also saw Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"To hell," said Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -As he spoke he hurled his maul at White, and -Ginger dodged. The head missed him but the -handle came backhanded and smote Ginger on the -nose so that the blood ran. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh," said Ginger as sick as any dog. -Simmons leapt off into the very arms of Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll take my money, Mr. Quin," said Simmons. -</p> - -<p> -"Take your hook," said Quin. "Look out, -here's White for you with a spanner!" -</p> - -<p> -White came running and expected Simmons to -run. But Simmons' face was red where White's -was white. He snatched a pickareen from the -nearest Chinaman, and a pickareen is a useful -weapon, a sharp half pick, and six inches of a pick. -</p> - -<p> -"You——" grinned Simmons, "you——" -</p> - -<p> -And White stayed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah!" said Simmons, with lips set back. -And Ginger White retreated. -</p> - -<p> -"Here, sonny, take your pick," said the Wedger-Off -that had been to the Chinaman; "fat chops -don't care to face it." -</p> - -<p> -He turned to Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I go to the office, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -"Aye," said Quin carelessly enough. -</p> - -<p> -He beckoned to Pete, whose eyes brightened. -He came lightly. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll take the job, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -Would he take it? -</p> - -<p> -"Nawitka," said Pete, "yes, indeed, Sir." -</p> - -<p> -Nawitka! He took the job and grinned with -Skookum, who fetched the maul and gave him the -wedges with all the pleasure in the world, for -Skookum had no ambition to be Chief Wedger-Off. -White came forward, dabbing at a monstrous tender -nose with a rag. -</p> - -<p> -"I've seen you at the Inlet?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Pete, "at Granville." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll do," said White. He dabbed at his huge -proboscis and went back to the lever. Pete leapt -upon the log and drove in the first wedge. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyas, hyas! Oh, she goes!" -</p> - -<p> -She went and the day went, and Pete worked -like fire on a dry Spruce yet unfelled. He leapt on -and off and handled things with skill. But when -he looked at White's growing nose he grinned. -Simmons had done that. -</p> - -<p> -"If he ever talk to me that away," said Pete, -"I'll give him chikamin, give him steel!" -</p> - -<p> -He didn't love White, at the first glance he knew -that. But it was good to be at work again, very good. -</p> - -<p> -At twelve o'clock the whistle called "Hash," and -the engine was shut down. The Saws slackened -their steady scream, they grew feeble, they whined, -they whirred, they nearly stopped, they stayed in -silence. Men leapt across the skids: they slid -down the Chutes: they clattered down the stairs: -they opened their mouths and could hear their -voices. They talked of White (he grubbed at home, -being married), and of Simmons and of Pete (he -being a Siwash, even if not married, would not -have grubbed in the Hash House) and heard the -story. On the whole they were sorry that Simmons -had not driven the pickareen through White. -However, his nose was a satisfaction. -</p> - -<p> -"Like a beet——" -</p> - -<p> -"A pumpkin——" -</p> - -<p> -"A water melon——" -</p> - -<p> -A prodigious nose after contact with the Maul -Handle. -</p> - -<p> -"I knew Mr. White," said Jenny to Pete, "Mr. White -bad man, hyu mesahchie." -</p> - -<p> -"Sling out the muckamuck," said Pete calmly. -</p> - -<p> -He fell to with infinite satisfaction, and Jenny -came and sat on his knee as he smoked his pipe. -</p> - -<p> -"She is really devilish pretty," said Quin, who -had no one to sit on his knee. -</p> - -<p> -The whistle suddenly said that it was half after -twelve and that it would be infinitely obliged if all -the working gentlemen from everywhere would -kindly step up in a goldarned hurry and turn to. -</p> - -<p> -"Turn to, turn too—toot," said the whistle as -brutally as any Western Ocean bo'sun. -</p> - -<p> -The full fed reluctant gentlemen of the Mill went -back into the battle, waddling and sighing sorely. -</p> - -<p> -"Wish to God it was six o'clock," they said. -There's no satisfying everybody, and going to work -full of food is horrid, it really is. -</p> - -<p> -What happened in the morning happened in the -afternoon, and all the saws yelled and the planers -complained and the men jumped till six, when the -Engines let steam into the Whistle high up against -the Smoke Stack and made it yell wildly that work -was over for the day. Mr. Engine-man played a -fantasia on that pipe and hooted and tooted and did -a dying cadenza that wailed like a lost soul in the -pit and then rose up in a triumphant scream that -echoed in the hills and died away across the waters -of the Fraser shining in the peaceful evening sun. -</p> - -<p> -And night came down, the blessed night, when no -man works (unless he be in a night shift, or is a -night watchman or a policeman or, or—). How -blessed it is to knock off! But there, what do you -know about it, if you never played with lumber in -a Stick Moola? Nothing, I assure you. Go home -and die, man. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -II -</h3> - -<p> -There were times when the Mill ate wood all night -long, but such times were rare, for now the City of -the Fraser was not booming. She sat sombrely by -her bright waters and moaned the bitter fact that -the railway was not coming her way, but was to -thrust out its beak into the waters of the Inlet. -The City was a little sad, a little bitter, her wharves -were deserted, dank, lonely. She saw no great -future before her: houses in her precincts were -empty: men spoke scornfully of her beauty and -exalted Granville and the forests whence Vancouver -should spring. -</p> - -<p> -But for such as worked in the Mill the City was -enough. They lived their little lives, strove -manfully or poorly, thinking of little things, of few -dollars, of a few days, and of Saturdays, and of -Sundays when no man worked. And each night -in Sawmill Town, in Sawdust Territory, was a -holiday, for then toil ceased and the shacks lighted -up and there was opportunity for talk. Work was -over. 'Halo Mamook,' no work now, but it -might be rye, or other poison and gambling and -debauchery. The respectable workers (note that -they were mostly American) went off up town, to -the Farmers' Home or some such place, or to the -City library, or to each other's homes, while the -main body of the toilers of the Mill 'played hell' -in their own way under the very shadow of the Mill -itself. For them the end of the week was a Big -Jamboree, but every night was a little one. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was back among his old tilikums, his old -partners and friends, and it was an occasion for a -jamboree, a high old jamboree of its order, that -is; for real Red Paint, howling, shrieking, -screaming Jamborees were out of order and the highly -respectable rulers of the City saw to it that the -place was not painted red by any citizen out on -the loose with a gun. British Columbia, mark you, -is an orderly spot: amazingly good and virtuous -and law-abiding, and killing is murder there. This -excites scorn and derision and even amazement in -American citizens come in from Spokane Falls, say, -or elsewhere, from such spots as Seattle, or even -Snohomish. -</p> - -<p> -But even without Red Paint, or guns, or galloping -cayuses up and down a scandalised British City, -cannot a man, and men and their klootchmen, get -drink and get drunk and raise Cain in Sawdust -Town? You bet they can, tilikums! Nawitka, -certainly! Oh, shucks—to be sure! -</p> - -<p> -Pete and Jenny (being hard up as yet) lived in -a room of Indian Annie's shack, and had dirt and -liberty. In Sawdust Town, just across the road -and on the land side of the Mill, were squads of -disreputable shacks in streets laid down with -stinking rotten sawdust and marked out with piles of -ancient lumber. All this had one time been a -swamp, but in the course of generations sawdust -filled it to the brim. Sawdust rots and ferments and -smells almost as badly as rice or wheat rotting in a -ship's limbers, and the odour of the place in a calm -was a thing to feel, to cut, even with an axe. It was -a paying property to Quin and Quin's brother, for -lumber costs next door to nothing at a mill, and -the rent came in easily, as it should when it can be -deducted from wages. It was a good clean property -as some landlords say in such cases, meaning -that the interest is secure. Life wasn't; and as to -morality, why, what did the Quin Brothers care -about their renters of the shacks, shanties, and -keekwilly holes? They cared nothing about their -morals or their manners or the sanitation. -</p> - -<p> -Chinamen lived there: they were Canton wharf-rats -mostly, big men, little men, men who lived -their own odd secret racial lives hidden away from -the eyes of whites. White boys yelled— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Chinkie, kihi, kiti mukhahoilo——" -</p> - -<p> -And it was supposed to be an insult. The -Chinkies cursed the boys by their Gods, and by -Buddha and by the Christians' Gods. "Oh, ya, -velly bad boy, oh, damn." Stones flew, chunks of -lumber, and boys or Chinamen ran. The Orientals -chattered indignantly on doorsteps. If a boy had -disappeared suddenly, who would have wondered? -</p> - -<p> -It was a splendid locality for nature, the nature -of Man, not for the growth of other things. There -were few conventions green in the neighbourhood, -a man was a man, and a hound a hound there, and -a devil a devil without a mask. It had a fascination. -</p> - -<p> -The Chinamen mostly worked in the yard: handling -lumber as it came out, stacking it, wheeling it, -carrying it. But there were others than Chinky -Chinamen about. There was Spanish Joe in one -shack which he shared with Chihuahua, who was a -Mexican. Be so good as to pronounce this word -Cheewawwaw and have done with it. Skookum -Charlie and his klootchman (he was from -S'Kokomish and was a Puyallop and she from -Snohomish and was a Muckleshoot) lived in -another. There's no word for wife in Chinook but -only <i>Klootchman</i>, woman, so though there's one for -marry, <i>malieh</i>, the ceremony is not much thought -of. When a man's klootchman is mentioned it -leaves the question of matrimony open for further -inquiry, if necessary. But is it worth while? -</p> - -<p> -A dozen Sitcum-Siwashes camped in other -shanties; they were from all along the coast, even -Metlakahtla and from inland, one being nearly a -full-blooded Shushwap. But the only pure-blooded -Indian about the place was Indian Annie. She was -a Hydah from the Islands and had been as pretty -as a picture once, as so many of the Hydah women -were. Now she was a hag and a procuress and as -ugly as a burnt stick and as wicked as a wild-cat. -If she was ever washed it was when she was dead -drunk in a rainstorm: she was wrinkled like the -skin of a Rambouillet ram: she walked double and -screeched like a night-hawk. As to her clothes -and the worth of them, why, anyone but an -entomologist would have given her a dollar to burn -them—Faugh! Nevertheless it was in her shack that -Pete camped with Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -About nine o'clock that night, the night of Pete's -getting a job, it was wonderful at Indian Annie's. -If you don't believe it come in and see, tilikum! -There are tons of things you don't know, tilikum, -the same as the rest of us. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, hyah, oho, they were enjoying themselves! -</p> - -<p> -Such a day it had been, clear, clean-breathed, -splendid, serene, and even yet the light lingered in -the cloudless heavens, though the bolder stars came -like scouts over the eastern hills and looked down -on Mill and River. -</p> - -<p> -But shucks, what of that in Indian Annie's? -The room that was kitchen, dining room, hall and -lumber room was reeking full. A wood fire -smouldered on the hearth: a slush lamp smoked in -the window against the dying heavenly day. Pete -was there and Annie, and Jack Mottram, an English -sailorman. He lived next door with a half-breed -Ptsean (you can't pronounce it, tilikum) who was -scarcely prettier than Annie, till she was washed. -Then she was obviously younger at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -Everyone was so far very happy. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyu heehee," said Indian Annie. By which she -meant in her short way that it was all great fun, -and that they were jolly companions everyone. -Besides Annie there were three other klootchmen -in the room and their garments were not valuable. -But it was "hyu heehee" all the same, for Jack -Mottram brought the whisky in; Indians not being -allowed to buy it, as they are apt, even more apt -than whites, the noble whites, to see red and run -"Amok." -</p> - -<p> -"Here two dollah, you buy mo' whisky, Jack," -said Pete, who was almost whooping drunk by now -and as happy as a chipmunk in a deserted camp, or -a dog at some killing, perhaps. -</p> - -<p> -"Righto," hiccupped Jack, and away he Went. -Pete sang something. There's bawdry in Chinook -even. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was a handsome boy if one likes or does -not dislike the Indian cheekbones. For the features -of the Sitcum-Siwash were almost purely Indian; -his colour was a memory of his English father. He -was tall, nearly five foot ten, lightly and beautifully -built. He was as quick on his feet as a bird on -the wing. His hands, even, were fine considering -he was one who would work. His eyes were reddish -brown, his teeth ivory: his moustache was a scanty -Indian growth. Not a doubt of it but that Pete -was the best-looking "breed" round about -Westminster. And he wasn't as lazy as most of them. -</p> - -<p> -Take his history on trust. It is easy to imagine -it. He had half learnt to read at an Anglican -Mission. His English was not bad when he talked -to white men. In truth it was better and heaps -cleaner than Jack Mottram's. But talk on the -American side of the water is always cleaner. "If -you don't like bawdry, we'll have very little of it," -said Lucio to the Friar, who was perhaps American. -Pete was a nice boy of twenty-three. But he had -a loose lip and could look savage. His mind was -a tiny circle. He could reach with his hand almost -as far as his mind went. He had a religion once, -when he left the Fathers of the Mission. He then -believed in the Saghalie Tyee, the Chief of Heaven: -in fact, in the Head Boss. Now he believed in the -head boss of the Mill and in whisky and in his -wife: all of them very risky beliefs indeed. -</p> - -<p> -So far Jenny, Pete's little klootchman (and a -sweet pretty creature she was) hadn't yet showed -up in the shebang. She had been out somewhere, -the Lord alone knows where (Quin would have -wished he knew), and she was now in the inside -room, dressing or rather taking off an outside gown -and putting on a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown -given her by a lady at Kamloops. Now she came -out. -</p> - -<p> -She was a beauty, tilikum, and you can believe -it or leave it alone. She was little, no more than -five feet three say, but perfectly made, round, -plump, most adequate, which is a mighty good -word, seeing that she was all there in some ways. -She had a complexion of rosy eve, and teeth no -narwhal's horn could match for whiteness, and her -lips were red-blooded, her ears pink. She had -dimples to be sworn by: and the only sign of her -Indian blood (which was obviously Hydah) came -out in her long straight black hair, that she wore -coiled in a huge untidy mass. But for that she -was white as far as her body went. As for her -soul—but that's telling too soon. -</p> - -<p> -Now she came out of the inner chamber in her -scarlet gown, which was flaming with outrageous -tulips, horribly parodying even a Dutch grower's -nightmare, and she looked like a rosebud, or a -merry saint in a flaming San Benito with flower -flame devils on it in paint. And not a soul of her -tilikums knew she was lovely. They envied her -that San Benito! -</p> - -<p> -Jenny was sober enough this time (and so far), -and if no one knew she was lovely she knew it, and -she eyed some of the drunken klootchmen -disdainfully. This was not so much that they were -<i>pahtlum</i> but because they had but ten cents worth -of clothes and were not <i>toketie</i> or pretty. -</p> - -<p> -"Fo!" said Jenny, stepping lightly among the -recumbent and half-recumbent till she squatted on -her hams by the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Where you bin, Jenny?" asked Pete, already -hiccupping. And Jenny said she had been with Mary, -or Alice, or someone else. May be it was true. -</p> - -<p> -"Have a drink," said her man, handing her a -bottle. She tilted it and showed her sweet neck -and ripe bosom as she drank and handed it back empty. -</p> - -<p> -Then Jack Mottram, English sailorman and -general rolling stone and blackguard, came in hugging -two bottles of deadly poison, one under each arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe," said the crowd, "kloshe, good old Jack!" -</p> - -<p> -The "shipman" dropped his load into willing -claws and claimed first drink loudly. -</p> - -<p> -"S'elp me, you see, pardners, I bro't 'em in fair -and square: never broached 'em. I know chaps -as'd ha' squatted under the lee of a pile o' lumber -and ha' soaked the lot. S'elp me I do!" -</p> - -<p> -It was felt on all hands that he was a noble -character. Indian Annie patted him on the back. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ands off, you catamaran," said Jack. In spite -of being a seaman he believed the word was a term of abuse. -</p> - -<p> -He was a seaman, though—and a first-class hand -anywhere and anywhen. To see him now, foul, -half-cocked, bleary, and to see him when three -weeks of salt water had cleaned and sweetened -him, would surprise the most hopeful. He went -passages, not voyages, and skipped ashore every -time he touched land. There wasn't a country in -the round world he didn't know. -</p> - -<p> -"I know 'em all from Chile to China, from Rangoon -to Hell," said Jack, "I know 'em in the dark, -by the stink of 'em!" -</p> - -<p> -Now he jawed about this and that, with scraps -of unholy information in his talk. No one paid -attention, they talked or sucked at the whisky. -The more Indian blood the more silence till the -blood is diluted with alcohol. Every now and -again some of them squealed with poisonous -happiness; outside one might hear the sound of the -screams and singing and the unholy jamboree. The -noise brought others. Someone knocked at the -door. The revellers were happy and pleased to -see the world and they yelled a welcome. -</p> - -<p> -"Come in, tilikum!" they cried, and Chihuahua -opened the door against one klootchman's silent body -and showed his dark head and glittering eyes inside. -</p> - -<p> -"Where my klootchman? You see my klootchman? -Ah, I see!" -</p> - -<p> -She was half asleep by the fire, and nodded at -him foolishly. He paid no attention for he was -after liquor and saw that the gathering welcomed -him. He knew them all but Pete, but he had -heard of the row in the Mill and had seen the head -that Simmons put on Ginger and he knew that a -tilikum of Skookum's had been made wedger-off. -</p> - -<p> -"You Pete, ah, I tinks." -</p> - -<p> -"Nawitka, tilikum, that's me, Pitt River Pete. -You have a drink. Ho, Jenny, you give me the -bottle. She's my klootchman." -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua took the bottle and drank. He -looked at Jenny and saw that she was beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -"Muchacha hermosa," he said. She knew what -he meant, for she read his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Your little klootchman hyu toketie, Mister -Pete, very peretty, oh, si," said Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Mor'n yours is," hiccupped Jack Mottram. -"But—'oo's got a smoke?" -</p> - -<p> -The beady-eyed man from Mexico had a smoke: -a big bag of dry tobacco and a handful or pocket -full of papers. He rolled cigarettes for them all, -doing it with infinite dexterity. Drunk or sober -Chihuahua could do that. His own klootchman -clawed him for one of them and without a word -he belted her on the ear and made her bellow. -She sat in the corner by the fire and howled as -lugubriously as if her dog or her father had just died. -</p> - -<p> -"Halo kinootl, halo kinootl, mika tiki cigalette!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give the howler one," said Jack, as she kept -on howling that she had no tobacco and that her -man was angry with her. Pete gave her his, which -was already lighted. She giggled and laughed and -began crooning a Chinook song:— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Konaway sun<br /> - Hyu Keely<br /> - Annawillee!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -It was a mournful dirge: she sang and smoked -and wept and giggled and tried to make eyes at -Jack who must love her or he could never have -given her a "Cigalette." He was heaps nicer than -Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -She set them off singing and more drink was -brought in, and still Annawillee said she was very -"keely" or sad. Indeed, she was weeping drunk -and no one paid any attention to her, least of all -Chihuahua. Jack sang a chanty about Dandy Rob -of the Orinoco and a pleasing meal of boiled sawdust -and bullock's liver, "blow, my bully boys, blow!" -and wept to think of Whitechapel. An encore -resulted in "My rorty carrotty Sal, who kems -from W'itechapal," and then Jack subsided amid -applause, and slept the sleep of great success. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete was now "full" and could speak to -Chihuahua and to Spanish Joe and Skookum Charlie -who had come in together. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you come here, Pete?" asked Skookum. -"They say you have a good jhob up to Kamloops." -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you, tilikum," said Pete. "Me and Jenny -here was with Ned Quin, Cultus Muckamuck we -call him up alound the Dly Belt. Ain't he a son -of a gun, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny nodded and took a cigarette from -Chihuahua with a heavenly smile. They were all -lying around the fire but Pete and Jenny. The -other klootchmen were mostly fast asleep: Indian -Annie was insensible. Pete went on talking in a -high pitched but not unpleasant voice. His -English was by no means so bad though not so good -as Jenny's. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary, my sister, she's Ned Quin's klootchman," -said Pete, "and has been with him years, since his -white woman died. I forget how long: nika kopet -kumtuks, it's so long. So me and Jenny work -there: she with Mary, me outside with the -moos-mooses, wagon, plowin', harrowin', and scraper -team. Oh, I work lika hell all one year, dollar a -day and muckamuck: and old Ned he was Cultus -Muckamuck, oh, you bet, tilikums: mean as mud. -Him and me don't hit it off, but I lika the place, -not too wet, good kieutans to ride, and, when I get -sick and full up of Cultus, Jenny here she fond of -my sister and when she was full up of Mary I just -happen to pull with Cultus, so that's why we stay. -Sometime the old dog he allow a dollar a day too -much for me, and me workin' lika a mule. Oh, I -work alla time, by God, velly little dlunk only -sometime in Kamloops. And I say 'Look here, -Cultus, I not care one damn, I can go. I can -quit:—you pay me!' But when it came to pay out dolla -he very sick, for sure. So I say, 'You be damn,' -and he laughed and went away, for I had a -neck-yoke in my hand, ha!" -</p> - -<p> -Pete showed his teeth savagely, and the others -grinned. -</p> - -<p> -"We do that often: he damn me, I damn him, -and mebbe Jenny and me would be there yet if he -had not hit Mary with a club while I was away over -to Nikola bringin' in the steers that was over the -range. I come back, and I find Jenny cryin' and -Mary sick and cryin', and sore all over, and Cultus -hyu drunk. So I ups and say to Cultus, 'You -swine, you hit my poor sister once mo' and I -quit.' Then he began to cry and fetch mo' whisky and we -both get drunk and very much friends, and I go to -sleep, and he get ravin' and fetch a long-handled -shovel and frighten Jenny here to death and he hit -Mary with the flat of the shovel, and say, 'You -damn klootchman, next time I give you the edge -and cut hell out of you.'" -</p> - -<p> -"He say those same words," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"And when I wake up," Pete went on, "they tell -me, and I say it no good to stay for if I stay I kill -Cultus and no taffy about it. So next day I say -'Give me my money,' and he give me an order on -Smith over to Kamloops, and we came down here, -and now I get the job wedging-off again and that's -better'n workin' for old Cultus. Gimme the bottle, -Skookum, you old swine." -</p> - -<p> -They all had another drink. -</p> - -<p> -"George Quin heap berrer'n Cultus," said Skookum. -</p> - -<p> -"'E lika peretty girls," said Chihuahua, leering at -Jenny. "'E look after klootchman alla day, eh, -Joe?" -</p> - -<p> -Spanish Joe said that was so. "Spanish" was a -real Castilian, as fair as any Swede and had golden -hair and lovely skin and the blue eyes of a Visigoth, -and he was a murderous hound and very good at -songs and had a fine voice and could play the guitar. -He had no klootchman, but there was a white -woman up town who loved him and robbed her -husband to give him money. -</p> - -<p> -"All klootchman no good," said Joe scornfully. -</p> - -<p> -"You're a liar," said Jenny, "but men are no -good, only Pete is good sometimes, ain't you, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -"Dry up," said Pete thickly, for the last drink -had done for him. "You dry up. All klootchmen -talk too much. You go to bed, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"I shan't," said Jenny, sulkily. -</p> - -<p> -So he beat her very severely, and blacked her eye, -and dragged her by the gorgeous dressing-gown -into the next room. As he dragged her she slipped -out of the gown and they saw her for an instant -white as any lily before he slammed the door on her -and came out again. Joe and Chihuahua yelled -with laughter, and even Skookum roused up to -chuckle a little. He had been asleep, lying with -his head on the insensible body of an unowned -klootchman, who was a relative of Annie's. His -own klootchman still sat in the corner, every now -and again chanting dismally of the woes of -Annawillee. Joe and Chihuahua spoke in Spanish. -</p> - -<p> -"She's a beauty, and George Quin will want her," -said Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"And he'll have her too, by the Mother of God," -said Joe. "But klootchmen are no good. My -woman up town she cries too much. And as for -her husband——" -</p> - -<p> -He indulged in some Spanish blasphemy on the -subject of that poor creature's man. -</p> - -<p> -They slapped Pete on the back when he sat -down again, and said he knew how to serve a saucy -muchacha. And Joe sang a beautiful old Spanish -love song with amazing feeling and then went away. -But the melancholy of the song haunted poor Pete's -heart, and he went to his wife and found her -crouched on the floor sobbing and as naked as -when she was born. And Pete cried too and said -that he loved her. -</p> - -<p> -But she still cried, for he had torn the lovely -dressing-gown with its gorgeous garden of tulips. -She hugged it to her beautiful bosom as if it were -a child. -</p> - -<p> -In the outer room they all slept, and even -Annawillee ceased moaning. -</p> - -<p> -The night was calm and wonderful and as silent as death. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -III -</h3> - -<p> -Nah Siks, ho, my friend, let me introduce you to -George Quin: Manager and part owner of the Mill, -of the Stick Moola which ate logs and turned out -lumber and used (even as sawdust) the lives and -muscles of high-toned High Binders from Kowloon -and the back parts of Canton, and hidalgos from -Spain with knives about them, and gentlemen from -Whitechapel who knew the ways of the sea, and -many first-class Americans from the woods, to say -nothing of Letts, Lapps and Finns and our tilikums -the Indians from the Coast. -</p> - -<p> -Quin was two hundred pounds weight, and as -solid as a cant of his fir, and his mind was compact, -a useful mind when dollars were concerned. He -was a squaw-man and was always in with one of -them, for there are men who don't care for white -women (though indeed he had cared very much for -one) and so run after klootchmen just as water -runs down hill. It is explicable, for the conduct of -(or the conducting of) a white woman for the most -part takes a deal of restraint. Quin hated any -form of it: he was by nature a kind of savage, -though he was born in Vermont and bred up in -lower Canada. He went West early (even to -China, by the way) and only kept so much restraint -as enabled him to hang on and make dollars and -crawl up a financial ladder—with that wanting he -might have been:— -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - A Hobo,<br /> - A Blanket Stiff<br /> - or<br /> - A mere Gaycat,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -and have ended as a "Tomayto-can Vag!" These -are all species of the Genus Tramp, or Varieties of -the species, and the essence of them all is letting go. -We who are not such vagabonds have to hold on -with our teeth and nails and climb. But the -blessedness of refusing to climb and the blessedness -of being at the bottom are wonderful. We all know -it as we hang on. Now Quin, for all his force and -weight and power of body and of mind was a tramp -in his heart, but a coward who was afraid of opinion, -where want of dollars was concerned. He turned -himself loose only with the women. He hated -respectable ones. You had to be civil and -gentlemanly and a lot of hogwash like that with ladies. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said Quin. "Great Scott, by the -Holy Mackinaw, not me!" -</p> - -<p> -The devil of it all is that we are pushed on by -something that is not ourselves, and for what? -It's by no means a case of "Sic vos non vobis" but -"sic nos non nobis," and that's a solid fact, solid -enough to burst the teeth out of any Hoe that can -cut teak or mahogany, to say nothing of the soft -wood of the Coast. -</p> - -<p> -Quin compromised with the Mournful Spirit of -Push and gave his soul to dollars on that behalf, and -his body to the klootchmen. -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't often that he slung work and took a -holiday, but in latitude 49.50 N. and longitude -122 W., which is about the situation of New -Westminster, so far as I can remember, Mills themselves -take holidays in frost time, and when the Mill was -shut down the Christmas before, he had taken a -run up to Kamloops to see his brother Ned or -Cultus Muckamuck. -</p> - -<p> -There he saw Jenny, the sweet little devil, who -hadn't been married to Pete for more than six -months and was just nineteen. He made up his -mind about her then, but there were difficulties. -For one thing Ned was always wanting him, and -Indian Mary, Ned's klootchman, was a good woman -and heartily religious in her own way, and she had -a care for the pretty little girl when the Panther, -or Hyas Puss-Puss, called George Quin, came -nosing around. And Pete was but newly wed and -hadn't beaten Jenny yet. And Jenny, the pretty -dear, was fond of her Sitcum Siwash and loved to -see him on horseback, all so bold and fine with one -hand on his hip and a quirt in the other. Given -favourable circumstances and enforced sobriety -there's no knowing what the two might have been. -</p> - -<p> -I shall have to own it wasn't all George Quin -after all: I couldn't help liking George somehow. -It's the most mixed kind of a world, and though -the best we know, it might have been improved by -a little foresight one would think. There's always -something pathetically good in blackguards, -something that redeems the worst. What a pity it is! -</p> - -<p> -George Quin loved one woman who lived in far -off Vermont. She was his mother. He sent her -dollars and bear skins more than twice a year. -He had his portrait taken in his best clothes for her. -He looked so like a missionary that the good old -lady wept. -</p> - -<p> -There was something good in George one sees. -But he kissed Jenny behind Ned's old shack before -he went away. It might look like a coincidence -for Pete to come down to the Mill to work for -George after getting the Grand Bounce by Ned, -if it hadn't been for the kiss. Women are often -deceitful. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell Pete," said Jenny in the clutches of -the Panther. -</p> - -<p> -Hyas Puss-Puss laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"You tell him, you sweet little devil, and I'll -blow a hole through him with a gun!" said he. -</p> - -<p> -If he played up, that is! Sometimes they don't, -you know. -</p> - -<p> -"You give me a kiss without a fight, and I'll -give you a dollar," said the Panther. Jenny still -kicked. But she didn't squeal. Mary was inside the -shack and would have heard her, if she wanted help. -</p> - -<p> -"Not for two dolla," said Jenny, hiding her -mouth with the back of her hand, with her nails -out claw fashion. -</p> - -<p> -"Three then," said Hyas Puss-Puss. He was -as strong as the very devil, said Jenny's mind -inside, three times, four times, ever so many times -stronger than Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, not for three, nor four, nor five," said -Jenny, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -He got it for nothing. But he got no more. -Indian Mary came outside and called— -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -George sat down on a log and filled his pipe while -Jenny went back. She ran fast so that her colour -and her tousled appearance might be accounted -for. George Quin saw it. -</p> - -<p> -"The deceitful little devil, but I kissed her!" -</p> - -<p> -He got no more chances. When he had hold of -her with that immense strength of his she was as -weak as water, as was only natural, but she wanted -to be good (Mary and the missionary had told her -it was right to be good, and Mary said that Ned -was going to marry her some day, so she was all -right) and she was really fond of Pete. -</p> - -<p> -However, when Quin was going down to the -Coast again he got a moment with her. -</p> - -<p> -"If you want to come down my way, I'll always -give a first-class job to Pete, my dear. Don't -forget. He's a good man in a Mill. I saw him -over at the Inlet before he married you. I wish -I'd seen you before that, you little devil. Ah, tenas, -nika tikegh mika! Oh, I want you, little one!" -</p> - -<p> -When she and Pete pulled out from Cultus -Muckamuck's six months afterwards, they naturally -went on a Howling Jamboree in Kamloops, and it -ended in their being halo dolla, or rather, with no -more than Jenny had secreted for a rainy day. She -was a little greedy about money, it must be owned. -Some wanted Pete to go up to the Landing at -Eagle Pass as the Railroad was getting there from -East and West, though he wasn't a railroad man by -nature, but a lumber man. The railroader is -always one and so is the lumber man. Jenny -suggested the Coast and New Westminster. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile Pete had beaten her several times -and many had told her she was very pretty. She -wasn't quite the little girl she had been at Cultus -Muckamuck's ranche. She missed Mary, and her -morals did, too. She remembered all about George -Quin's, "I'll give you two dollars for a kiss!" For -a kiss only, mind. She could take care of -herself, she said. But they went to the Coast by -way of the only way, Savona and the Cañon. At -Savona, Jenny's eyes got a pass to Yale out of -Mr. Vanderdunk, who had beautiful blue eyes and was -a very good chap, take him all round. Jenny lied -to him like sixty and said her mother was dying -at Yale. Her mother was as dead as Washington -long years before. She died, poor thing, because -Jenny's father became respectable and renounced -her and married a white woman in Virginia. He -was a shining light in a church at that very time, -and was quite sincere. -</p> - -<p> -"Give the pair a pass down," said Vanderdunk, -"of course they're lying but——" -</p> - -<p> -Eyes did it as they always will. So they went -down to Yale and by the <i>Fraser</i> steamboat to New -Westminster, and they put up at Indian Annie's -as aforesaid and the row in the Mill happened and -Quin saw Pete and he knew Jenny had come, and -he smiled and licked his lips. -</p> - -<p> -The very next day after Pete's swift acceptance -of that noble position in the hierarchy of the Mill, -the Wedger-Off-Ship, and after the drunken jamboree -at Indian Annie's, Pete and Mrs. Pete moved -the torn dressing-gown, etc., into Simmons' vacated -shack. For Simmons had gone to Victoria in the -S.S. <i>Teaser</i>, that old scrap-heap known to every -one on the Sound, or in the Straits of Georgia or -San Juan de Fuca, by her asthmatic wheezing. -Pete's and Mrs. Pete's etc. comprised one bundle -of rags, and a tattered silk of Jenny's, and two -pairs of high-heeled shoes (much over at the heel) -and a bottle of embrocation warranted to cure -everything from emphysema to a compound -fracture of the femur, and a Bible. Pete had -knocked Jenny over with that on more than one -occasion. -</p> - -<p> -The traps that Simmons left in his shack he sold -to Pete for one dollar and two bits, and they were -well worth a dollar, for they comprised two pairs -of blankets of the consistency of herring-nets and -a lamp warranted to explode without warning. -He threw in all the dirt he hadn't brushed out of -the place during a tenancy of eight months, and -made no extra charge for fleas. But Jenny was -pleased. It was her first home, mark you, and that -means much to a countess or a klootchman. Pete -had wedded her at Kamloops and taken her to -Cultus Muckamuck's right off, for there were no -other men around there but old Cultus, and his -Mary looked after him if he needed it. -</p> - -<p> -So now Jenny grew proud for a while, and felt -that to have a whole house to herself and her man -was something. She forgave him her black eye, -the poor dear, and she mended the tulips carefully -in a way that would have given the mistress of a -sewing school a fatal attack of apoplexy. She -worked the rent together with gigantic herring-boning -like the tacking of a schooner up some -intricate channel with a shifting wind. -</p> - -<p> -Then she swept the shack and set out her household -goods the boots and the Bible. The boots -had been given her by a Mrs. Alexander, sister to -the donor of the dressing-gown, and the Bible (it -had pictures in it) was the gift of a Methodist -Missionary who saw she was very pretty. So did -his wife, so everything was safe there. -</p> - -<p> -The bed belonged to the shack, that is, to the -Mill, to the Quins, and as it was summer there was -no need to get better blankets. Jenny laid the -precious tulips on it and the bed looked handsome -enough for Helen, she thought, or would have -thought if she had ever heard of her, and Pete -admired it greatly. -</p> - -<p> -They set out to be happy as people will in this -world. Jenny had a piece of steak cooked for -Pete's dinner and she laid the newspaper cloth -very neatly, and put everything, beer, bread and -so on, as well as some prunes, quite handy. -</p> - -<p> -"By gosh, I'm hungry, old girl," said Pete, as -he marched in at noon. -</p> - -<p> -"It's all ready, Pete," she said, smiling. The -smile was a little sideways, owing to last night. -"Sit down and be quick." -</p> - -<p> -There was need, for the Mill only let up for the half hour. -</p> - -<p> -"This is work here, Jenny," said Pete, "by the -Holy Mackinaw, I almos' forgot what work was at -old Cultus'. Now she goes whoop!" -</p> - -<p> -But he felt warm and good and kind. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry I hurt you, gal," he said, "but you -was very bad las' night. Drink's no good. I won't -drink no more." -</p> - -<p> -"You very good to me," said Jenny meekly. -"Whisky always makes me mad. I'm glad we're -here. Indian Annie's bad, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus' ole cow," said Pete, with his mouth -full, "but now we have our home, Jenny, my gal, -and plenty work and forty dollar a month. I'm -going to be a good man to you, my dear, and buy -you big shelokum, lookin' glass." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny's eyes gleamed. There was only a three-cornered -fragment of glass nailed up against the -wall, and it was hardly big enough to see her pretty -nose in. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete, that what I like. Oh, yes, Pete, a -big one." -</p> - -<p> -"High and long," said Pete firmly. -</p> - -<p> -"Very high," screamed Jenny joyfully. -</p> - -<p> -"So you see all your pretty self," smiled Pete. -"I see one two yard high. I wonder how much." -</p> - -<p> -"One hundred dolla, I tink," said Jenny, and -Pete's jaw dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"Never min', we get a good one for five dolla," -said Jenny, and she kissed Pete for that five "dolla" -one just as he filled his pipe. Then the whistle of -the Mill squealed "Come out, come out, come out -o' that, Pete, Pe—etc!" and Pete gave his klootchman -a hug and ran across the hot sawdust to the -Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete very good man, I won't kiss no one but -Pete," said Jenny. "I almos' swear it on the -Bible." -</p> - -<p> -She was a human little thing, and Pete was -human, poor devil. And so was George Quin, alas! -And the worst of it is that we all are. -</p> - -<p> -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" -</p> - -<p> -The sun burned and the water glared, and the -Mill, the Stick Moola, howled and groaned and -devoured some twenty thousand feet of logs that -afternoon, and over the glittering river rose the -white cone of Mount Baker and up the river shone -the serrated peaks of the Pitt River Mountains, -where Pete came from, and all the world was -lovely and beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -And that poor devil of a Quin sat in his office -and tried to work, and had the pretty idea of Jenny -in his aching mind. -</p> - -<p> -"I almos' swear it on the Bible!" -</p> - -<p> -Even George wanted to do the square thing, very -often. But Jenny's "almos'" was hell, eh? -Tilikum, we both know it! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -IV -</h3> - -<p> -But for the fact that there was too muchee pidgin -for everyone, as the Chinaman said, or hyu hyu -mamook as the Siwashes said, many might have -run after Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"One piecee litty gal velly hansum, belongy Pitt -Liber Pete," said Wong, who was the helper at the -Chinee Trimmer. He said it with a grin, "Velly -nicee klootchman alla samee tenas Yingling gal my -know at Canton, Consoo's litty waifo." -</p> - -<p> -She was as pretty as any Consul's little wife, -that's a solid mahogany hard wood fact. But with -twelve hours work of the sort of work that went on -in the Mill who could think of running after the -"one litty piecee hansum gal" but the man who -didn't work with his hands? -</p> - -<p> -Wong was a philosopher, and, like all real -philosophers, not a good patriot—if one excepts -Hegel, who was a conservative pig, and a state -toady and hateful to democrats. Wong had fine -manners and was a gentleman, so much so that the -white men really liked him and never wanted to -plug him, or jolt him on the jaw or disintegrate -him, as they did most of the Chinkies. He returned -the compliment, and sometimes quarrelled with his -countrymen about the merits of the whites, as one -might with Americans and others about the children -of the Flowery Kingdom. -</p> - -<p> -"My likee Melican man and Yingling man," said -Wong. "Velly good man Melican: my savvy. -Some velly bad, maskee oders velly good. If -Chinaman makee bobbely and no can do pidgin, -Melican man say 'sonny pitch'; maskee my can -do, my savvy stick-mula mamook, so Melican man -and Yingling man say, 'Good Wong, no sonny -pitch, velly good.' Melican gentleman velly good -all plopa. What ting you tinkee?" -</p> - -<p> -Wong was an enigmatic mask of a man, wrinkled -wondrously and looking sixty, though nothing -near it, as hard as solid truth, fond of singing to -a mandolin, great at Fan tan, but peaceable as a -tame duck. -</p> - -<p> -He had a kind heart, "all plopa that one piecee -man" from Canton, and one day (not yet) he has -his place here, all out of kindness to the "litty -hansum gal belongy Pitt Liber Pete." May his -ashes go back to China in a nice neat "litty piecee -box" and be buried among his ancestors who ought -to be proud of him. Blessed be his name, and may -he rank with Konfutse! I preferred him to Hegel. -And if any of you want to know why I refer to him, -you must draw conclusions. -</p> - -<p> -But, as we were saying, who could have full time -to run after the "litty gal" but Quin? -</p> - -<p> -To make another excursion, and explain, it may -be as well to let Pappenhausen talk. There were -two Germans in the Mill, and both worked in the -Planing Shed. One was a man of no account, a -shuffling, weak-kneed, weak-eyed, lager-beer Hans, -with as much brains as would have qualified him -to be Heir Apparent to some third-rate Teutonic -Opera-House Kingdom. But Pappenhausen was a -Man, that is to say, he didn't compromise on Lager -or weep because he drank too much. And he could -work like three, and he wasn't the German kind as -regards courage. German courage is very fine and -fierce when the Teutons are in a majority, but when -they aren't their courage ranks as the finest -discretion, that is, as cowardice nine times out of ten. -Pappenhausen would fight anyone or any two any -time and any where. He could fight with fists -or a spanner, or a pickareen or a club, and he took -some satisfying. He was an amazing man, had been -in America thirty years. He said he was a -"Galifornian" and fought you if you didn't believe it. -Once he stood up to Quin and was knocked galley-west, -for besides Long Mac there wasn't a man in -Saw-Mill Town that could tackle the Boss. Quin -got a black eye, but Papp had two and lay -insensible for an hour. Quin was so pleased with that, -that he put him to work again and stood him -drinks. He actually did. After that Papp, as he -was called, stood up for, and not to, George Quin, -and said he was a man, and he asked what it -mattered if he did run after the klootchmen? -</p> - -<p> -"Dat's der Teufel," grunted the native "Galifornian," -"dat's der Teufel, we all run avder der -klootchmen, if we don'd avder trink. I'm a -philozopher, I, and I notizzes dat if it arn'd one -ding it's anoder. And no one gan help it, boys. -One man he run avder dollars, screamin' oud for -dollars, and if you zay a dollar ain'd wort' von -'ondred cents of drubble he tink you grazy. I zay -one dollar's wort' of rest wort' a dollar and a half -any day. On'y I cain'd help workin'. If I don'd I -feel I braig somedings mit mein hands. Oders -run avder klootchmen; if dey don'd dey feels as -if dey would also braig somedings. I tinks the welt -a foolish blace, but in Shermany (where my vater -game from) I dinks it most foolish. And Misder -Guin he run avder Pete's klootchman and bymby -Pete gill her as like as nod and then Mr. Guin very -sorry he spoke. I dell you I knows. Life is a -damn silly choke, boys." -</p> - -<p> -But it was (and is) only a joke to a Democritus -of Papp's type. Even Papp said:— -</p> - -<p> -"Bymby I ged a new sood of glose and fifdy -dollars and I go back home to California." -</p> - -<p> -He said it and had said it. -</p> - -<p> -"Bymby——" -</p> - -<p> -Poor Papp! -</p> - -<p> -It was no joke to Jenny presently that "Misder -Guin" ran after her. But then it is no joke at any -time to be the acknowledged belle of any place, even -if it is a Saw-Mill Sawdust Town, and the truth is -that Jenny shone even among the white women, -gorgeous in their pride and occasional new frocks -from San Francisco, the Paris of the Coast. There -wasn't a white "litty gal" in the City who was a -patch on her: she was the "slickest piece of -caliker" within long miles. Folks who were critical -and travelled, said that there was her equal over at -Victoria, but that was far off, and much water lay -between. From the mighty white-peaked summit -of the Rockies, and the wonders of the Selkirks, -down through the Landing and Kamloops and Yale -at the end of the Cañon away to Westminster, she -was the prettiest. -</p> - -<p> -Think of it and consider that she lived in a -two-roomed shack with a decent-looking wedger-off who -was a Sitcum Siwash! She got compliments on -the street as she went up and down town. -</p> - -<p> -"Great Scott, she's a daisy!" -</p> - -<p> -"By the Great Horn Spoon, and also by the Tail -of the Sacred Bull, she knocks spots off of the hull -crowd." -</p> - -<p> -Such things said openly have their effect. But -the tulips on the dressing-gown did even more, and -the high-heeled shoes. She hankered after things -in the streets to which the dressing-gown was but -a faded flower. Quin spoke to her once as she -glared into a window. -</p> - -<p> -"You like that, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my," said little greedy Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -Quin didn't care a hang if he spoke to the little -klootchman in public. He wasn't in society, for -even in the River City there was Society. They -drew the line at squaw-men who went to dance-houses -and so on. But for that, the Manager and -Owner of a Mill (or half one or even a quarter) -could have had entrance to the loftiest gaieties and -the dullest on earth. He didn't "give a damn," -not a "continental," for the "hull boiling," said -Quin. Jenny was his mark, you can take your oath. -</p> - -<p> -She was worth it in looks only, that's the best -and worst of it. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll give it you: it's my potlatsh," said the -Manager, who cared little for dollars when the girls -came in. -</p> - -<p> -It was a "potlatsh," a gift indeed! To get -Jenny, Quin would have done "a big brave's -potlatsh" and given away all he owned, horses, mill, -house, and all. That's a fact, and it must be -remembered as Papp said, that "dey also veels as if -dey would braig somedings!" -</p> - -<p> -She got the gorgeous silk of tartan stripes that -flared in the window like a light lightening the -darkness, for Quin went in and bought what is -known as a dress length and sent it down to her by -his Chinese "boy." When he met Pete in the road -at noon that day he stopped him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete——" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir," said Pete respectfully, for the Tyee was so -big and strong besides being a Tyee, which always -counts. -</p> - -<p> -"I have given your wife some stuff to make a -dress. She was very good to my brother and to -Mary," said Quin. "She's a very good little girl." -</p> - -<p> -He nodded and walked on. He wished Pete -would get killed on the top of a log, but his face -was inscrutable and calm as that of any full-blooded -Siwash. Pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious -as any child. If he feared anyone it was Spanish -Joe, with his guitar and his songs. He went home -as pleased as Punch by the condescension of the -Boss, and found Jenny laying out dinner. -</p> - -<p> -The trouble came as quick as it could come. It -came right there and then, when both were as happy -as they could be. Jenny fairly shivered with -pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside -the inner room. Real silk it was and new, not a -cast-off rag from Mrs. Alexander, of the Kamloops -Hotel. The tulips of the dressing-gown faded clean -out of sight: they died down in their monstrous -array. She saw the Dress, saw it made up, saw the -world admire it: heard the other klootchmen -clicking envious admiration. But how was she to -account for it to Pete? She had been kissed by -Quin, and she knew he liked her, wanted her. The -big man flattered her senses, he was a white man, -rich and strong. She wouldn't have almost sworn -on the Bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that -this silk filled earth and heaven for her gaudy little -mind. She would have to think how to tell Pete. -</p> - -<p> -So in came Pete in excitement. -</p> - -<p> -"Show me what Mr. Quin give you," he demanded. -And her unlucky lie was ready. It fell -from her lips before she had a moment to think. -</p> - -<p> -"He give me nothing; why you say that?" -</p> - -<p> -Pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line. -</p> - -<p> -"You damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "I know." -</p> - -<p> -"It's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said -Jenny. "What for you tink the Tyee give me -tings? You tink me a cultus klootchman like -Indian Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -On his oath he would have sworn one happy -moment before that he had never thought so. Now -he thought too much. -</p> - -<p> -"You show it me or I kill you," said Pete. "I -know Mr. Quin he give you some stuff to make a -dless." -</p> - -<p> -In his rage his words grew more Indian, and his -taught English failed, his r's became l's. So did hers. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn lie, I have no dless," screamed Jenny. -"You no give me no'ting, you make kokshut my -dlessing-gown. I dless like one cultus klootchman, -in lags." -</p> - -<p> -He ran at her and she fled round the table. The -newspaper and the dinner went on the floor, and -she screamed. Then she slipped on the steak, and -went down. As chance had it the table came over -on top of her and she held it tight, so that he could -not get at her to hurt her much. But he kicked her -legs hard and then went into the inner room. -</p> - -<p> -"No, Pete, no," she screamed. She knew that he -must find the dress, the precious silk, and she forgot -all else in her great desire that it should not be -harmed. "I tell you the trut', Pete." -</p> - -<p> -She crawled from under the table: her hair was -down to her waist, her wretched every-day gown -torn from her back: her bosom showed. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Pete, oh, Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -Her lips hung piteous for the lovely thing that -Pete had found and now held up in horrid triumph. -The roll unrolled: he had the crumpled end in his -hand. It was a flag of blazing silk, a tartan to -appeal to any savage. Now it cried for help. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn klootchman, you," said Pete. -"What for Quin he give you this?" -</p> - -<p> -He kicked the roll with his foot. The stuff -unrolled more and Jenny cried aloud as though it was -her papoose that her savage man ill-used. -</p> - -<p> -"I don' know why he give it me," she squealed. -</p> - -<p> -"Him velly kin' man always. Oh, don' tear it, -Pete, oh, oh!" -</p> - -<p> -With his hands he ripped the silk in fragments. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," -he roared. "You no take such a ting from -Mr. Quin! You look at him lika you look at Spanish -Joe the other day: I see you." -</p> - -<p> -"You no see me do anyting wrong," Jenny cried, -weeping bitterly. "I don' lika Spanish Joe. 'Tis -a lie, Pete. And I no can help if Mr. Quin give me -tings. I a very good woman, on the Bible I swear -it. I quite virtuous; Mr. Quin he no touch me, I -swear it. Don' tear it no more. Pete, oh, don'!" -</p> - -<p> -He set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty -yards into fragments. The room was full of shining -stuff, of red and yellow and green: the floor was -gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his rage -upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her -little flower of love for him seemed to die in her -outraged heart, which loved beautiful things so -much. Now she had nothing left, her visions passed -from her. She sat down on the floor and howled -aloud, keening over the death of the beautiful -dress. She was no longer full of pride, and -conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor -dirty ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no -more thought of than dirty old Annie and Annawillee, -who mourned so sadly the other happy night. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "Hyas -klahowyam nika, very miser'ble, aya!" -</p> - -<p> -And Pete ran out of the shack leaving her -moaning. -</p> - -<p> -"That make her know what, eh?" said Pete. -He worked furiously at the Mill, without any food, -and was very unhappy, of course, though he knew -he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, -and in knocking thunder out of his klootchman. -He didn't believe she had been "real wicked," but -when it came to taking presents from Mr. Quin, -and lying about them, it was time to look out. -</p> - -<p> -"I teach her," said Pete; "give her what for, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But he wasn't mad with Quin. It was quite -natural for Quin to want Jenny. Pete knew all the -men did. She was so pretty. Even the Chinamen -knew it and said so. Pete was proud of that. -"Velly hansum litty klootchman," said Wong. -Why should a man be angry because another man -wants his "litty gal?" No need to "makee -bobbely 'bout that" surely. But the litty girl had -to be taught, Nawitka! -</p> - -<p> -"I give her the stick by-by," said Pete, and he -used the wedges and the maul as if he were giving -poor wretched Jenny the stick then. He worked -that day though he hadn't an ounce of muckamuck -inside him. Ginger White said he was as quick -as the devil: worth ten of that swine Simmons. -White's nose was gradually resuming its natural -shape, but when he thought of Simmons his hand -went up to it. -</p> - -<p> -Oho, but they all worked, worked like the -Bull-Wheel, like Gwya-Gwya and "him debble-debble," -said Wong. -</p> - -<p> -"No Joss in British Columbia," said Wong; -"spose wantee catchee Joss catchee Debble-Debble. -Bymby Blitish Columbia-side an' Californee-side him -allo blong China, then Joss he come, galaw!" -</p> - -<p> -The "debble-debble"' was in Pete's heart for -hours, but there's nothing like work to get him out, -and by four o'clock he was getting sorry he had -kicked Jenny and torn up the "dless." The little -klootchman had been good, he was sure, and she -cooked for him nicely and didn't get drunk often. -If she did get too much, it was his own fault, he -knew that. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell her I'm sorry," he said. -</p> - -<p> -Aya, yaya, what a cruel world it is, Pitt River Pete! -</p> - -<p> -The little klootchman was "dying" now and -telling the old hag Indian Annie all about it. And -it's only four o'clock and the Mill runs till six. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Jenny, with bare shoulders and bare bosom, -howled upon the gorgeous floor of silken rags for -a long hour after Pete ran out in a rage. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, yaya, nika toketie dless kokshut, no good. -Pete him wicket man, aya!" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, think of it! That beautiful green and yellow -and red silk so fine and thick and soft and shining t -That "dless" which it contained as a possibility, -that her natural woman's eye put on her pretty -self! Aya, Yaya! Even a dear white woman -would be very cross indeed if her man came in and -said, "You damn person, you have a roll of silk -given you by Smith or Brown or Jones," and then -tore it up. Aya, Yaya! How sad for poor Jenny, -only nineteen, and so sweet to look at and with a -love of colour. Aya, as I speak I feel "hyu keely." I -could mourn with Jenny and say I'd get her -another roll of silk, for a kiss, perhaps, for the -devil's in such a pretty dear. Tut, tut, it's a sad -world and a wicked, and the pretty ones are the -devil, aya, yaya! -</p> - -<p> -It was quiet enough in Shack-Town in the afternoon -and a continual aya, yaya-ing soon attracted -the attention of Indian Annie when she came from -begging up-town past Pete's shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Aha, oho," said the bundle of wicked rags, once -a beautiful klootchman and a white sea-captain's -darling, and yet another's and another's, ay de mi, -as Chihuahua said when he was sad, and others still -in a devil of a long diminuendo and degringolade -and a sad, sad fall, just as if she had been an -improper white. "Oho, why Jenny cly, kahta she cly?" -</p> - -<p> -In she went, for she knew Pete was wedging-off, -and in the inner room she found a pretty one half -naked on the silken rag carpet. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my toketie Jenny, kahta cly? Oh, Lejaub, -the pretty stuff all tole up, yaya? Who done it, -Jenny, real kloshe silk all assame white klootchman -have in chu'ch? Who give him, aya?" -</p> - -<p> -She was down on her knees gathering up the silk -in whole armfuls. -</p> - -<p> -"Dis Pete? Eh, Pete, pelton Pete, fool Pete, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny sobbed out it was Pete who had torn it -all up, and Annie nodded cunningly as she stuffed -a good bundle of it into her rags. -</p> - -<p> -"Aha, pelton Pete mamook si'k kokshut, but -klaksta potlatsh mika, nika toketie, who give him -you, my pretty?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Quin give him, and my bad man he say I -mesahchie, no good, a cultus klootchman alla same -you!" howled Jenny open-mouthed. -</p> - -<p> -Annie showed her yellow fangs in a savage grin. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus, alla same nika? Oho, pelton Pete, fool -Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -"And he say," roared Jenny like any baby, -"that I no good, not virtuous, and he beat me, and -taka silk and tearum lika so! And I think I make -a dless so pretty and now the pretty dless is all lags, -all lags!" -</p> - -<p> -She roared again and shook with sobs, and Annie -got her by the shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete is Lejaub, the devil of a bad man, my -pretty. I get you ten new dlesses for that. I hear -Pete no go to mamook but go up town and dlink -whisky at Spanish Joe's white woman's. By-by -he come back and beat you, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny clutched her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he kick me bad, see, nanitch!" -</p> - -<p> -She showed her pretty knee with a black bruise -on it. -</p> - -<p> -"That nothin', tenas toketie, by-by Pete come -back pahtlum and knock hell out of you, Jenny," -said Annie. Then she bent and whispered in -Jenny's ear. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, no," said Jenny. She clutched at -Annie's skirt as the old wretch got upon her feet. -But Annie turned on her and twitched her rags away. -</p> - -<p> -"You pelton, too? Much better be live and with -rich good man than dead with Pete and Pete with -a lope on him neck. I go tell Mr. Quin, him very -good man, kloshe man." -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny implored her not to go to him. And -as she sobbed that she was afraid of Quin the old -hag gathered up more and more of the silk until she -had nearly all that poor Jenny wasn't sitting on. -</p> - -<p> -"You stay. I go see, go think what I do for -you. I no go to Mr. Quin, I promise, tenas toketie." -</p> - -<p> -And she got away and went straight to the office -in which Quin was to be found, and asked to see him. -</p> - -<p> -"Quit, you old devil," said the young clerk, "pull -your freight out of this. No klootchmen wanted -here." -</p> - -<p> -She had her ugly old face inside the door and the -boy threw the core of an apple at her. -</p> - -<p> -"I want see Mr. Quin," she cried, as she dodged -the missile. -</p> - -<p> -"I want see him. You no kumtuks. Mr. Quin -see me, I tell you he want see me. Ya, pelton!" -</p> - -<p> -The boy knew very little Chinook and missed half -the beauty of what she went on to say to him. But -she told him much about his parents and a great -deal about his sisters that would have been -disagreeable even if translated with discretion. By the -time she came to a climax, her voice rose to a shriek -that might have been audible in the Mill itself, and -Quin came out in a rage. -</p> - -<p> -"Get to thunder out of this, you old fool," said -Quin, "or I'll have you kicked off the place!" -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him steadily and held up a long -fragment of the silk before him. -</p> - -<p> -"Mika kumtuks okook, you know him?" she -asked with a hideous leer. -</p> - -<p> -And Quin came off the step and went up to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Where you get it, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"You know," said Annie. "Tenas toketie have -him, you give him, ah. But who tear him, makum -kokshut?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pete?" asked Quin with the devil of a face on -him. But Annie walked a little away and beckoned -him to follow. She got him round the corner and -he went with her like a child. He thought he -understood. Annie put out her claw and took his -coat. -</p> - -<p> -"I give you klootchman often, now you give me -tukamonuk dolla, one hundred dolla, and I give you -pretty Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Quin blew out his breath and bent down to her. -</p> - -<p> -"You old devil," he said with a wavering grin. -</p> - -<p> -"Me Lejaub? Halo, no, I give you pretty young -squaw, that not like Lejaub. You give me one -hundred dolla, see." -</p> - -<p> -Quin sighed and opened his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"I give it. How you do it, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"Now she hate Pete, him pelton," said the -witch; "he beat her, kick her knee, kick her back, -kick her belly too, and tear up si'k in tenas bits, -Mr. Quin. She cly like any papoose, she scleam and -make gleat latlah. He tear up si'k and tear her -dless, now she half-naked on the floo'. That bad, -and she pretty and say Mr. Quin give me dless, -kloshe Mr. Quin. She love you, she tikegh mika, -cly kahkwa the si'k yours. You come: she go with -you. I make so no one know tings, if you take her -yo' house." -</p> - -<p> -His house was on the hill above them. There he -lived with not a soul but his Chinese boy. -</p> - -<p> -"How you make no one know?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Kloshe, I do it," said Annie. "I say to Pete she -say to me she lun away, and not come back, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But as Quin explained to her, the first person Pete -would think of would be the man who had given her -the dress. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, ya, I know," said Annie. "Kloshe; I very -clever klootchman, I know evelything. She lun -away with Shipman Jack this very day and came -tell me so I tell Pete. How that do, Mr. Quin? -You tink, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin was doubtful. Annie urged her scheme -on him and still drew him further down the road. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete him once jealous, hab sick tumtum about -Jenny with Shipman Jack, because Jack pinch her -behind and she cly out and Pete hear it. That the -other night. I know, I know evelything. I tell -him mo'. I say she often meet Jack befo'. Now -you have fire Jack, and he goes away this day and -he now go in <i>Teaser</i> piah-ship to Victolia, I see him. -Ah, velly good, she go with him. I say klahowya -to them. I get Annawillee for a dolla say she say -klahowya to them. And alla time Jenny in yo' -house. I bling her this night. You see, all light. -You give me one dolla now?" -</p> - -<p> -"You'll get drunk, you old harridan," said Quin, -who was all of a shake, "and if you do you'll -mamook pelton of me and no get the hundred dolla. -No, I give you all to-night." -</p> - -<p> -And knowing that it was true that she might get -drunk if she had that dollar she went away without -it, back to Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -V -</h3> - -<p> -It was true enough that Jack Mottram, "Shipman" -or sailorman, had been fired that day a little before -noon. To be "fired" is to get the Grand Bounce, -and to get that is to get what everyone understands -when the sack is spoken of. Another way of saying -it is to mention that "he got his time," or perhaps -his Walking Ticket. So now it is understood. -Before getting all these qualifications as a free -unemployed seaman he had got drunk early in the -morning. This is nearly always a fatal error and -brings trouble anywhere. In a Stick-Moola running -at full time it is liable to bring death. For death -stands handy with his scythe, or perhaps his pickareen, -uplifted in a Mill. Indeed, Jack the Shipman -very nearly sent back to Bouddha, or maybe to -Posa, one poor native of the Flowery Kingdom by -landing him one on the "ear-hole." Poor Fan -Tang (or something like it) up-ended and disappeared -down a chute, and was so sadly disgruntled that he -limped to the office and denounced Jack to Quin -in a fine flow of Pidgin English and mixed Chinook. -</p> - -<p> -"Muchee bad bad man belong Tlimmer pukpuk -my! My fallee down chute allo same lumber. -My muchee solly, you look see bluise!" -</p> - -<p> -He exposed his awful injuries to Quin's view. He -had parted with many patches of cuticle in his -tumble down the chute. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat shipman bad man, muchee dlunk," said -Fan Tang spitefully, and when Quin went over to the -Mill he found that Jack was indeed "muchee -dlunk," and full of insolence and whisky. -</p> - -<p> -"All ri', Mr. Quin, I quit. I'm full up of this -work. You give me my money and I'm off to sea. -What the 'ell I ever came ashore for, I dunno! -What ho!" -</p> - -<p> -Tom Willett, a young Englishman, went from the -Chinee Trimmer to the Big Trimmer, and Wong the -philosopher took the Chinee Trimmer. -</p> - -<p> -"Out of this," said Quin, "or I'll smash your jaw." -</p> - -<p> -That was to Jack, who wasn't so drunk as to -take up the challenge. He went to the office quite -meekly after all. He was almost as meek as one -"Dutchman" among ten English. -</p> - -<p> -"Righto, I'm off to Victoria this very day," said -Jack. He drew fifteen dollars and three bits, rolled -up his dunnage, and went to the wharf where the -<i>Teaser</i> steamboat, or "piah-ship," was lying. He -bade farewell to Sawmill Town with much -contempt. But Indian Annie saw him go. He goes -out of this history on his way to Hong Kong with -lumber. He got well man-handled by an American -mate and lost much insolence before he sighted -Mount Stenhouse. -</p> - -<p> -Annie went back to Jenny, now moaning sadly -with a dirty face, striped with tear-channels, and -told the poor pretty dear a dreadful tale. Pete was -up-town, having got drink in spite of his being a -Siwash, and was ready to kill, said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, I'm very much flightened," said poor -Jenny. "What shall I do, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -The procuress stole a little more silk and dragged -at Jenny's arm. -</p> - -<p> -"You klatawa, go away, chahco with me. I -hide you, toketie. Pete wicked, bad man, and -get hang if he see you. Come hyak, hyak!" -</p> - -<p> -She got her into her own den, and hid her in the -inner room. Then she hobbled off to Annawillee, -while Jenny sobbed herself to sleep on the dirty bed. -Annie and Annawillee were old friends, for Annie -liked her. When Chihuahua beat Annawillee too -much she took refuge at Annie's till her man calmed -down. For love of Annie and a dollar Annawillee -would do anything. -</p> - -<p> -"I say I see Jenny klatawa in piah-ship with -Jack the shipman. Nawitka, I say it, and you -give me dolla?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ha, one dolla, and one dlink, Annawillee," said -Annie, grinning. "Pete he much solly, and get -pahtlum to-night, for I take Jenny away to Mista -Quin. By-by I ask mo' dolla. Nanitsh?" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but indeed Annawillee was no fool and saw -quick enough. To get money for helping Quin -to Jenny and to get more for not telling was a fine -business! "What you tink, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -At five o'clock, Jenny dressed in a horrid yellow -dress belonging notoriously to Annawillee, and with -her head bound up as if she were indeed Annawillee -after Chihuahua had booted thunder out of her in a -jamboree, crawled with Annie up the hill, and sat -behind a big stump close to Quin's house, which -stood alone. Poor Jenny was scared to death by -now, for Annie said terrible things of a drunken Pete, -who was supposed to be sharpening a knife for a pretty throat. -</p> - -<p> -"You very good klootchman to Pete," said Annie, -"and he bad, oh, bad to you, tenas toketie. Mista -Quin him good man, rich and very skookum. Pete -kwass, afraid of Mista Quin. You alla same white -klootchman, good dlesses, very pretty. You no -forget poor Annie: you give her dless and dolla when -you alla same white woman in chu'ch, in legleese." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny wept bitterly. She still thought she loved -Pete, and she was conscious that she was no beauty in -her dirt and the dreadful yellow rags of Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -"I wicked klootchman," said Jenny, "no mo' -virtuous, I have shem see Bible. And I not toketie -now, very dirty. How I look now, Annie?" -</p> - -<p> -"You always toketie, tenas," said the old witch -truly enough. "I do up yo' hair, tenas. By-by -you mamook wash yo' face, and be very pretty. -Mista Quin mamook wash every day, him gleat -man, skookum man, very lich, very lich, plenty -dolla. Him love you mo' than one hundred dolla." -</p> - -<p> -She did up Jenny's mass of tumbled black hair, -and wiped her face with a rag. She wetted it in -her mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"Now you clean," said Annie. "What time -Mista Quin come to him house?" -</p> - -<p> -She peered from behind her stump, and presently -saw Quin come up the hill. As he passed her she -called to him in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Yahkwa, here, Mista Quin." -</p> - -<p> -And Quin came across the brush to them. Jenny -buried her face in her hands and her shoulders -troubled. -</p> - -<p> -"I bling her," said Annie. "She much aflaid, hyu -kwass, of Pete. He say he makee her mimaloose, -kill her dead, she muchee aflaid, and she tikegh -you, love you always." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny shook and trembled like a beaten dog. -</p> - -<p> -"She now very dirty and bad dless, but you -mamook wash, and she hyu toketie. No klootchman -here like Jenny. Now, tenas, you klatawa in -house quick." -</p> - -<p> -She dragged the trembling child to her feet, and -then held out her hand to Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"You give me the dolla?" -</p> - -<p> -And Quin gave her the money in notes. She knew -well enough what each one was worth. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I tell Pete she klatawa with shipman Jack -to Victoly, ha!" -</p> - -<p> -She scrambled down the hill and Quin took Jenny -by the arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Come, tenas," he said in a shaking voice. -</p> - -<p> -But it was a kind voice after all, and Jenny burst -into a torrent of sobs and clung to him. -</p> - -<p> -"I have much shem," she said, "I have much -shame." -</p> - -<p> -Even Quin had some too, poor devil. -</p> - -<p> -They went into the house. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -VI -</h3> - -<p> -By the time that the evening sun, slanting westwards -to the Pacific, which roared on wild beaches -sixteen miles away, shone into the western end of -the Mill, Pete had worked the anger out of his heart -as healthy children of the earth must do. The song -of the Mill was no longer angry or menacing: it -became a harmony and was even sweet. Work went -beautifully: the logs were sweet-cutting spruce for -the most part, or splendid pine, or odorous red cedar, -and one precious log of white cedar. The saws ran -easy and their filed teeth were sharp: the Hoes said -"We can do, we can do," and the Pony Saw piped -cleanly and clear, while the Trimmers, though they -cut across the grain, cut most swiftly, and said, "Gee -whiz, gee whiz." Young Willett was pleased to get -the Big Trimmer and Wong most proud to run the -Chinee one, which by its name certainly belonged of -old to some Chinaman, perhaps now in the country of -Green Tea and Bamboos, and forgetful of his ancient -toil in alien lands. The engines, too, ran well and -the sawdust carriers did not break down, and no belt -parted, and nobody but Ginger White said much -that was uncivil, and if he went no further than -that no one minded him any more than they minded -the weather or the wind. -</p> - -<p> -So as things went sweetly, Pete's heart grew sweet -and he was sorry he had kicked at Jenny's legs as -she lay under the table, and sorry he had torn up the -pretty silk. After all it was natural enough that -Quin should give her something, and it was natural -he wanted her. But of course he couldn't get her, -for she was virtuous and had a Bible, and knew religion, -and believed that Lejaub, or the diable, would -take anyone who was not virtuous. Both the -Catholic and the English priests said that, so it must -be true. And, if she had denied having the dress, -he owned that he had often frightened her and it was -natural for her to say she hadn't got it, poor toketie -Jenny. He nobly determined to forgive her and -say no more about it. -</p> - -<p> -And then the exultant whistle declared with a -hoot that the work was over for the day, and the -engines stopped and the saws whirred and whined -and drawled and yawned and stood still while the -workers clattered out, laughing and quite happy. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but it's good to be strong and well and to have -work, but to have none and thereby to get to cease -to love it is very bad, oh, very bad indeed. Let the -wise know this, as the unwise and ignorant who -labour know it in their hearts and in their hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Oho," said Pete as he strode across the yard, -"oho!" -</p> - -<p> -He was nobly determined to forgive. He would -go in to Jenny and say, "Look here, Jenny, I forgive -you because you tell that lie, that kliminwhit. I -forgive you, but you be good, kloshe, tell your man -no more kliminwhit." -</p> - -<p> -He came to his silent shack and didn't notice that -no smoke, no cooking smoke, came from its low -chimney. He marched in bent on forgiveness, and -found the front room empty. -</p> - -<p> -"She still cly about that silk," said Pete uneasily. -He hesitated a moment before he opened the inner -door and called to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -Silence answers you, Pete, silence and two empty -rooms with a table upset, and some few rags of -dirtied silk still left by the predaceous fingers or -claws of the vulturine Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"She velly closs, go out with some other klootchman," -said Pete. "Damn, I beat her again." -</p> - -<p> -It was very hard indeed that he, the Man, should -come in ready for forgiveness and good advice with -regard to future lies, and should find no one meekly -ready to accept pardon and to promise rigid truth in -future: it was very hard indeed, and Pete's brows -contracted and his heart was outraged. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I not forgive," said Pete. "She not here, -no muckamuck ready and I so olo, so hungry." -</p> - -<p> -He saw the steak that poor Jenny had cooked for -his dinner. It lay upon the floor, as she had lain on -it. It was trodden and filthy and Pete kicked it -spitefully. He saw an old rag of a dress that was -Jenny's. It was the one she had discarded for -Annawillee's horrid yellow rag of quarantine, which -said, "I'm Annawillee, be wise and don't come -near me." She had changed at Annie's, but Annie -brought it back and put it in sight. For she was a -spiteful devil. -</p> - -<p> -"What for?" said Pete. A dull fear entered his -heart which did not dispossess his anger. "What -for: kahta she leave dless?" -</p> - -<p> -It was a "dless" indeed. But she did not need -it then. There were certain beautiful garments at -Quin's house, and there would be more. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick her when I find her," said Pete. He ran -out and went straight to the next shack, to Indian -Annie's den. -</p> - -<p> -He found her and Annawillee, and both were -drunk, but not yet too drunk for speech, or for the -discretion of the arranged lie. -</p> - -<p> -"You see Jenny?" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -Annie lifted her claws to heaven and moaned. -</p> - -<p> -"I so sorry, Pete, Jenny bad klootchman!" -</p> - -<p> -"What you mean, you old devil?" roared Pete, -in horrid fear. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you delate, I tell you, Pete. She klatawa -with—with——" -</p> - -<p> -His jaw dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"She go with Shipman Jack to Victoly in piah-ship," -said Annie, hiccupping. "I see her, -Annawillee see her." -</p> - -<p> -"I see, nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa with Jack," -puked Annawillee. "She klatawa in piah-ship, she -go Victoly." -</p> - -<p> -She was hugging a bottle to her pendant breasts -as she told her lie. But she believed it by now, and -kept on repeating "to Victoly, an' to California in -piah-ship with Shipman Jack, inati chuck; acloss -water." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," said Pete. He was a dirty white -colour. His lips hung down. -</p> - -<p> -"She tikegh Jack velly much," said Annie, "love -him very much, and cly and say him good man, not -beat her and tear her dless. She much aflaid of you, -Pete. She cly and go away." -</p> - -<p> -"She cly and go away," chimed in Annawillee, -weeping tears of awful alcohol. She was so sorry for -everyone, and for herself and Jenny and Pete and -all the world. "I cly, I cly!" -</p> - -<p> -She sobbed and drank, and still Pete stood there, -very sick at heart. -</p> - -<p> -"My pretty tenas klootchman," he murmured, -"oh, hell, what I do?" -</p> - -<p> -"You hab dlink," said Annie, holding him up the -bottle. He took it, put it to his mouth, and drank -half a pint of fiery stuff that nearly skinned his -throat. He dropped the empty bottle on the floor -and turned away back to his empty shack. -</p> - -<p> -"I will kill Jack," he said, "I, I, kill Jack!" -</p> - -<p> -He saw the world in a haze: the Mill danced -darkly before his eyes, dark against a golden sunset, -his brain reeled, and when he came to his own door -he fell inside and lay insensible. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete dlink too much, he gleedy beast," said -Annie. But Annawillee nursed her empty bottle to -her bosom and said foolishly— -</p> - -<p> -"I see—nika nanitsh Jenny klatawa, oh, hyu -keely Annawillee." -</p> - -<p> -And the night presently came down, and as the -shacks lighted up it was told among all the Siwashes -and the Chinkies and the White Men of ten Nations -that Jenny, pretty Jenny, tenas toketie Jenny, had -"scooted" with Shipman Jack across the water to -Victoria, to California, to China, oh, to hell-an'-gone -somewhere! -</p> - -<p> -"To Hell and Gone out of this," they said. And -Spanish Joe sang to the guitar a bitter little song -about someone's señora who fled across the sea, and -Chihuahua grinned at Jack's luck (Annawillee did -not tell him the truth), and the Whites, Long Mac, -and Shorty Gibbs and Tenas Billy and even young -Tom Willett, who knew nothing about klootchmen, -though some had their eye on him hopefully, said -there was no knowing what any woman would do. -They understood that men would do what they had -a mind to. -</p> - -<p> -"Anyhow," said Shorty, "she was a dern sight -too pretty for a golderned Siwash like Pete. Someone -wuz sure to kapswalla her sooner or later. If -I wuz given to klootchmen, which I ain't, thank the -Lord, I'd ha' put in for her myself." -</p> - -<p> -But to think of such a coyoté as Jack Mottram -picking up the Pearl of the River! -</p> - -<p> -"It would sicken a hog," said Shorty Gibbs. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -VII -</h3> - -<p> -Quin might be a Squaw-Man (as indeed he was in -his irregular way) but he lived in comfort, and Sam, -his "boy," aged twenty-five, was a wonder, worth -more dollars by far than the days of the longest -months and all he could steal as well. Sam was -good-looking and as clean as a fresh-run quinnat, and -he had the most heavenly and ingratiating smile, -and the neatest ways, and a heaven-sent gift of -cooking. He was pleasant to the world and to -himself, and he sang little Chinese songs as he worked -and made Quin's house as clean as heaven after rain. -He didn't "hit the pipe," which Wong did, of -course, and he only smoked cigars. They were -Quin's and good ones. Not that opium is so bad as -liquor, by the way, though the missionaries say it -is. It is better to "hit the pipe" than to "dlinkee -for dlunk," and that's an all-solid fact. -</p> - -<p> -Sam was discreet, and he let no one rob Quin but -himself. Indeed, he almost loved Quin, for Quin -had good qualities. For example, he rarely swore -in his own house, and he had a way of making little -presents to Sam which were very encouraging. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss he makee allo tim' litty cumshaw my," -said Sam. "He givee my cigar: he givee my dolla. -He givee my close: makee stlong cutsom givee me -all ting he no wantshee. My catchee allo tim' good -close, boot, tlouser, and he speakee my velly good: -neber makee bobbely. Massa Quin velly good Boss, -no can catchee better. Supposee klootchman no -good, makee bobbely, he say 'hyack klatawa:' -supposee klootchman good klootchman allo same -wifo dat velly good: Massa Quin velly good and -makee mo' cumshaw my." -</p> - -<p> -And now there was a new klootchman. -</p> - -<p> -"Ho," said Sam Lung, "ho, he bling 'nodder -klootchman. My tinkee 'bout time he catchee new -klootchman. He velly lestless, like he got water -topside, clazy. What she like this new klootchman?" -</p> - -<p> -He put his eye to the key-hole, and then drew up -in disgust. -</p> - -<p> -"Fo, velly dirty, cly allo tim'. She velly litty -young gal. After las' wun he likee catchee young -gal. Ha, my tinkee bymby she catchee wash and -look velly pletty. She whitee gal my tinkee when -she catchee washee." -</p> - -<p> -But poor Jenny was on the floor, still crying as if -her little heart would break. She was not yet able -to look up and see the wonder of a nice clean house, -such as she had never been in, in all her life. -</p> - -<p> -"You're all right, Jenny, my dear," said Quin, -"don't you cry. No one shall hurt you, my girl. -I'll give you a good time, my dear. Now get up, -Jenny, and look at your home, and then I'll take you -into another room and find you a new dress. Come, -tenas Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke quite tenderly and touched Jenny's -heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but I have shem," she said. -</p> - -<p> -"You come and mamook wash," said Quin, "and -by-by we'll have muckamuck and then you'll be all -right. Come now." -</p> - -<p> -He lifted her to her feet, and when she felt his -strong hands on her she felt a little better. It was -like fate, though she knew not what fate was. He -was strong and kind, and he said he loved her. She -caught his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"You no beat me?" she cried in a sudden passion -of fear and helplessness. "You no beat me, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, Jenny, no," he said. He turned her tearful -dirty face round and kissed her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I too much dirty," she exclaimed in great -distress. "No bebee me till I mamook wash." -</p> - -<p> -She caught sight of herself in a big glass over the -mantelpiece. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mr. Quin, I have shem: I so dirty. You -forgive me, Mr. Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -And Quin laughed a little uneasily. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, my dear, now I make a lady of you; -you are so pretty, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He went out of the room and told Sam to make a -"plenty hot" bath in the bedroom. And he put -out some clean clothes for her, which he took from -a locked cupboard. Some were new. Most of them -had been got for a Haida girl who had died of -consumption two years before. But Quin had forgotten -her. He spoke to Sam when the "boy" brought in -the bath and water. -</p> - -<p> -"Sam, you no fool, I think," he began. -</p> - -<p> -"That same my tinkee, Sir," said Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"I bring another klootchman here, Sam." -</p> - -<p> -"Where you catchee?" asked Sam with great -interest. -</p> - -<p> -"You mind your own pidgin," said Quin. "Now -look, Sam, I no wantshee anyone know who she is. -When they ask you, you say she white woman, allo -same wife, from San Francisco. If you tinkee that -not true, that all right, but if you say so I fire you -and give you no dolla. While she stay here and no -one know who she is I give you five more dolla, -moon-pidgin, every month. Now you savvy?" -</p> - -<p> -Sam stood with his head on one side all the time -his master spoke. He looked as intelligent as a -sharp Chinaman can look, and he answered with -decision and a perfect gravity. -</p> - -<p> -"My savvy that plenty! You catchee one litty -gal and no wantshee man savvy. Dat light, I -plenty savvy. My say she numpa one pletty -litty gal from San Flancisco. I savvy plenty and -if litty gal stay you givee my mo' five dolla -moon-pidgin. My savvy plenty. Now you washee -her?" -</p> - -<p> -"Fill the bath, you damn fool," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"All li', savvy plenty," said Sam. "My cookee -good dinner for Missus. Five dolla mo' velly good. -My cookee velly good: makee litty gal stop allo -same wifo." -</p> - -<p> -And he went back to the kitchen, solemn and -satisfied, but very curious to see the litty piecee -gal when she was washed. -</p> - -<p> -It was all an amazing dream for poor Jenny. If -it had not been for the black bruise on her knee she -would have thought herself in some new world. For -the house was beautifully built and lined inside -with red cedar. The furniture was as good as any -in the City, for the tragedy of Quin's life was, that -he had met a white woman, and had fallen in love -with her three years ago. They were to have been -married, but the woman found out about his past -history, his character as a squaw-man, and threw -him over. He had prepared the house for her. The -dead Haida girl Lily had come instead. Jenny -dreamed and wondered and half forgot that she was -not good to be there. Quin was very strong, "hyu -skookum," and his house was to be hers, and he -would prevent Pete killing her. As she got into the -hot water the tears ran down her face. But the bath -was pleasant, and she was not too degraded to enjoy -the cleanliness of things; and the hot water eased -the tension of her mind, and it seemed suddenly as -if her life with Pete was something very far off, -hardly to be remembered. -</p> - -<p> -And then she handled the clothes she was to wear, -and the mere woman woke in her heart. Here was -linen far better than that she had helped to wash for -Mrs. Alexander before Pete had come and taken her -from Kamloops! It was beautiful linen to her eye, -and in spite of everything the pleasure she found in -it was wonderful, for though she did not know it, -her skin was tender and delicate and had always -suffered from the stuff she had worn. -</p> - -<p> -There were silk stockings! -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin he very gleat man," said Jenny, -awestruck. "Much better than any I ever see, never -nanitsh any like 'em." -</p> - -<p> -When she got them on she took up the dress. It -was also silk, but not like the monstrous tartan the -cause of all her woe. It was a dark red and fine and -supple, for Lily had seen it in her last days at -Victoria and Quin had bought it for her, knowing -that she would never wear it. She died with it on -her bed: her dead hand touched it. It made -another klootchman nearly happy. -</p> - -<p> -"I aflaid to wear it," said Jenny as she held it up, -"it too beautiful for poor me. I don't know where -I am: I feel silly, all like a dleam." -</p> - -<p> -She looked at the big glass and saw herself white -clad, and with the red silk in her hands. Her -shoulders were white: her sun-tanned neck showed -how white they were. And the red was lovely. -</p> - -<p> -She put it on and she almost screamed with pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -"I 'most like a lady, like Missis Alexander," she -cried. And indeed there was no prettier lady -within a hundred miles. -</p> - -<p> -She stood and looked at herself and trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -And then she found that the dress fastened up -the back. -</p> - -<p> -"I no savvy how can do it," said Jenny in great -trouble. "If I do um up firs' I no get in and if I no -do um up it fall off. How can white lady do, when -she have no one help her?" -</p> - -<p> -It was an awful puzzle which she could not solve. -A worse trouble was at hand, however, for when she -tried to put on the shoes meant for her they were -too small. -</p> - -<p> -"What I do?" asked Jenny of herself in the glass. -"My ole shoes no good and my foot too big for this -little shoe. I have shem go without shoe and with -dless undone. I wis' I had someone help me. But -alla same I very pretty I tink, but I have shame of -everything. I no more good, no more virtuous—" -</p> - -<p> -Her lip hung down preparatory to her bursting -into tears. But Quin knocked at the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Muckamuck ready, tenas Jenny," he said. And -Jenny murmured that she would come directly. -</p> - -<p> -"He very kind man I tink," said Jenny, "I ask -him through the door if he mind I no have shoe." -</p> - -<p> -The door led straight through into the sitting-room. -In her turn she knocked on it timidly and -opened it an inch. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, I have shem—" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, tenas Jenny?" asked Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I no can put on shoe," she said. Quin laughed -and she shrank back. -</p> - -<p> -"Come in, never mind," he said as he came to the -door and pushed it open. She bent her head. -</p> - -<p> -"And please, Mista Quin, I no can do dless up at -back. I much aflaid it fall off." -</p> - -<p> -Quin came into the room as Sam brought in the -dinner. He shut the door and caught her in his -arms. -</p> - -<p> -"I have shem," she murmured, but he kissed her -neck and mouth. "I have shem." -</p> - -<p> -He did the dress up at the back and held her away -from him at arm's length. -</p> - -<p> -"By the Holy Mackinaw, you are a pretty girl, -Jenny," he said thickly. "You bebee me now?" -</p> - -<p> -The slow tears rolled down her face as she lifted -it to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Mista Quin, but I have shem," she said -simply. -</p> - -<p> -Sam banged on the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Chow-chow, Sir and Missus," said Sam, who was -much interested in the "love pidgin;" "Chow-chow -all leady, Sir and Missus." -</p> - -<p> -It was an amazing dinner for Jenny. She had -never seen the like save in the kitchen of -Mrs. Alexander's hotel, and if she had eaten anything -half as good, it was when she was a tenas klootchman -and sat outside on the wood-pile with a plate -of food given her by the hotel cook. -</p> - -<p> -But that Chinese cook wasn't a patch on Sam, who -had been nerved to unwonted efforts by the new -situation and by the extra five dollars while the new -"Missus" stayed. He put out Quin's best cutlery -and polished the electro-plate till it shone indeed. -The glasses were like crystal and there was a bottle -of champagne, made in San Francisco (and perhaps -very little the worse for that, seeing the quality of -western imported wines), on the full table. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny gasped and sat down very humbly. But -if she looked up she could see herself in a mirror -opposite. It was a very strange and pretty and -abashed creature that she saw, a creature who "had -shame" but was too dazed to feel it greatly. For -everything was so fine, and Quin was a big strong -man and white-clad Sam was so polite. "You hab -dis, Missus," or "my tinkee, Sir, Missus hab mo' -wine." And the floor had a carpet, and there were -red curtains at the window, through which she -could see the shining mighty river and the far -faint hills of Sumass, lighted by the sinking -splendid sun. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my dear, you are very pretty," said Quin -when Sam was out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink so too, Mista Quin," she said; "but I -have shem to be here. I know not'ing. I velly -foolish klootchman, cultus and halo good; I tink I -very wicked to be here, but I like it allo same, Mista -Quin." -</p> - -<p> -He gave her more wine and her eyes began to -sparkle. The world of yesterday, nay, even of -to-day, was far off, further off than the pure faint -hills. -</p> - -<p> -"You be good to me, Mista Quin?" -</p> - -<p> -His hard heart was touched. -</p> - -<p> -"You bet, Jenny, I'll give you all you'll want." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, you very big boss," said Jenny. If he could -give any human creature all she wanted he was a -very big boss indeed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, my kiddy, you forget all about everyone but -me, and I'll act square to you, on my oath I will," -said Big Quin. He pulled her towards him and -kissed her mouth. She flamed scarlet. -</p> - -<p> -"I lik' heem better'n Pete," she said. "Pete -cluel to me; tear my dless. Now I have better, ah!" -</p> - -<p> -The dinner came to an end and Sam brought -in a lamp as the evening light faded. -</p> - -<p> -"That will do, Sam. I don't want you any -more," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -And when Sam had washed up he went down to -a compatriot's in the City. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee he makee love-pidgin now," said Sam, -as he went. "Litty piecee gal velly pletty alla -same lady, maskee she no savvy what for do with -knife and fork. Dat not plopa: my tinkee her -savvy velly littee. Bymby my talkee how can do -with Missus. My tinkee she no flom San Flancisco. -She makee hair not plopa, allo same lope. My -tinkee my talkee her how can do, my savvy plenty." -</p> - -<p> -But he told his gossips down below that Mista -Quin had got a white woman up from San Francisco. -Indeed he did not know that Jenny was no more -than a quarter-breed Siwash, though he wondered -at her knowing so much Chinook, of which Sam -himself was very ignorant, though he savvied even -how to do hair. -</p> - -<p> -The world of the little Shack-Town by the Mill -believed that Jenny had really fled with Shipman -Jack and Pete got very drunk again that night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -VIII -</h3> - -<p> -"The Siwash'll be on Jack's tracks," said the Men -of the Mill, "for sure he'll be after him, hyak -koolie! What the thunder did the little klootchman -see in Jack! Oh, hell, he warn't nothin' but -a special kind of sea hobo, boys, allers on the go: -a blanket-stiff at sea, that's what. And drink—we -should say so! And mean, oh, there ain't -words! If Pete runs into him——" -</p> - -<p> -Pete wanted blood, that's a fact, but when a man -wants blood and gets liquor the blood stays unshed -unless the victim is right handy. That is also a -fact, all wool, and a yard wide. -</p> - -<p> -Another fact was of great importance, and that -is that Pete owed the Mill dollars instead of the -Mill owing him any, and to get across to Victoria -in the Island took silver, t'kope chikamin, in the -shape of dollars. And Pete couldn't swim, not so -much as a hundred yards. He was no Fish Indian. -And the Straits are some miles across. -</p> - -<p> -Pete woke out of his drunk early in the morning -and saw three facts in the light of dawn, saw them -come out of the darkness and stand up before him, -just as the Mill did and the tin-roofed shining -Cannery across the River, where Chinamen wallowed in -shining salmon for Eastern consumption. Pete saw -the array of facts and at the back of his Indian -brain he had a notion of destiny, as they all have. -Jenny had run: he had "halo dolla," and it was -a long swim across the Straits of Georgia, in spite -of all the islands a man might rest at. -</p> - -<p> -"She hyu bad klootchman," said Pete. "I no -care one damn. I take another by-by. She too -much pletty, no sit down, klatawa with Jack." -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a drink for Pete that morning, -but he lighted a fire and made some "caupy" or -coffee. -</p> - -<p> -"I go work at Moola alla same," said Pete. "I -no dlink, I make dolla: I get another good klootchman. -By-by Jack go to sea, leave Jenny, she go -hell. That all light. She damn bad klootchman." -</p> - -<p> -So when the Whistle, the great prophet of the -strenuous life, yelled the "Get up" in quick time, -he was ready, and as determined as any Blackfoot -at a Siwash stake to show nothing of his torment. -The second whistle that shrieked "Get out" sent -him off, and the day began with the usual -preliminary jawing-match in the Engine-room where -fiery monsters ate sawdust. -</p> - -<p> -"Ha, Pete," said Skookum Charlie, whose big -bulk was spread on a sawdust pile where the glare -of an open furnace shone on him. "He come to -wuk' alla same." -</p> - -<p> -Long Mac with the blue eyes and keen clean -American look was there. And next him was -black-a-vised, beady-eyed Chihuahua, far more ancient -Mexican than Spanish, and then Hans Anderssen -and Johann Smit, both seamen. And with them -showed the fair and devilish face of Spanish Joe -with the beautiful voice and a soul fit for hell. -And the Engineer, a little Scotty from Glasgow, -went about his work with one Chinee helper as if -they were not there, and only said "damn your -jaw," if they got in his way. -</p> - -<p> -The crowd looked at Pete, who swung in boldly -enough with his head up. -</p> - -<p> -"Hullo," said the crowd with sympathy. But -Joe laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"You' klootchman she pulled up her stakes and -quit, eh?" he asked with a sneer. -</p> - -<p> -"That so," said Pete quietly. "I tell her to go -night befo' las' night. She no good in fac', bad -klootchman, get dlunk, no savvy cook. Thlow my -muckamuck on the floo'. I say go. I tink no -klootchman any good. Jack Shipman soon tire of -she." -</p> - -<p> -"Perfectamente," said Joe, "you spik truth. All -women are bad." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty managed to jam Joe in the pit of the -stomach with the handle of the huge wooden shovel -with which he was feeding the greedy fires. -</p> - -<p> -"Beg your pardon," said Scotty with a grin, -"but they arn't all bad." -</p> - -<p> -"Every damn one," said Joe, writhing. -</p> - -<p> -"All klootchmen no good, I say," Pete cried once -more. -</p> - -<p> -"You had a mother, lad," said the Engineer -severely. -</p> - -<p> -Pete shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"That all light, Mr. Engineer, but she no good -neither. She sell my poo' damn sister to the man -at Kamloops that had the ranche Cultus Muckamuck -Quin got now, sell her for two dolla, I tink. -And now Cultus got her too." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty having no more remarks to make, yanked -the whistle lanyard. It was six o'clock. -</p> - -<p> -"This is a hell of a country for a mahn wi' ony -releegion in him," said Scotty. -</p> - -<p> -He turned savagely on his Chinese helper. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, Fan, you wooden image, get a move -on you: hump yersel', man, or I'll scupper -you." -</p> - -<p> -The gift of work to unhappy mortals is that they -cannot work and be wholly unhappy, and Pete -sucked a grim kind of pleasure out of the labour -that was his, and found some anodyne in it for the -aching wound he bore in his foolish childish heart. -That day the labour was great, for Ginger White -had a mind to set the pace and make it fiery. It -was, as the men knew, one of his bad, his wicked -days, such a day as that on which he had driven -Pete's predecessor to a standstill. When Ginger's -face was tallow against his fiery beard they knew -what to expect, and got it every time. It was -said that on these occasions he had quarrelled with -his wife, but the truth is he had a vicious nature -and a love of work together. It gave him pleasure -to see the great saws do their work, and a greater -pleasure still to see a man turn white and fail. -</p> - -<p> -But now he had Pete, not Simmons, and the devil -himself at the Saws would not have broken Pete -that day. For there was a hard devil in his heart, -and he grinned savagely as he saw White's motions -get every minute quicker and quicker. He nudged -Skookum Charlie. -</p> - -<p> -"This Ginger White have one bad day. The -debbel, how he go. You see!" -</p> - -<p> -They saw. He cut them wicked slabs, slabs that -had an unholy weight, with all of it in the butt. -When they fell they dropped between the skids and -got up and kicked. One struck Skookum on the -nose and made it bleed, another threw Pete. But -though they both knew that Ginger gave it them -hot and heavy and wasted wood in slabs to do it, -they made no sign. This was a day that no one -would be beaten. All the men knew by instinct -and by knowledge that this was to be a day of hell, -when the cut would be great and Ginger would go -home half dead with his endeavours to work them -up. They set their teeth, even as the saws' teeth -were set in another fashion, and prepared to chew -the lumber that he hurled to them. -</p> - -<p> -The atmosphere was strange, charged, electric, -strained. There were days when the Tyee Sawyer -left them slack, and went easy. Now they jumped, -their eyes were bright, they sweated, got alive, -moved like lightning. Each was an automaton; -each a note struck by the Player. And he played, -oh, tilikum, he played! -</p> - -<p> -This was work, tilikum, such as even the Stick -Moola hadn't known. The engines knew it, and -the steam gauges told it and the fires, and the -sawdust carriers. Chinamen knew it and shrieked -horrid oaths at each other. The belts knew it and -squealed. Scotty knew it and groaned, for he alone, -bar accidents, could stop Ginger's drunken debauch -of labour. -</p> - -<p> -But the men he played on knew it best and -almost cheered him when they got the pace and -found it at first so easy. They were all young, not -an old man among them, Ginger White himself -was the senior of them all. They could love and -work and fight and play hell, for they had youth -in them. They had to show it to the song and -dance of the Saw, the song and dance of the flying -dust. The engines ran easy, and their muscles -played beneath a glistening moist skin as with open -shirts they did what came to their hands. "Go it, -you devils," and "Let her scoot," and "Oh, hell," -they said. -</p> - -<p> -They smiled and were happy enough, but as the -hum increased and the great skids got full over -against the Pony Saw, you might have seen Long -Mac's smile die down into a good settled seriousness, -quite worth seeing. Long Mac had a way of dreaming -as he worked, for he had a power of thought and -was sadly intelligent, but when Ginger started trying -them high, he had no time to think, well as he knew -all things a saw-mill man may and shall know. -The skids were piled high, you shall understand, -you greenhorns, and he knew how it would rejoice -Ginger White to see that they would take no more, -while everything the wedgers-off tried to sling on -the pile rolled backwards to the very rollers. That -would please White: he would give a shrug of his -shoulders as if to say— -</p> - -<p> -"What a damned loafing lazy lot I've to do with!" -</p> - -<p> -"To hell with Ginger," said Mac. He set his -teeth. The lumber flew: he took risks: for swift -running in a Mill means risks. Some of the lumber -was shaky, ring-shakes and wind-shakes were in it, -and in some of the wet-shakes fine white gum. -When the saw strikes a shake the loose pieces work -out: some are like to touch the teeth of the saw and -get picked up! What that means is that the -helper to the Pony Saw is shot at by jagged lumps of -wood: they come by whizzing like a horrid bullet. -Mac and his man watched and at times Mac lifted -his hand and his helper ducked as the Saw said -"Phit, phit," and threw things at him. It was -exciting, it made the blood run fast in his veins -to know that at any moment he might be killed, -and be so quiet. -</p> - -<p> -This was the battle of the lumber: for saws kill -men and logs, kill them and maim them, oho, but -the day was fine and the fight long! Down in the -boom the man of the Boom, the man with the long -pole, who made the logs swim to their ascent to -the Temple, whence they were dragged by the -Bull-Wheel, had his work cut out, but worked. If he -kept Ginger waiting, Ginger would skip over the -skids and come to the open way that led down to -the Boom and use sulphurous language. -</p> - -<p> -"What the—how the—why the—oh, hell, are we -to shut down and go home? Hump yourself, -Paul, hump yourself." -</p> - -<p> -And much worse if it hadn't been that Paul, a -thin silent dark man, was reputed dangerous, and -was said to have killed a man in Texas, somewhere -in the neighbourhood of El Paso, where not a few -pass up the golden stairs on an unholy sudden. -But the atmosphere down there is fine, in its way: -you shall not believe otherwise, I entreat you. -</p> - -<p> -It was towards noon when Mac had Ginger beat -or near it. Or if not that, he saw that Mac wasn't to -be overcome. The Trimmers, Wong, the Chinee, -and Willett, the Englishman, had the thing down -fine, for Wong knew his business and Willett was -at hard as a keg of nails or a coil of barbed wire. -He could claw and sling and work and sweat with -any. -</p> - -<p> -And still Ginger sent the thing going and again -spurted, for Quin came in! -</p> - -<p> -"Stand back, clear the track for Mr. Josephus -Orange-Blossom," said the nigger, the coon, the -"shiny" (not a Sheeny, by the way) of the song. -That was the way Quin felt. He felt like someone -in particular. Indeed he always did, but now with -Jenny at his house, clad in beautiful clothes and -looking "a real daisy," he was very proud of himself. -That's the way the male has, if the truth be said, -men or moose or wapiti, or a lion or a tiger for -that matter: or, let us say, a tom-cat. -</p> - -<p> -He was full of himself! And all he wanted to -do now was to "fire" Pete and get him out of the -place, as was natural. -</p> - -<p> -Some men would have done it even without -excuse, though that is difficult, but George Quin -had some natural or unnatural notion of justice -and couldn't go so far. He watched Pete with -critical half-savage eyes. Was there a glint of pity -in them? Perhaps, tilikum, for a man is hard -to know. -</p> - -<p> -If this was Ginger's day and Ginger's hour when -Quin looked in, it was Pete's day too, for he threw -his poor outraged Indian soul into labour and did, -oh, he did very well. Quin saw that he did, he was -pleased with the man, and seeing that he had to -pay him, the work pleased him. Pete's face was -hard now and his eyes glittered: his muscles stood -up: his face and neck were wet: they glistened. -He went like a machine: and never made a mistake. -He climbed a five-foot log on the carriage -close to the teeth of the saw (the sawdust was in -his hair and it looked white and woolly) like a -cougar, at one bound. He worked up Skookum -Charlie in like manner and made the Siwash -like it. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he's good," said Quin approving and yet -savage. "Oh, he's——" and then Scotty yanked -the whistle lanyard and the whistle said, "Knock -off, you galoots, galoots, galoo-oots!" -</p> - -<p> -The men threw up their heads, and most wiped -their brows as they straightened their backs and -said "Oo!" They breathed and filled their lungs -and then thought of their empty bellies and started -for the Hash-house. But White, always polite and -obsequious, stayed a while with Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"We've cut a lot, Mr. Quin," said White; "the -boom's nigh empty." -</p> - -<p> -"More in to-day," replied Quin. "How's your -wedger-off doin'? If he don't suit you, fire him, -White." -</p> - -<p> -"He's the best man I've had this year," said -White. He did not understand why Quin grunted -and turned his back on him. If he had known -Pete would have gone that day. -</p> - -<p> -"What's wrong?" asked White. "Well, I made -'em skip to-day." -</p> - -<p> -So the men thought as they piled into the hash, -and said what they thought of him and grubbed in -anticipation of an afternoon the equal of the -morning. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a swine but a first-class sawyer, and no -mistake, no fatal error, eh, what? He made us skip -and sweat to-day, but never piled us up! That -was what the tallow-faced swine was after, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"You bet! Here Fan Tong, or Hang Chow, -more chow this way! White's a swine; oh, he -made us skip." -</p> - -<p> -"'E's a 'oly terror," said Willett. -</p> - -<p> -"A tough from Terror Flat!" -</p> - -<p> -"No razor in his boot, though! There ain't -no real fight in Tallow-Chops. Pass the mustard." -</p> - -<p> -What a good life it was! And the chewing was -good enough for a boss hobo, death on three fine -squares or set-downs, and don't you forget it! -</p> - -<p> -But Pete grubbed silently in Indian Annie's, who -moaned to him about Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn klootchman, I forget her," said Pete. -Yet many days passed and he did not forget. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -When they were all out of the Mill, Quin stood -and stared at the dead saws without seeing them. -</p> - -<p> -"It's hard lines: but I can't fire him," said Quin. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -IX -</h3> - -<p> -For the workers, these Bees in a Wood Hive, the -days passed swiftly. Oh, it was wonderful how they -passed! The dawn broke up night's massed army -and chased it into the Pacific Ocean, and round the -quick little world, and again fled. The days went -round like a wheel, like a saw. They came up and -flowered: they died down and were not. Only -Sunday stayed like a monstrous month, an -oppression as all workers find it, an unnecessary day -when every muscle and nerve ask for the habit of -big work. We cursed and groaned on Sunday, -tilikum, and if you don't like to believe it, there's -no one will plug you for doing the other thing. -Sunday wasn't an Oasis, it was a desert. On -Monday it was, however, desirable: Tuesday pined -for it: Wednesday yearned for it: Thursday -screamed for it: Friday sickened for it and -Saturday hallooed joyfully with it in sight. And by -ten on Sunday the Workers loathed it. -</p> - -<p> -But the swift days of work were the days. They -streamed past like a mountain torrent. Even sad -and sorry Pete found it so. He smote his wedges -with his maul and, lo and behold! a day was dead; -and the stars sang above the hills and the starlight -gleamed on the Fraser's shining flood. He laid his -head, his cabeza, on a pillow (unwashed) and it was -day. Again it was night. -</p> - -<p> -Yet for one the hours were strange and slow. She -looked out from the house on the hill-side and saw -the slow sun wheel his team into the West, as if his -horses drew innumerable thousands and hundreds of -the world's big freight. Poor Jenny, now plump and -sweet and beautifully clad, and learned in the -delights of hot water (of which Sam was a kind of -prophet, for he loved baths as if he were a Japanese), -found the days slow in spite of baths and clothes -and cleanliness. The poor dear pined a little, as -one might who had lived wildly, for the ruder joys -of her earlier life. Things were onerous. She -wanted at certain hours to sit down, to "squat -upon her hunkers" and suck at a pipe, perhaps. -A yarn with wretched Annie or Annawillee would -have been pleasing. She even thought of Pete, -though she was getting very fond of her -conqueror Quin, who dominated her wonderfully. -That was her nature; for if some conqueror of -Quin had come along she would have gone with -him, very likely, as a wapiti hind will follow a -conquering wapiti. And yet who can say? I -cannot; for I think she loved Quin very well -indeed, though he denied her the trivial consolations -of Indian bawdry with Annie or mournful Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow I think Jenny was very good. One -can't say. She grew prettier and gentler every day, -every hour. Sam admired her frankly and was very -polite. It was his nature. He told Quin quite -openly what he thought, and sometimes gave him -good advice. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee Missus heap pletty, Mista Quin," said -Sam, "evely day mo' pletty, maskee my tinkee she -velly sad, hab noting to do. Missus wantche flin, -Mista Quin, t'at what she wantchee. No can lead, -no can lite, my tinkee, no can makee dless allo tim'. -T'at velly sad. No likee cookee chow-chow, she -say." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. She wanted a friend -("wantchee flin"), that was a fact, and all Quin -could do was to order her more dresses and linen -from Victoria. He got her picture-books (for, as -Sam said, "she no can lead") and talked to her -about what she saw there. When he was with her -she was happy. -</p> - -<p> -"I velly happy at night-time, Tchorch," she -said meekly. "But daytime velly keely, very sad." -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch" Quin picked her up in his arms and -set her on his knee. -</p> - -<p> -"Litty gal, I love you, tenas," he answered, mixing -the lingoes. Perhaps he did love her. Quien sabe?—as -Chihuahua said about everything uncertain. -</p> - -<p> -"You love me, Tchorch?" she asked flushing, -"velly much?" -</p> - -<p> -"Tenas, hyu, hyu, very much indeed, little one." -</p> - -<p> -"I not mind if the day is sad, then," said Jenny. -She regarded him with big sad eyes, and then looked -down. -</p> - -<p> -"But I not a good woman, Tchorch." -</p> - -<p> -Quin frowned and grumbled. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn nonsense, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -But it wasn't damn nonsense to Jenny. And -most especially it wasn't so on Sundays, though on -that day she had George Quin all to herself and the -greedy Mill stood quiet. On Sundays she heard the -tinkling church bells, and when the wind blew lightly -from the east the sound of distant singing came up -to her as she stood at the open window. She -remembered what the good Missionary, the "kloshe -leplet," had said about goodness, and badness, and -the Commandments. There were ten of them, Jenny -remembered, though she had been to no service ever -since she lived at Cultus Muckamuck's ranche. -</p> - -<p> -"I velly wicked, Tchorch," she said mournfully. -"I blake the Commandments!" -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said George Quin, "don't cry about -it, kiddy. I've kicked 'em all to flinders myself. -If you go to Lejaub's hyas piah, I go with you, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -He kissed her. His bold and ready undertaking -to go to hell with her was really very consoling. His -statement that he had broken all the Commandments -comforted her: it showed his good faith. -Jenny had a wonderfully material view of hell, and -her imagination showed it to her as a sawmill in -flames. She had seen the Mill at Kamloops on fire, -that is why. Now George Quin was the Manager of -the Mill and the owner and a big strong man. She -had a kind of dim notion that he would be able to -manage a good deal even in hell. -</p> - -<p> -And besides she loved him really. There's no -doubt about it, and even he knew it. -</p> - -<p> -The big strong brute of a man was very gentle -with her, and let her "cly" a little when she thought -of the good missionary (who happened to have been a -very bad man, by the way, though many of them -were splendid) and the wood fires of the diabolical -saw-mill of which Lejaub the devil was manager. -</p> - -<p> -But he never knew how her feelings worked on -her when he was away, and indeed if he had known -there might not have been the trouble that there was. -And he had entirely forgotten that he had a Bible -in the house: the gift of his old mother who still -lived in Vermont, far away to the East. -</p> - -<p> -The Bible was the source of all the woe that -followed when a big deal in lumber took Quin over -to Victoria and kept him there three days. He had -more than half a mind to take her with him, and if -her speech hadn't betrayed her origin he would have -done it like a shot. And when he went Jenny -cried as if he were going to cross the Big Salt Chuck -or the Pacific. Though her mother had been a -Hydah she knew nothing of the waters. -</p> - -<p> -"I much aflaid of Pete," she thought. -</p> - -<p> -But Quin gave great directions to Sam and he -believed he could trust him. -</p> - -<p> -"My look see evely ting," said Sam. "Missus all -light: my givee good chow-chow, hot wata, blush -dlesses, t'at all light. My no lettee Missus go out? -No, good, my no lettee." -</p> - -<p> -But he played Fan-tan of course, and couldn't be -expected to stay in all the time, or to understand that -the Missus was upset in her mind about morality. -And he knew nothing and cared less about the Bible. -There wasn't the making of a rice Christian in him -unless rice was very scarce indeed, and now he lived -on the fat of the land of British Columbia. -</p> - -<p> -So the day after she had cried herself to sleep, -she came across the Bible. -</p> - -<p> -It was not quite a family Bible, and only weighed -a pound or so, but it had a biblical cover of sullen -puritanical leather which suggested that the very -bookbinder himself was of the sourest disposition, -a round-head, a kill-joy, with ethics equal to the best -Scotch morality. This binding alone, however, -would have had comparatively little effect on the -childish mind of Jenny. But the book had in it -dour and savage pictures of so surprising a lack of -artistic merit that they struck her down at once, -poor child. In spite of the lack of colour the -dreadful draughtsman made very effective curly-whirly -flames in a hell which was remarkably like a study -of a suburban coal-cellar, and the victims of his fire -and ferocity expressed the extremest anguish as -they fried on eternal grids! Oh, horrors, but the -pictures brought back to the fearful mind of the -tenas klootchman all the dread with which the good -(or bad) minister, Alexander Mickie, had inspired her -when she attended Sunday School at Kamloops and -heard him preach in Chinook. For Chinook is no -more than a few hundred words and most of them -are very material. So was Mickie's mind, whether -he preached openly or drank in secret, and the hyas -piah of Lejaub, or the great fire of the Devil (Lejaub -being equal to Le Diable), was a hot wood fire to -Jenny. She believed naturally enough in Lejaub -much more than in God, for her Indian blood helped -her there, or rather hindered her, and the English -God was a far-off notion to a mind not given to -high abstractions. -</p> - -<p> -So Jenny when she got the picture Bible sat with -it in her lap and trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"I a bad woman, I go to hell; very wrong for me -to love Tchorch!" was her mind's commentary -as she turned the blind pages for some other picture. -</p> - -<p> -And every now and again she turned back to the -curling flames and elaborate grids of hell. She -traced in some anguished lineaments a remote -likeness to herself. Then she fell to weeping, and -weeping Sam found her. He was sympathetic. On the -whole Sam was a very good sort. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you cly, Missus?" -</p> - -<p> -It was in vain for her to say she wasn't crying. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes, you cly, Missus, but what for you cly? -Mista Quin he come back to-molla." -</p> - -<p> -He might even be back that night, as Sam knew, -though he would not be till late. But Jenny sobbed -and the Bible slipped from her knees upon the floor. -Sam picked it up and recognised it at once. He -snorted as he gave it her back. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee no good lead dis," he said solemnly. -"My tinkee all the stolies in it lies, Missis. My -savvy one, two, tree, piecee Joss-pidgin-man Chinaside, -what you callee leplet, my savvy Yingling word, -miss'onary, and he talkee no good. My tinkee him -got wata topside, clazy, pelton you say." -</p> - -<p> -Out of this difficult hishee-hashee of words Jenny -extracted the notion that in Sam's opinion missionaries -were fools, for "leplet" and "pelton" put -together mean that. She shook her head and sobbed. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee no good makee littee Missus cly," said -Sam. "T'at book makee nicee litty gal cly allo -time. My see um. No good littee gal cly: my say -it damn foolo book. Mista Quin him velly good -man: plenty chow-chow, dlesses and Sam for -washee evelyting. Missus, you no lead Bible. Him -no good. Damn foolo stoly, my savvy." -</p> - -<p> -But what good was it for a Chinaman to tell her -that? -</p> - -<p> -"Him velly good book, I tink, Sam," she said -earnestly. -</p> - -<p> -"My no tinkee," returned Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"It belongs to Mista Quin," urged the "Missus." -</p> - -<p> -"Him never lead him," said Sam triumphantly. -"My putty him away and Mista Quin him never -savvy." -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps that was true. But then was not -"Tchorch" wicked too? -</p> - -<p> -Her lips trembled and she opened the book again -at the fiery picture. -</p> - -<p> -"What t'at picture?" asked Sam, quite eager to see. -</p> - -<p> -"It's hell," said Jenny, trembling. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Sam, "t'at Debelo's house. T'at all -light. Wong him velly clever man, him say Debble-Debble -here all light, but only China-side belong -God. My tinkee too. Wong say one time no food, -no licee, and evelybody hungly, and makee player -to Posa, allo same God, and nex' day one foot licee -all over. T'at China-side, galaw. But my no can -stay: my cookee chow-chow: Missus no cly, -Debble-Debble never take litty gal, Missus." -</p> - -<p> -But the fact remained that even Sam believed the -devil was in British Columbia (and all America, of -course), even if God only thought of China. On the -whole Sam's cheerful intervention did harm rather -than good. Jenny did put the book away and tried -not to think of the "hyas piah," but as the evening -came on there was a gorgeous sunset and even that -brought fire to her timid mind. When it was dark -she shivered and was glad to see a light. Then she -got out the book again. -</p> - -<p> -She was living a very wicked life, oh, yes, the -missionaries would say that. She was Pete's wife -and was living with Tchorch! That was very -wrong, it was against the Commandments. -</p> - -<p> -What ought she to do? -</p> - -<p> -What was right? -</p> - -<p> -If only George were back! That is what her -heart said, for now she hungered for him very -bitterly, because she felt she would see him no more. -The little girl had gone so far on the burning path of -repentance. She <i>must</i> see him no more: and what -she saw in the gloom was the glow of the Pit itself. -She ran to the window and looked down on the quiet -world and the few shining lights of the quiet city and -the star-shine on the great river. But all these were -as nothing to her loneliness and her sudden fear and -all the awful threats of hell that came back to her in -such an hour. She fell upon her knees and tried to -pray and found herself murmuring, "Tchorch, dear -Tchorch." He was coming back to her that night -and was glad to come back, for he had no notion, -no adequate notion of what a bad man he was. He -loved the tenas klootchman, loved her far better, -perhaps, than the white woman who had scorned him -because of dead Lily's predecessors. -</p> - -<p> -But Lily was now no more than a dead flower -unremembered in some spring garden. He was going -back to Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -She cried as she prayed to God and said -"Tchorch!" George was the little foolish woman's -prayer, and it may be a good one. The name of the -Beloved is for ever a prayer, tillikum. -</p> - -<p> -It was nearly ten o'clock when Sam looked in. -He did not think Quin would come now. It was -late for the S.S. <i>Yosemite</i>. -</p> - -<p> -"You all light, Missus?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -And she said that she was all right and Sam went -away down to Wong's shack for an hour's Fan-tan. -He hoped to make a few dollars easily, so that he -could go back China-side and buy one "litty piecee -waifo" for himself so that he could have children to -attend to his ashes and his kindly paternal spirit. -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny saw her spirit, her soul, her body, in the -flames. -</p> - -<p> -She must go back to Pete, and ask him to forgive -her. He would beat her badly, she knew, and he -would tear her "dless" from her and speak things -of shame. -</p> - -<p> -"I have shem," she said. She heard Sam go -down the path singing a high-pitched quavering -Chinese song. When he was quite gone she began -to weep, and wept until she was ill. She stumbled -blindly round the room, and went into the bedroom -and kissed things of George's, and the very bed -itself, and then went out into the darkness. In that -hour, the poor child forgot how beautifully she was -dressed. She stumbled in light shoes down the -path, and as she went she wished she were dead. -For Pete would be cruel. He would beat her and -take her back. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm very wicked," she said, weeping. George -would be unhappy. She turned with her empty -arms outstretched to the hill above her, to the empty -house. George had been very good to her. -</p> - -<p> -She passed Wong's shack. Sam was in there -with half a dozen others, and they were hard at it -gambling. After Wong's came Skookum Charlie's -and then Indian Annie's. The next shack was -Pete's. She sank down in the darkness between the -two shanties in a state of fear and stupor. In front -of her was shame and cruelty and behind her the -fires of hell. But she wanted to be good. -</p> - -<p> -There was no light in Pete's shack. When she -saw that, she hoped for one despairing moment that -he had gone away. Yet she knew that if he had -gone George would have told her. Most likely he -was with Indian Annie. He would be at least -half-drunk. She felt dreadfully beaten. There was -a roar of bestial silly laughter from Indian Annie's. -</p> - -<p> -From down the river almost abreast of Lulu -Island there came the sound of a steamer's whistle. -It meant nothing to her and Sam did not hear it. -Annie's door opened and Annawillee ran out reeling. -She was going home to Chihuahua and had to -pass Jenny, crouching on the sawdust in silks and -fine linen. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," groaned Jenny as Annawillee came along -crooning in mournful tones her old ballad that said -she was "keely." When she was close to Jenny -she reeled and recovered and stood for a moment -straddle-legs. She hiccupped and in the clear -darkness saw Jenny without knowing her. -</p> - -<p> -"Who you?" she hiccupped. -</p> - -<p> -Then she saw who it was, and burst into idiotic laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Jenny klootchman," she screamed. And -Pete came out of Annie's to go home. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that, Annawillee?" he asked in the -thick voice of liquor. "What you say, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Annawillee forgot there was money and drink -in Pete's not knowing, and she stood there -laughing—laughing as if her sides would split. -</p> - -<p> -"Your klootchman Jenny she come home," said -Annawillee. And Jenny groaned as Pete came -running. -</p> - -<p> -Before he spoke a word, he kicked her. -</p> - -<p> -"You damn klootchman," he said. He took her -by the hair and dragged her along the ground while -Annawillee still laughed. And Jenny screamed. -</p> - -<p> -"Where's your man now, ha?" said Pete, -thickly. "I tink I kill you now." -</p> - -<p> -The <i>Yosemite</i> came alongside her wharf as if it -were bright day and Quin leapt ashore. -</p> - -<p> -As Pete dragged her, Jenny got upon her knees -and fell. And again she half-rose and again fell, -and under his brutal grip of her hair her scalp -seemed a flame of agony. She was sorry she had -determined to be good and to repent. She screamed -dreadfully and many heard. Some shrugged their -shoulders, for screams in Shack-Town were only too -common. Yet some came out of their houses. -Among them was Chihuahua. Indian Annie came -too, and before Pete had got his wife to his own door, -there were others, among them two Chinamen from -an overcrowded shanty further up the road. And -still they did not interfere. Jenny was Pete's -klootchman and she had run away. Like a fool she -had come back, and must suffer. There was none -among them that dared to interfere: for they feared -a knife. -</p> - -<p> -And as George Quin came ashore he heard Jenny's -screams. "Another drunken row," he said carelessly -as he faced the hill to his lonely house. He -was very glad to get back home to his tenas klootchman, -for he hated loneliness. He said "poor little -Jenny" as he walked. -</p> - -<p> -There was now a crowd about poor Jenny, for -more came running, more Siwashes, among them -Skookum Charlie, and more Chinamen. But still no -one interfered, though Annawillee shrieked even -more than Jenny. She implored Chihuahua to -kill Pete. But Chihuahua booted Annawillee and -made her howl on her own account. -</p> - -<p> -"She run way and come back," said Chihuahua. -"If she mine I kill her, carajo!" -</p> - -<p> -And Pete started kicking Jenny. Once and again -she cried out, and then the last of all who looked on -came like a fury at Pete. The bleared and haggard -and horrible old Annie was the one who had the -courage, and the only one. -</p> - -<p> -"Aya, you damn Pete," she screamed. She got -her claws in Pete's long black hair and pulled him -down. She was a bundle of flying rags with a -savage cat in them. If Jenny were killed she would -be nothing to Annie, but while she lived she was -worth drinks. And perhaps Annie loved the little -klootchman. Who can tell? -</p> - -<p> -She and Pete rolled together on the dusty road, -and the onlookers shrieked with laughter. Quin -heard it as he climbed. -</p> - -<p> -"The row's over," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -More came out of the huts, and this time Wong, -old Wong, the philosopher was among them. And -with him came Lung and Wing, and at last Sam. -The Chinamen stood outside the circle of the Siwashes -and chattered. The first told the others that Pete -had killed his wife, and now was killing someone -else. The devilish twisting bundle in the dusty road -revolved and squealed. But Annawillee howled by -the side of Jenny, who lay insensible. Skookum -struck a light, and it shone upon the poor girl. It -showed her dress of scarlet, and Sam's quick eyes -saw it. He ran in quickly towards her, though the -wise Wong held him back. Chinamen never join -in alien rows if they can help it. It is wisest not -to, and they have much wisdom. Skookum's -match went out. Sam lighted another and knelt -beside Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ullo, Chinaman," grinned Skookum, "you -tink she dead, you tink mimaloose?" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, said Sam, this was Mista Quin's Missus right -enough. What did she want here? He called to -Wong, who came calmly, unhurriedly. Sam spoke -to him in their own tongue, and then Sam, who was -as quick to catch as Wong was wise to suggest, cried -out suddenly that the tenas klootchman was dead. -He took her in his arms and ran with her to Wong's -shack. And as he ran Pete got up from Annie, -whom he had choked into stillness. But his torn -face bled and one eye was nearly on his cheek. He -kicked Annie as she lay, and then turned to where -he had left Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Where my klootchman go?" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -They told him in a dreadful chorus that she -was dead, and he staggered back against his -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"Wong take her." -</p> - -<p> -They believed wise old Wong a physician, for -Chinamen have strange gifts. -</p> - -<p> -"I go see," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"No, you run 'way," said Skookum urgently. -He believed Jenny was dead. -</p> - -<p> -"Mus' I run?" asked Pete with a fallen jaw. -</p> - -<p> -"Dey hang you, Pete," screamed Annawillee -joyfully. Old Annie sat up in the road. -</p> - -<p> -"Where I go?" asked Pete. "I wis' I never -see Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He burst into tears. They brought him a bottle, -and told him to "dlink." They gave him advice -to go down the river, up the river, to the Inlet, to -the Serpentine, oh, anywhere from the Police. -</p> - -<p> -"I go," said Pete. He drank. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I—go," said Pete. He drank again, and -fell and lay like a log. -</p> - -<p> -"Now they catch Pete and hang him," screamed -Annawillee. Annie staggered across to him and -kicked him in the face. -</p> - -<p> -"Pig Pete," said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -Quin came to his empty house and called to tenas -Jenny. And then to Sam. When no answer came -he ran through the hall into the empty room where -the lamp was. On the floor he saw the Bible. He -understood. He quite understood. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -X -</h3> - -<p> -There was no doubt at all in George Quin's mind -as to what had happened, and perhaps he was not -wholly surprised. What did surprise him was his -own ferocious anger, and the wave of pity that even -swallowed up his wrath. -</p> - -<p> -"My God!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a man in the City who knew him a -little but was prepared to swear that Quin was a -brute, and a devil without any feeling to speak of. -It was said that he had killed Lily, the Haida girl, -when, as a matter of fact, it was his brother, Cultus -Muckamuck as the Siwashes called him, who had -done a deed like that. He had treated Lily well. -Her people said so. He had treated them well, the -greedy brutes! -</p> - -<p> -Now Quin was full of pity, and of jealousy. This -Bible had hurt her poor weak mind, no doubt of -that: and it had driven her back to Pete, perhaps. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said Quin again, "where else?" -</p> - -<p> -He remembered the screams he had heard coming -from Shack-Town as he landed. And as he -remembered he found himself running down the hill -in the starlit gloom. He wasn't a very young man -either. Quin was nearly forty: hard and set: at -times a little stiff. Now he went recklessly. -</p> - -<p> -"If Pete——" -</p> - -<p> -It didn't bear thinking of, so Quin wouldn't -think of it. He was jealous, hideously jealous. -He could have torn Pete asunder with his powerful -hands. He felt his nerves in a network within him, -and in his skin. They thrilled like fire. -</p> - -<p> -"My poor little Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -Why, the fact was that he loved her! When one -comes to think of it, this was a monstrous -discovery for him to make. He had really never -loved anyone, certainly not dead Lily, more -certainly not that white woman over in Victoria, though -he thought he had. What he felt for Jenny was a -revelation; it made him a saint and a devil at once, -as passion does even the best and worst of men. -And Quin had force and fire, and bone, and muscle -and a big heavy head and hands like clip-hooks. Now -passion shook him as if he were a rag in the wind. -</p> - -<p> -He came down to Shack-Town, and stopped. -He was hot but again he sweated ice. He looked -down the road and saw figures moving. -</p> - -<p> -"Which is the shack?" he asked himself. -</p> - -<p> -He went past Wong's house, where Jenny lay -on a table with ten jabbering Chinamen around -her. He heard a high-low sing-song of their chatter -and cursed his boy Sam for leaving the house as he -had done. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick the damn stuffin' out of him," said -Quin savagely. -</p> - -<p> -He passed Indian Annie's and saw the group -beyond it, standing about Pete's recumbent body. -Skookum Charlie was almost in tears to think that -Pete would be hanged. Annie wiped her bloody -face with her skirt. Annawillee, howling curses -at Pete, sat by her. -</p> - -<p> -"What's all this?" said Quin, coming out of -the darkness. He saw Pete, or rather saw a body. -He spoke hoarsely. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, oh!" said Skookum, scrambling to -his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" asked Quin again. "Kahta -mamook yukwa? What do you do here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pete him kill Jenny," screamed Annawillee. -Quin staggered back. -</p> - -<p> -"He, he——" -</p> - -<p> -He pointed at the drunken man. -</p> - -<p> -"Not mimaloose, him dlunk," said Annawillee, -"Jenny with Chinaman." -</p> - -<p> -Skookum led Quin, the big Tyee, to Wong's -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"If she's dead——" said Quin, looking towards -Pete. He opened Wong's door. -</p> - -<p> -The room was eight feet by twelve by ten: it -reeked of fierce tobacco and the acrid fumes of -"dope." Some of them "hit the pipe," smoked -opium. The smell was China; Quin, who had been -there, knew it. With the odours of Canton were -the odours of bad oil. Three lamps ate up the air. -Quin saw a row of whitish masks about the table: -some excited, some stupid, one or two villainous. -At the head of the table was the quiet majestic head -of the old philosopher Wong. He had a great -domed skull and a skin of drawn parchment over -wide bones. With a sponge he wiped blood from -Jenny's face. Sam held a bowl of water. He -looked anxious and strange. And Jenny's body, -in white linen and crimson silk, fouled with -sawdust and blood, lay there quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"Is she dead?" asked Quin. -</p> - -<p> -The philosopher, whose shiny skin declared his -love of opium, said she was not dead. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee she all light bymby," said Wong, -"She belongy you, Tyee?" -</p> - -<p> -"Turn the others out," said the Tyee, and at -Wong's word they fled out of the door, and stood -in the dark jabbering about Quin having taken -Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -Quin turned on Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"Why did you leave the house, Sam? My tell -you stop, you damn thief!" -</p> - -<p> -Sam, now as pale as Jenny, threw out his hands -in urgent deprecation of Quin's anger. -</p> - -<p> -"My no go out," he lied, "my stay allo tim' -with Missus, maskee she go out and my no findee. -I lun down here, Mista Quin, lun queek, findee -damn Pete hurtee Missus. T'at tlue. My tellee -Missus no cly: maskee she lead Bible and cly. -My no can do." -</p> - -<p> -He wrung his hands. Perhaps what he said was -true. Quin felt Jenny's pulse and found it at last. -He saw she breathed. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll have her home," he said. -</p> - -<p> -They took the door off its hinges, and Sam with -the others carried her up to the house. Wong went -into town to ask the doctor to come to Quin's at -once "chop-chop," and Dr. Jupp came. He found -Jenny on the bed moaning a little. -</p> - -<p> -"What's this, Quin?" asked Jupp, who knew -Quin well enough. -</p> - -<p> -Quin answered sullenly and told the truth. -</p> - -<p> -"Tut," said Jupp, "some day you'll get knifed, -Quin; why can't you get married and leave the -klootchmen alone?" -</p> - -<p> -He was a white-bearded old boy, who knew how -ignorant he was of medicine. But he knew men. -He went over Jenny carefully. -</p> - -<p> -"Two ribs broken," he said, "and the small -bone of the left arm. And a little concussion of the -brain. I think she'll do, Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Between them they made her comfortable after -Jupp had sent for splints and bandages. -</p> - -<p> -"She's very pretty," said Jupp, For Pete -hadn't kicked her face. "She's very pretty." -</p> - -<p> -"She's as good as gold, by God!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said Jupp. "I'll come in to-morrow -morning early. Shall I send you a nurse?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll sit up with her," said Quin. "You'd only -send some cursed white woman with notions." -</p> - -<p> -"Maybe," said Jupp, "they frequently have -'em incurably." -</p> - -<p> -Quin's face was white and hard. He stood up -and looked across the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you this little girl is as good as any white -woman in town, Jupp." -</p> - -<p> -Jupp took snuff habitually; he took some now. -</p> - -<p> -"Who the devil said she wasn't?" he asked -drily. He left the room. -</p> - -<p> -It was early morning before Jenny became -conscious, and even then Quin had great trouble -with her. For she was very sick. There was no -end to his patience. Nor was there any to Sam's. -The boy sat outside on the mat all night. -</p> - -<p> -"My askee Missus no tellee Boss my go playee -Fan-tan," he said nervously. -</p> - -<p> -At bright dawn Jenny found Quin half-dozing -with his head on the quilt under her hand. She -touched his hair tenderly, and he woke up. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch," she said feebly, with a heavenly -smile, "Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, little girl," said George. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink I no go away again, Tchorch. I no want -to be good, I want to stay with you. What you -tink, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down George's face. That's what -he thought. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kick that damn Pete's head in," said George -to himself. -</p> - -<p> -"I no want to be good. I jus' want Tchorch," -said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -She closed her eyes and slept. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -XI -</h3> - -<p> -His friends, even including Skookum Charlie, left -Pete where he lay. If a man killed his klootchman -and then got pahtlum, or "blind-speechless-paralytic" -on something cousin-german to methylated -spirit, what could be done with him but let him -alone till the police came for him by daylight? -Don't forget, tilikums, that none of the officers of -the law could come in Sawdust Shack-Town after -dark. They would as soon have gone to Cloud -Cuckoo Town. It was as much as their cabezas -were worth, and that's a hard-wood truth, without -knots or shakes. The last time a constable (under -the influence of a good but uninstructed superior -and some bad whisky) did go into Shack-Town -after dark he stayed there in a pool of blood (or -what would have been a pool but for the convenient -sawdust) till it was broad daylight, and he took -much patching-up before he got into running again. -After dark we had it to ourselves, Whites, Reds, -and all colours who were of the order of the Mill, -or the disorder of it. The "bulls" or "cops" or -"fingers," as hoboes say, kept order in the orderly -uptown streets. -</p> - -<p> -Skookum "quit" and went home. So did -Annawillee, whom Chihuahua hauled off as he was -doubtful of her morals in the dark. But Annie, -whose windpipe was exceedingly sore, went out -several times and booted Pete in the ribs where he -lay, as a kind of compensation or cough lozenge. -However, she let up on him at last and went home to -"pound her ear" in the sleep of the just and -virtuous. It never even occurred to her that Pete -didn't know anything whatsoever about Quin -being the man who had kapsuallowed or stolen his -dear Jenny. Everybody else knew, Chinamen, -Swedes, Lapps, Letts, Finns, Spaniards and a -number of whites of the rougher kind who camped -in Shack-Town. I knew myself. But the man who -ought to have known didn't. It was a sign that life -is the same everywhere. -</p> - -<p> -Pete woke up before dawn, as it seems to be a -revenge of nature to make drunken men wake when -they can't find a drink, and when he woke he hadn't -the remotest notion of what had happened to him. -He knew that he had a thirst on him of a miraculous -intensity, and when he moved he was aware that he -had a pain in his side which almost made him forget -his thirst. For Annie wore a man's shoes, with -heavy soles to them. And when a man is helpless -and his ribs open even a woman's kicks can do -mischief. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," said Pete, "ah!" -</p> - -<p> -He rolled over and groaned, poor devil. And, -just as the secret dawn began to flame, so the red -deeds of the night before began to come up to him. -He sat up and his jaw fell. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Pete, "I tink I—I kill Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -There's a crowd of virtuous ones who will imitate -Annie and boot him in the ribs, poor devil. He -drank and gambled and played hell and beat his -wife and drove her into the arms of Quin. Even -a missionary, who ought to know something about -such humanity, would disapprove of him. And -those whites of high nobility and much money and -great station, who are ready, in like cases, to drag -their own wretched women by the hair of the head -through the bloody sawdust of the Divorce Court, -and who hire (at so many guineas and one or two -more) some gowned ruffian to boot her in the ribs, -will objurgate Pete perhaps, poor chap. He had no -chance to know better and now the terrors of the -rope and the gallows had hold of him. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was brave enough, even if he did kick -klootchmen. As Ginger White knew, he was the -best wedger-off thereabouts, and could have got a -job at any of the big Mills of the Sound or the Inlet. -He could ride a horse and fight a man of his own -weight quite well enough. Indeed there was nothing -wrong with him but the fact that he was a Sitcum -Siwash and given to drink when it was handy. -Up at Cultus Muckamuck's, where it wasn't handy, -he was as sober as any judge and a deal more sober -than some out West. He was brave enough. -</p> - -<p> -But when he thought of being hanged he wasn't -brave. He sat up and wondered why he wasn't in -the Calaboose or cooler or jail already. He looked -round fearfully as if he expected to see Jenny's -body there. Then he groaned and felt his ribs. -It was odd he should be so sore. But the oddest -thing was that he wasn't already jailed. -</p> - -<p> -"I don' b'lieve I kill Jenny after all," said Pete. -And as soon as he didn't believe it, he very naturally -determined to do it as soon as possible. He staggered -to his feet, and made for his shack, thinking -that Jenny perhaps was there. Of course it was as -empty as an old whisky bottle, and Pete scratched -his head. Then the dawn came up, and just about -the time that Jenny was murmuring that she didn't -want to be good but only wanted "Tchorch," he -went out again and ran against Annie, who had also -waked up with a thirst and with an idea that it -would ease her throat and her mind if she went out -and had another go at Pete's ribs. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah, you pig Pete," she said with her jaw out -at him and her skinny throat on the stretch. -</p> - -<p> -"Why you call me pig, you damn Annie?" -demanded Pete, savagely. -</p> - -<p> -"Because you halo good, no good, damn bad man, -try to kill you tenas klootchman," yapped Annie -raucously as she spat. -</p> - -<p> -"You a damn fool," said Pete. "Jenny she -been away from me——" -</p> - -<p> -"Yah," yelled Annie, "she find a good man, and -Mista Quin, he give her good dlesses, he velly kind to -Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -It was a blow between the eyes for Pete, and he -staggered as if he had been struck. His jaw -dropped. -</p> - -<p> -"Mista Quin, kahta mika wau-wau, what you -say?" he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -"I say she now Mista Quin's klootchman: he -velly good to her. By-by he come and kill you, -because you kick his klootchman. Las' night he say -he mamook you mimaloose, kill you dead, you pig -Pete," she squealed, withdrawing into her house, so -that she could slam the door on him if he made a -rush. But truly it was the last thing he thought of. -</p> - -<p> -"The Tyee take my klootchman!" he said with -a fallen jaw, "the Tyee——" -</p> - -<p> -The boss had taken Jenny! -</p> - -<p> -"Dat tlue, Annie?" he asked weakly. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat tlue, you pig," said Annie. -</p> - -<p> -Pete made a horrid sound in his throat like a -strangled scream and Annie slammed and bolted -her door and got a bar of iron in her hands as quick -as she could move. -</p> - -<p> -"I kill Mista Quin," screamed Pete. "I kill heem!" -</p> - -<p> -He ran to his shack on the instinct to find something -then and there to kill the boss with. But he -had no weapon, not even a good knife. -</p> - -<p> -"I kill him all same," said Pete. As the men in -the South would have said he was "pretty nigh off -his cabeza." -</p> - -<p> -He started to work on his shack, and smashed the -windows and their frames and then all the wretched -furniture in both rooms. By the time the house was -an utter wreck he felt a little calmer. But though -many heard him none came near. It might be -dangerous. Then at last it was daylight: there was -a pleasant golden glow, and the river was a stream -of gold. The tall Mill chimneys began to smoke, for -Scotty's helper fed the fires early. -</p> - -<p> -"I go to work all same," said Pete, "and I see Quin." -</p> - -<p> -He ground his teeth and then took a drink of -water, and spat it out. There was nothing that he -wouldn't have given for some whisky, but who ever -had whisky in Shack-Town early in the morning? -He had to do without it. And at last the whistle -spoke and the sun shone, and the working bees came -out of their hives and went to the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -There was a devil of a wau-wau going on that -morning in the Engine-Room, for the place was -crowded. Some Chinamen even were allowed to -come inside, for they had news to give. The -patriarch and philosopher Wong was interrogated by -Mac and Shorty Gibbs and Tenas Billy (white man -in spite of Tenas). -</p> - -<p> -"Quin—eh, what?" said Tenas Billy with open -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"He took Jenny! Well I'm damned," said Gibbs. -</p> - -<p> -"I never reckoned that slabsided cockeyed roust-about -Jack Mottram took her," said Long Mac. -"But I own freely I never gave a thought to Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he was always a squaw-man," said Ginger -White. "What was that talk of a gal called Lily? -Wasn't she from Coquitlam?" -</p> - -<p> -"She was a Hydah, but I never seen her," said -another. Papp the German intervened. -</p> - -<p> -"She was a bretty gal. I zeen her mit Quin at -Victoria; no, at Nanaimo. She died of -gonsumption, boys." -</p> - -<p> -They had heard Quin had killed her, kicked her -when she was going to be a mother. -</p> - -<p> -"It ain'd drue," said Papp. "Thad was the -odder Quin, him dey galls Gultus Muckamuck. -When I was ub to Gamloops I saw her grave. Gultus -kigged her in the stomag, poor thing, and she died." -</p> - -<p> -"Is it true Pete killed Jenny last night?" asked -young Tom Willett, who had just come in. -</p> - -<p> -Wong had told Long Mac all about it and he had -told the others. They all told Tom Willett all about -it at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete hadn't better run up agin Quin this day," -said Ginger. "I've lost the best wedger-off I ever -struck." -</p> - -<p> -He saw Skookum Charlie grinning in a corner. -</p> - -<p> -"And now I've got to put up with Skookum. -I guess Pete has lighted out." -</p> - -<p> -"Pulled his freight for sure," said Tenas Billy. -Then Scotty yanked the whistle lanyard and the men -sighed and moved off. -</p> - -<p> -And as they moved Pete came in. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said those that saw him. They -scented trouble quick. -</p> - -<p> -There was no doubt there would be trouble. By -all accounts Pete had only just failed to kill the little -klootchman, and that he showed up afterwards, -when he knew that Quin had cut him out, was proof -enough of coming woe. -</p> - -<p> -Ginger White didn't like it. He had no nerve -for rows, in spite of his nasty temper, and to have -a murderous struggle between the wedger-off and -Quin, with guns shooting it might be (though gun-play -is rare in B.C.), made him shake. Even if no -"guns" came in there would be blood and hair -flying, and mauls and wedges and pickareens, and -perhaps a jagged slab or two. Ginger remembered -the huge nose with which outraged Simmons had -decorated him. -</p> - -<p> -"I ain't goin' to let Quin come in ignorant," said -Ginger. At the very first pause, while they were -rolling a mighty five foot log on the carriage, he -shoved his head through the wall to the Engine-Room. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Scotty, send over to the Office and let -Mr. Quin know that that swine Pete has turned up to work." -</p> - -<p> -Scotty nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"And say he looks mighty odd, likely to prove -fightable," added Ginger. He went back to the lever. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of his off-days, when he couldn't drive -the Mill or the Saws for sour apples. It's the same -with everyone. It's no sacred privilege of artists to -be off colour. And yet in his way Ginger was an -artist. He played on the Mill and made an organ -of it: pulled out stops, made her whoop, voix -celeste, or voix diabolique. Or he waved his bâton -and made the Stick Moola a proper old orchestra, -wind and strings, bassoon, harp, lute, sackbut, -psaltery and all kinds of raging music. Now he -was at a low ebb and played adagio, even maestoso, -and was a little flat with it all. -</p> - -<p> -The quick men of the Mill loafed. Long Mac -flung off the tightener and put new teeth into his -saw with nicely-fitting buckskin. He took it easy. -So did everyone. The very Bull-Wheel never -groaned. Down below the Lath Mill chewed slowly. -The Shingle Mill, though it had all the cedar it could -eat, said at slow intervals, "I cut-a-shingle, ah," -ending with a yawn instead of a "Phit." -</p> - -<p> -The truth was that everyone was waiting. They -loafed with their hands but their minds were quick -enough. Tenas Billy of the Lath Mill every now -and again climbed up the chute to see if bloodshed -was imminent. Shorty Gibbs, the Shingle Sawyer, -did the same. The very Chinamen sorting flooring -underneath bobbed up like Jacks out of Boxes. -</p> - -<p> -Only Pete never raised his head from his work. -When he drove a steel dog into a log he did it with -vim and vice. -</p> - -<p> -He smashed Quin's big head every stroke. Quin's -head was a wedge under the maul. And it was nine -o'clock. Before ten Quin always came into the Mill -and stood as it were on deck, looking at his crew as -they sailed the Mill through forests, making barren -the lives of the green hills fronting the Straits. -</p> - -<p> -As ten drew on the work grew more slack and -men's minds grew intense. But a big log was on -the carriage, one nigh six foot in diameter. The slab -came off, and Pete and Skookum Charlie handled -it. Ginger set her for a fifteen-inch cant and sent -her at it. Just as the log obscured the doorway -Quin came in and no one saw him but Skookum. -Pete drove a wedge, and reached out his hand for a -loose one. Then he saw Quin. As he saw him he -forgot his work, and the saw nipped a little and -squealed uneasily. Ginger threw up his angry head -and stopped her and saw that Pete saw Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Here's trouble," said the men. The Pony Saw -stopped dead. The Trimmers ran back into their -casings. There was silence. The Lath Mill stayed -and the Shingle Saw and men's heads came up from -below. They heard Quin speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Get off that log," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Pete dropped off on the side away from Quin, as -quick as a mud-turtle. As he fell upon his feet he -grabbed a pickareen lying on the skids and ran round -the end of the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -"Look out, Sir," yelled Ginger. A dozen men -made a rush. -</p> - -<p> -Long Mac came over two skids at a time. The -only man who was near enough to do anything was -Skookum Charlie, but he feared Pete and had no -mind for any trouble. He was safer on the top of -the log. Ginger took a heavy spanner in his hand -and went round the other end of the log. He was -in time to see Pete rushing at Quin, who had nothing -in his hands. Quin was the kind of man who -wouldn't have, so much can be said for him. -</p> - -<p> -Now Quin was standing at the opening of the great -side chute, down which big cants and bents for -bridge-work were thrown sideways. It was a -forty-foot opening in the Mill's wall. It was smooth, -greasy, sharply inclined. At the foot of it were some -heavy eighteen-foot bents for bridge repairing. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Pete. It seemed to Quin that Pete -came quick and that the other men who were running -came very slow. Perhaps they did, for Pete was as -quick on his feet as any cat or cougar. He weighed -a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and light bone. -Quin weighed two hundred at the least. He wasn't -quick till he was hot. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete's quickness, though it caught Quin, yet saved him. -</p> - -<p> -Had he been less quick Quin would have stopped -his sharp downward pickareen. But Pete delivered -his blow too soon. He aimed for Quin's head, but -Quin dodged and the blow was a little short: instead -of catching him inside the collar-bone and penetrating -his lung, the steel point grazed the bone and -came down like fire through the pectoral muscle. -And Quin struck out with his right and caught Pete -on the point of his left elbow. The Sitcum Siwash -went back reeling and Ginger White flung his spanner -at him. It missed him by a hair's breadth and -Pete recovered. Before he could make another -rush Mac was within a yard of him. But something -passed Mac and struck Pete on the side of the head. -It was an iron ring from an old roller. The philosopher -Wong had flung it. Pete went over sideways, -grabbed at nothing, lost his pickareen, caught his feet -on the sill of the chute and pitched out headlong. -He shot down the ways into the bents below and -lay there quiet as a dead man. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you hurt?" asked Ginger White. Quin's -hand was to his breast. -</p> - -<p> -"A bit," said Quin, as he breathed hard. -</p> - -<p> -"It was a close call," said Ginger. The men -stood round silently. -</p> - -<p> -Skookum clambered down from the log. He was -a dirty-whitish colour, for he wasn't brave. -</p> - -<p> -"Pick that chap up," said Quin, "and see if he -is hurt. If he is some of you can carry him up to -the hospital." -</p> - -<p> -Though he pressed his hand tight to the open -wound in his breast he bled pretty fast, and presently -sat down on one of the skids. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll help you over to the Office," said Ginger -White, ever ready to be of service to the Tyee. They -went across together while Long Mac and some of -the boys picked up Pete. If it had been a close call -for Quin it had been even a closer one for the Sitcum -Siwash. He was as near a dead man to look at as -any man could be. The iron ring had only caught -him a glancing blow and cut his scalp, but when he -slid down the chute head-foremost his skull came -butt on solid lumber. Then he had turned over and -struck the edge of a bent with his arm. It was -broken. When Long Mac and three Chinamen -carried him to the hospital, on a door borrowed from -the Planing Mill, the surgeon there found his left -collar-bone was in two pieces as well. He had -serious doubts as to whether his skull was fractured -or not. On the whole, when he had made his examination, -he did not think so. But he had every sign -of severe concussion of the brain. -</p> - -<p> -"How did it happen?" asked Dr. Green when -they had turned Pete over to the nurses. -</p> - -<p> -Mac told him. -</p> - -<p> -"Humph," said Green, who knew something -about Quin, "it is lucky for Quin that the chap -went for him first." -</p> - -<p> -"You think he'll die then?" asked Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"He might," said Green. "But he has a skull -that's thicker than paper. They can stand a lot, -some of em'. And others peg out very easy. It's -diseases fetch 'em, though, not injuries." -</p> - -<p> -So Mac went to the Mill again, leaving Pete on -his back in a fine clean bed for the first time in his -life. He was very quiet now. -</p> - -<p> -While Mac was at the hospital they had sent for -Dr. Jupp to look after Quin. When the old doctor -heard what had happened he shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"What did I tell him?" -</p> - -<p> -He found Quin pretty sick, but smoking all the -same. He was partially stripped and he had -plastered the wound till help came with a large pad -of blotting paper, which was nearly as primitive -as spiders' webs. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I got it, doc'," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Jupp shook his head again. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll never learn sense, I suppose. Let's look. -What was the weapon?" -</p> - -<p> -They showed him a pickareen, a half-headed pick -of bright steel some six inches long. -</p> - -<p> -"Lucky for you it wasn't an inch nearer," said -Jupp, "or you would have had froth in this blood!" -</p> - -<p> -Quin knew what he meant. In any case it was a -nasty wound, for part of it was ripped open. -Nevertheless Quin smoked all the time that Jupp washed -and dressed it, and said "Thank you" pleasantly -enough when the job was over. -</p> - -<p> -"Go home and lie down," said Jupp. "I'll be -up in an hour and see the cause of the war." -</p> - -<p> -So Quin, with the help of a clerk in the office, -found his way home to Jenny. As he went he saw -Mac coming down the road with long strides and -waited to hear what they said of Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"Will he go up the flume?" asked Quin, using a -common Western idiom. -</p> - -<p> -"Mebbe," said Mac. "The doc' allowed he -couldn't give me a pointer. He said it was a case -of might or mightn't." -</p> - -<p> -"Damn," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -When he got back to Jenny he never told her he -was hurt. He didn't even squeal when she rose up -in bed and put her arms about his neck and hurt his -wound badly. -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, Tchorch. You are velly good to -me," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -XII -</h3> - -<p> -In a place like the City on the Fraser, the time being -years ago, years I count mournfully, one can't -expect to run against genius in the shape of -surgeons and physicians. But most of the medicine-men -had queer records at the back of them, even -in B.C. Now Green, for instance, though he had -some of a doctor's instincts, didn't really know -enough to pass any English examination. He read -a deal and learnt as men died or got well under his -hands, and the hands of the nurses. As a result of -this Pete had a long solid time in bed. Even when -he apparently came to there was something very -wrong with him. He didn't know himself or -anything else. It took Green part of a month to -discover that he had better ask old Jupp to come -and see his Siwash patient. -</p> - -<p> -As the result of the consultation they put Pete -on the table and shaved his head and trephined -him and raised a depressed patch in his skull. It -was the bit with which he had put a depressed -place in a bridge bent. And then true intelligence -(of the Sitcum Siwash order) came back into Pete's -dark eyes, and he was presently aware that he -was Pitt River Pete, and that Jenny his klootchman -had run away with Quin and that he had gone -for Quin in the Mill. So far as Pete was concerned -this had happened a minute ago and he was very -much surprised to find himself opening his eyes on -two strange gentlemen in white aprons, and his -nose to the scent of chloroform, when an instant -before he had seen Quin in front of him among -the finer odours of fresh sawdust. Pete made a -motion to get up and finish Quin, but somehow he -couldn't and he closed his eyes again and went to -sleep. -</p> - -<p> -When he woke once more he was in a nice bed -with a white lady looking after his wants. He -wondered vaguely what a white klootchman was doing -there and again went to sleep. On the whole he -was very comfortable and didn't care about -anything, not even Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -When he woke again, he made the white klootchman -explain briefly what had happened to him. -The white klootchman did her best to follow his -wau-wau and gave him to understand that he had -had an accident in the Mill and an operation. And -it gradually dawned on Pete that all these -occurrences had caused a lapse of time almost miraculous. -Nothing that the white klootchman said convinced -him, however: it was the scent of the keen autumn -air coming down the river from his own home -mountains, the Pitt River Mountains. It was now -October and nearly the end of it, and there was -already a winter garment on the big hills. From -his window he could see the far cone of Mount -Baker, white and shining. When he looked a little -round the corner he saw his own hills. The air was -beautiful and keen, fresh as mountain water, tonic -as free life itself. To smell it brought him strength, -for there is great strength in the clean scent of -things. He snuffed the air of the upper river and -recalled the high plateaus of the Dry Belt. -</p> - -<p> -"By-by I go back to Kamloops," said Pete, as -he sat in a chair by the window with a blanket -round him. He was still weak, and didn't feel -jealous about Jenny. "By-by I go to Pitt River -or Hallison Lake." -</p> - -<p> -He used to work when a boy for an old storekeeper -at Harrison Lake. That was before he took -to the Mill: before he had been to Kamloops. Old -Smith was a pioneer, one of the Boston Bar Miners, -one of those who had hunted for the mother and -father of Cariboo gold in Baldy Mountain. He had -been rich and poor and rich again, and even now, -though poor enough, he grub-staked wandering -prospectors on shares of the Dorado Hole they set -out to find. -</p> - -<p> -"Not a bad old fellow, old Smith," said the -grubstaked ones. Pete said the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny she can go to hell," said Pete. And -when he was well enough to leave the hospital he -took a month's wages from the Mill, or nearly a -month's, and went up-river to Harrison Lake. He -never asked for Quin, and didn't even know that -he and Jenny had both been laid up. -</p> - -<p> -"She can go to hell," he told himself. "I go to -Hallison Lake and by-by to Kamloops, see my sister -Maly. Cultus Muckamuck much better man than -Shautch Quin." -</p> - -<p> -After all Cultus had never stolen his klootchman -and smashed his skull. -</p> - -<p> -Pete was still very weak when he left New -Westminster behind and paid a dollar or so to go -upstream to the mouth of Harrison River's blue -waters. And Smith gave him "a jhob" at small -wages but with good hash. -</p> - -<p> -Then the East wind blew out of the hills, from the -serried dark Cascades, and from the monarchs of -the Selkirks on the Big Bend of the Columbia and -from the giant Rockies beyond that swift clear -stream. Nature closed up her wonderful store, and -the Mills shut down, for the Lower Fraser was fast -in heavy ice from way-up down to Lulu Island and -even beyond, and no man and no Bull-Wheel, -though it grunted in its frictions, could get logs out -of the Boom. So Long Paul of the Boom as well as -Long Mac of the Pony Saw and Ginger White of the -Great Hoes and all the whole caboodle shut up shop -and took to winter work, which meant growling -and groaning and gambling and grumbling and -playing Old Harry, and raising Cain and horrid crops -besides, till frost unlocked the stream and booms -again. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but the days when the East wind held up and -the frost was clean and clear! The cold clean sun -shone like pale fire in a pale blue sky and the world -was hard and bright and white with fierce snow. -It was fine enough in the City, and the boys went -coasting down the hill streets across the main one, -and the kiddies thought of Christmas with such joy -as those elders, who had heaps of kids and little -cash, could not feel. Nevertheless even a -burdened father of many hoped while he could when -the frost burned in the still air and fetched the -blood to his face. There was health in it: health -for Jenny, determined to love "Tchorch" always, -and health for "Tchorch," whose poisoned wound -healed up though it left a horrid scar on his left -pectoral. If only it hadn't meant health for Pete -too! -</p> - -<p> -But it did. If it was fine in the City, how much -finer, how much cleaner, how much more wonderful -it was by the edge of a frozen lake, full of trout, and -under the snowy feathery foliage of the firs and -pines and the high pagodas of the majestic antique -spruces. Pete sucked in health and strength like a -child and ate his muckamuck with the determination -of a bear at a discovered cache. He put on muscle -and fat, and could leap again. And as he fattened, -his mind grew darker. He missed his klootchman -and woke of nights to miss her. The smile, that was -his when he was weak, left him; it was put out by -darkness. And under old Smith's wing in a little -shack there was another Sitcum Siwash, one called -John, who had a young klootchman of his own, and -his young klootchman had a young papoose, and -they were all as fat as butter and as happy as pigs -in a wallow. This hit lonely Pete very hard. He -was "solly" he hadn't killed Quin, and took to -telling John his woes. -</p> - -<p> -These woes on being told grew bigger, till they -became huge once more. They were like a drift -in a bitter norther, where a log can begin a mountain -that stays all progress. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink I burn his Mill," said Pete as he lay -awake. It was a great idea. It grew like a fire, -and would have come to something undoubtedly if -by an accident old Smith hadn't put a pail of cold -discouragement upon the flame as it twisted and -crackled in the hot mind of Pete. The news came -that Thomas Fergusson's store at Yale had been -burnt down, and Smith explained to John and -Pete and some store loafer (there always are store -loafers everywhere: if there's a cracker cask at the -North Pole some loafer holds it down against any -South wind) that possibly Fergusson had made -money out of the fire by the means of some very -queer magic known as insurance, or "insoolance" -as John and Pete said. They scratched their -heads, for they knew nothing of "fire-bugs," not -having read the comic New York papers. But the -fact remained that according to old Smith, to burn -down the Mill might mean to make Quin richer. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't burn down his damn Moola," said Pete -crossly. -</p> - -<p> -Yet couldn't he do something else? Pete lay -half one Sunday thinking over it, and came to the -conclusion that there was a very reasonable revenge -to be had fairly cheap. When he worked at the -Mill at Kamloops he had been told of what one man -had done at Port Blakeley. -</p> - -<p> -"I do it," said Pete savagely. He heard John's -klootchman laugh, and thought again of Jenny. -The stronger he grew the more bitterly he missed -her. And yet if she had come back to him now -he would have thrust her out into the frost. -</p> - -<p> -In this unhappiness of his heart it was natural he -should turn to his sister Mary, up at Kamloops or -the back of it, who was Cultus Muckamuck's klootchman. -And after all old Cultus wasn't such a bad -sort. Hadn't they got drunk together, as "drunk as -boiled owls in a pan of hot water"? Cultus was a -mean old hunks, and a bit rougher than his younger -brother, but there was none of the high-toned -dandy about Cultus. He would sit on a log with -a man, and yarn and swap lies, and fetch out a -bottle and say, "Take a drink, Pete." Oh, on the -whole Cultus was a good sort. If he did whack -Mary, perhaps Mary deserved it. The klootchmen -wanted hammering at intervals and a good quirting -did them good. -</p> - -<p> -"Firs' I go down to the Moola," said Pete, "and -I go back to Kamloops. I make it hot for -George Quin when the Moola starts up. I spoil -heem, ah, I spoil heem and Shinger White." -</p> - -<p> -The hard frost lasted a month and then a quiet -and insidious Chinook came out of the Pacific, a -wandering warm West wind, and the ice relented -and released the River. It was not very thick and -soon departed on the ebb and flood of the tides, -swaying in loose floes back and forth. And then -the rain began and it looked like a strange soft -winter for a little while. -</p> - -<p> -"I go now," said Pete. He spoke to old Smith, -asking for a day or two to go down to the City. -</p> - -<p> -"You ain't thinking of killing Quin or your -klootchman, sonny?" said Smith, who knew all about it. -</p> - -<p> -"Not me, Mista Smith," said Pete. "She no -good, by-by he velly solly he have her." -</p> - -<p> -He got an old dug-out and paddled down to the -City, and past it in the dark, when the town was nothing -but a gleam of lights in the heavy rain. In the dugout -Pete had a few things borrowed from Smith's -store that Smith did not know he had borrowed. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete savagely, as he touched a -bag which, held many pounds weight of ten-inch -spikes. "I fix heem and his logs!" -</p> - -<p> -He went past the City with the ebb, and taking -the South Arm was soon abreast of Lulu Island. -There he knew that a big boom of logs for the Mill -was anchored to the shore, ready to tow up when -the Mill boom was cut out. Besides his spikes he -had a heavy sledge-hammer. -</p> - -<p> -"Dat fix heem," said Pete. He knew what he -was about. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope it cut Shinger's beas'ly head off." -</p> - -<p> -He knew that Ginger had thrown a spanner at -him that last day in the Mill, and, indeed, he -believed that it was Ginger, and not old Wong, who had -keeled him over and chucked him down the chute. -</p> - -<p> -Now the rain let up and some stars shone out. -He got close inshore and felt his way in the shadow -of the trees. He let the canoe float, for he came -near where the boom should be. A big patch of -sky cleared and a wedge of the new moon -glimmered under rack. His eyes were keen, and -presently he saw the darker mass of the assembled -boom of logs anchored in a little bay. He grinned -and went alongside and made the canoe fast. Then -he filled his pockets with spikes and, taking the -sledge, scrambled on the boom. -</p> - -<p> -Outer log was chained to outer log with chains -and heavy clamps. Inside, an acre of water was -covered with round logs, all loose, logs of fir and -pine and spruce. Some were six feet and more in -diameter: some less than a foot. As he trod on -one it rolled a little and then rolled more: he stepped -upon it lightly, balancing himself beautifully, as if -he had been a driver on the Eastern Rivers of -wooded Wisconsin or Michigan. The motion he -gave to one log as he sprang communicated itself to -others. The logs seemed uneasy: it was as if he -had waked them. He looked for the best, the -biggest, with a pleasure akin to that of the hunter, -or some trapper sorting peltry. He found a splendid -spruce and stood on it in triumph. -</p> - -<p> -"I make heem bad," grinned Pete. He took a -spike and set it into the log with a light tap of the -sledge held close to the heft. Then he stood up and -swung the sledge double-handed. He had driven -spikes on a railroad once, though he hated -railroading, being by nature a millman or a ranche -hand. The sledge fell on the spike clean and -plumb. The dim forests echoed and he stood up as -if the sound startled him. But after all no one could -be near and the City was far off. He drove the -deadly spike home into the beautiful log and smiled. -</p> - -<p> -Into that one he put three spikes, then he leapt -lightly on another, a Douglas Fir, and spiked that -too. He grew warm and threw off his jacket. It -was a great pleasure to him to work, to feel that -his strength had come back, to feel himself active, -lithe, capable. And revenge was very sweet. -</p> - -<p> -"Mebbe the saw cut off Quin's head," he -murmured. He knew what he was doing and what -would happen. He saw it quite clearly, for once in -a saw-mill, when he was a kiddy, he had heard what -happened when a saw cut on a hidden spike. The -wedger-off had told the others how the great saw -struck fire with a horrid grinding squeal. With the -sawdust from the cut came fiery sparks, and then -the saw, split in huge segments, hurtled from the -cut. One piece went through the roof, another -skimmed through the Mill like a piece of slate -hurled by some mighty arm. -</p> - -<p> -Pete knew what he was doing as he killed the -logs. He spiked two dozen before he let up upon -them. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete. "I fix heem lik' hell!" -</p> - -<p> -He put on his jacket again and with the sledge in -his hands went towards the dug-out. There were -still many spikes in his pockets, for twice he had -renewed his supply of them. -</p> - -<p> -"I think I drive one more," said Pete, who was -drunk with pleasure. "I tink one more for luck." -</p> - -<p> -He set the spike in and started to drive it home. -Now he was careless and suddenly he slipped. As -he tried to recover himself, the sledge flew one way -and he flew the other. He dropped between two -logs: the one he had been standing on, and one -on the boom of logs. That is, one of the boom logs -saved his life, for the heavy spikes would have -pulled him down if he had had to swim for a minute. -As he let a yell out of him and felt a sudden fear -of death his hands caught a chain between two of the -outer boom logs. He pulled his head out of the -water and hung on. The stream was bitter cold, for -there was still ice in it. He gasped for breath, -but presently got a leg across the chain. With a -great effort he clawed the upper edge of the log -and clambered back to safety. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh," he grunted, as he lay flat and caught his -breath, "that a very near ting, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -It was a very near thing indeed. -</p> - -<p> -But before dawn, as he paddled hard on the -flood tide, he was back at Smith's and fast asleep. -</p> - -<p> -Next day there was a mighty row about the missing -sledge-hammer. -</p> - -<p> -"I tink some damn thief kapsualla heem," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -That week the frost returned once more. This -time it lasted till the early spring. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIII -</h3> - -<p> -B.C., as the boys call it, or British Columbia, is -most undoubtedly a wonderful place, a first-class -place, even if the bottom falls out of it periodically -and booms die down into slumps and the world -becomes weary. But the odd thing is that it is a -country which is, so to speak, all one gut, like -a herring. The Fraser Cañon is the gate of the -lower country and the gate of the upper country. -There's only one way up and down, tilikum, unless -you are a crazy prospector or a cracked hunter. -Though the great River itself comes from the North -past Lillooet and by, and from, Cariboo, yet the -main line of men and railroads and wanderers to -and fro lies rather by the blue Thompson than the -grey Fraser. -</p> - -<p> -You meet Bill and Charlie and Tom and Jack and -Dick and Harry on the road. You liquor with -them at Yale, where the Cañon opens: you toss for -drinks with them at French Charlie's, you climb -Jackass Mountain with them (or meet them there) -and again discuss work and railroading and -sawmills and Mr. Vanderdunk, the Contractor, at -Lytton. You run against your partner or the man -you quarrelled or fought with at Savona. You see -Mrs. Grey or Brown or Robinson at Eight Mile -Creek. Very likely you get full up at Oregon -Pete's with the man you last met at Kamloops, -or the son of a gun who worked alongside you at the -Inlet. On the Shushwap you tumble up against your -brother, maybe, in a sternwheeler, and at Eagle Pass -you give cigars (5 cents Punches!) to a dozen whose -nicknames you know and whose names you don't. -</p> - -<p> -Properly speaking there are few ways into B.C. -Perhaps there are none out. It is a devil of a -country for getting to know every man jack in it. -From the Columbia Crossing, or even from the -summit of the Rockies down to the Inlet, and the -City of Vancouver (in Pete's time mere forest and -as thick as a wheatfield), it's the Main Street. -</p> - -<p> -The fact of the matter is that the whole of the -Slope, the Pacific Slope, is only one Main Street. -It begins to dawn on a man on the Slope, that in a -very few years he might know everyone from the -Rocky Mountains down to Victoria and to Seattle -and Tacoma and Portland and San Francisco. -Men wander to and fro like damned souls or -migratory salmon or caribou. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, you know, knew everyone in B.C. by sight, -more or less. There wasn't a shebang on the road -he wasn't familiar with. He came on chaps here -and there who said "Klahya" or "What ho!" -or "Hell, it ain't you?" or "Thunder, it's old -Pete, so it is." He felt familiar with the road, -with the Cañon, with every house, every loafer, -every bummer, every "goldarned drifting son of a -gun" who went up and down like a log in the -tide-way, or round and round like one in a whirlpool, -betwixt the Victoria beginning and the Rocky -Mountain End. When he had been full of Mills -and Canneries he used to mosey off up-country. -When he was soaked by the Wet Belt and the wet -rains he pined for the Dry Belt. When the high -dry plateaus of the Dry Belt dried him up, he thought -of the soft days lower down, or higher up in the -Upper Wet Belt of the Shushwap. One can swap -climate for climate in a few hours. -</p> - -<p> -Now the frost of the lower country, of the lower -Fraser, with its intervals of warm Chinook wind -and rain, sickened Pete. He put in a lot of time at -old Smith's, but by the end of February he was keen -on climbing higher. Old Smith got on his nerves, -good old soul though he was, and of course Pete -couldn't stick to one "jhob." Old Cultus seemed -so good a chap, and Pete thought it would be a fine -thing to put his legs across a cayuse once more and -go a-riding, whooping hell and thunder out of the -steers. And he had come nigh to forgetting Jenny. -When he thought of her his face looked devilish, -but he thought of her seldom. -</p> - -<p> -"She bad klootchman, yah," said Pete. But he -couldn't go yet. He waited for the harder frost -to go, for the big ice, then two feet thick, to break -again in the lower river. Then the Mill would -start, and he would hear of the spiked logs. -</p> - -<p> -"That make Quin sick," said Pete. So he hung -on and waited, knowing he would hear. It couldn't -be long. Men from the City said that things had -been tough that winter in Shack-Town. He -heard at intervals about this chap or that: about -Skookum, good old Skookum, and Chihuahua, who -had been jailed for a jag which was of portentous -dimensions, leading him to assault a policeman Up -Town. The "bulls" yanked Chihuahua in and he -got it hot, officially and otherwise, as a man will in -the calaboose. -</p> - -<p> -Then the River cracked loudly: the ice roared -and broke, and piled itself up in bars and ridges -and grumbled and swung and went away with the -ebb and up with the flood, roaring all the time. -</p> - -<p> -"Now they start up the Moola queek," said -Pete as day by day he saw less ice. The rain -poured down and the river was almost in flood -already, though the winter held up-country, of -course. When the frost broke in the wet Cascades -and up in Cariboo, and in the head waters of the -forking Thompson, there would be a proper amount -of water in the Cañon. -</p> - -<p> -And still he waited. -</p> - -<p> -But in the Mill they started at last, and came -nigh to the end of the Mill boom before they could -get a steamer to tow them up the new boom. Then -they got it, and Pete heard that it was there. -</p> - -<p> -"I make heem sick," said Pete, still waiting. And -the spiked logs waited. Their time must come. -</p> - -<p> -It came at last, and of that day men of the Hills -still speak. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of Ginger White's devilish days, when -he hated himself and his kind and was willing to -burst himself if he could make others sigh or groan. -He ran the crew of the Mill almost to death, and -death came at last as the day died down and found -them running the saws screaming in logs still cold -within. For the winter left the men soft: they -had been half-fed, many of them: they had lived -idle lives, and found work hard on their hands, hard -on their muscles. But Ginger never failed when -the devil was in him. The winter was over: he -wanted to work, for he was all behind with money. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll make 'em sweat, I'll make 'em skip," said Ginger. -</p> - -<p> -That day Quin was much in the Mill, and he was -there when the lightning struck Skookum Charlie: -when the saws spouted fire. He, too, was glad to -get back to labour: to the doing of things. And he -loved the Mill, as many did. -</p> - -<p> -It was a great log of spruce that carried death -within it. High up above the Saws hung a lamp -so that Skookum and his partner could see the cut -as well as feel it. The whole Mill squealed and -trembled: every machine within it ran full blast: -the song of the Mill was great. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, heave and roll," said the Bull-Wheel. -They got the log on the carriage, drove in the dogs -and Ginger sent her at the eager saws. He cut -the slab off, and then set her for an eight-inch cant -and got her half through, when the lightning came. -</p> - -<p> -There was a horrid rip, a grinding, deafening -crash and streams of fire came out of the cut log. -On top of it was Skookum driving home a wedge. -He drove it deep and deeper, and as the crash came, -Quin stood where he had stood when Pete went -for him. There was another horrid scream as the -smashed saw broke and hurled a jagged quadrant -upward from the cut. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Christ!" said those who saw. At Quin's -red feet, a bloody corpse lay, for the saw had sliced -Skookum nigh in two, shearing through flesh and -bones, ribs and spine. For one moment he was -helped to his feet by the thing that cut his life out, -and he stood upon the log, with a howl torn out of -his very lungs, and then pitched headlong on the -floor. -</p> - -<p> -There came screams from the far end of the Mill, -for another segment of the saw had flown out -straight, and, striking a roller, came up slanting -from it, and disembowelled a wretched Chinaman. -He stood and squealed lamentably and then looked -at himself and lay down and died. -</p> - -<p> -And all the Mill ceased and men came running -even from below. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -But Ginger said nothing. Terror had hold of -him. He leant against the deadly log and vomited. -Every lamp in the Mill was held up in two circles, -one about Skookum and the other about the Chinaman. -Faces as white as the dead men's looked at -the dead. -</p> - -<p> -That night Skookum's klootchman sat with -loosed hair howling over the body of her good and -stupid man. And by her Annie and Annawillee -mourned. -</p> - -<p> -And many thought of Pete. Among them were -Quin and his klootchman Jenny, who understood -the nature of the man who had been her man and -was now no better than a murderer. -</p> - -<p> -"I done it, I," said Jenny; "if I stay with Pete -this no happen!" -</p> - -<p> -She cried all night and "Tchorch" could not -comfort her. Nor could he sleep till in his rage he -cursed her, and came nigh to striking her. Then -she crept into his arms and tried to soothe him, -and wept no more. -</p> - -<p> -The next day Pete started up-country, for Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"I never mean to kill Skookum," he said with -a white face. "I never mean to keel him. I lik' Skookum." -</p> - -<p> -The poor fool cried. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIV -</h3> - -<p> -The story of the disaster at the Mill followed Pete -and passed him as he made his way to Yale, having -screwed a dollar or two out of old Smith. Indeed -he got more than he had a right to, for old -Smith wasn't a man to squeeze a dollar till the -eagle squealed, by any means. The day after the -news came of the split saw Pete had boarded the -boat for Yale and was put out at the mountain -town in a storm of rain. And Pete hated the wet -as a saw-mill man must, or as one who had worked -in the Dry Belt where the rain is scarce and the -fattening grasses dry. -</p> - -<p> -At this time the Railroad, the Railroad of all -Roads, the longest on earth, gentlemen, partners and -tilikums, was being put through the hills, through -the Rockies and the Selkirks and the Eagle Range. -The woods were full of Contractors, small and big, -good and measly, generous and mean, men and -pigs. But above them all towered the genial, -blue-eyed Andy. The men said "Andy" here and -"Andy" there. Andy was responsible if the bottom -fell out of the sky, or if the earth blew up. He was -held to account for floods and wash-outs, for land -slides and snow slides, and he took 'em all as they -came. The men said "damn Andy" or "Andy's -all right." They got drunk and denounced him, -and perhaps got sober and blessed him. On -the whole they loved his blue eyes even if they -damned them. But while he held the road which -he had built, and before it was turned over to the -men in Montreal, the good men and the great -scoundrels (there always being talk of railroad -boodlers) who thought the thing out and financed it, -he charged a devil of a rate for passage on it. So -everyone who went East or West went to Andy or -some underling for a pass. Pete did it. There was -only one tale to tell. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to go up to Ashcroft to get a job, -Mr. Vanderdunk," said everyone. Pete said it, and -Andy being in a heavenly temper (as he wasn't -when I struck him for a pass) let the Sitcum Siwash -through easily, just as he had done before when -Jenny was with him. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to wu'k on the railroad, Sir," said Pete. -When he went off with the pass he said he didn't -want to "wu'k" on any railroad. He spent a dollar -in drink and went on board the train drunk. It was -the first time since the night when he had nearly -killed Jenny that he had been very "full." The -smoking car was crammed with men who had -passes: men who wanted to work at the Black -Cañon and those who didn't. Some were bound -for Kamloops, some for the work on the Shushwap, -some for Eagle Pass and Sicamoose Narrows, and -there was one farming Johnny or mossback for -Spallumcheen. They were all lively—some full -up, some half-full. They yelled and laughed and -yarned and swore and said— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, what are yer givin' us, taffy?" -</p> - -<p> -They declined to swallow taffy—but they -swallowed whisky. An old prospector gave Pete -drink. Then he heard them tell the tale of the -accident at the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -"Some rotten son of a gun spiked the logs," -said the man behind Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"I heerd they'd found ten logs spiked," said -another. "They bin over 'em with an adze." -</p> - -<p> -"If they corral the kiddy wot done it, he'll wear -hemp," said another. -</p> - -<p> -"Serve him right, damn his immortal," returned -the first speaker. -</p> - -<p> -Pete begged another drink and drank so heartily -that the old prospector said he was a hog. Pete -was indignant, but he was nearly speechless and -saw two, nay, three, prospectors, gaunt and hairy -men, who looked very angry. He decided not to -fight, and went to sleep, and slipped down on the -floor. The prospector wiped his boots on him and -expatiated on hogs in a whining monotone for -forty miles. -</p> - -<p> -They dragged Pete out at Ashcroft and put him -and his bundle on the dry prairie, where the depôt -was. He woke late at night and found his throat -so parched that he could not speak to the darkness -that closed about him. There wasn't a soul in the -depôt, and not a shack or shebang handy. The -dread collection of wallows described as a town was -a mile off across the prairie, and Pete groaned as -he set out for the lights of the biggest grog shanty -there. He hadn't a red in his sack, to say nothing -of a dime or two-bits, but some charitably disposed -railroader, a Finn it was, gave him a drink, and he -sat down in a corner along with a dozen others -and went to sleep. In the morning he raised -another drink, and set off for Kamloops, just as -the railroad work began. He was asked to stop -a dozen times, but he wasn't keen. "I go to -Kamloops," he answered. -</p> - -<p> -He humped himself and got to Sayona's Ferry -in quick time, for someone gave him a lift on the -road. He found a sternwheeler on the point of -starting for Kamloops, and knowing the engineer -and the fireman, who was a Siwash too, they shoved -him in the stokehold and made him work his passage. -Two hours of mighty labour with billets of -firewood sweated the drink out of him, and by the -time they were alongside the Kamloops shore he -was something of a man again. -</p> - -<p> -He found some tilikums in the town and recited -his woes to them, telling them all about Jenny -having quit him to go with Quin, who was Cultus -Muckamuck's brother. He asked about his sister -Mary, and about old Cultus. -</p> - -<p> -"Cultus pahtlum evly sun, dlunk all the time -now," said a Dry Belt Indian named Jimmy. -"Nika manitsh Mary, I see Mary. She very sad -with a black eye." -</p> - -<p> -Pete was furious. Mary was older than he by -five years and had been a mother to him when -their mother went under. If he loved anyone he -loved Mary. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I had a gun," said Pete. "I tell Cultus -if he bad to Mary I kill heem." -</p> - -<p> -He was almost bewildered by a sense of general -and bitter injustice. Hadn't he been a good man -to Jenny? Hadn't he been a good worker in the -Mill? But Jenny had left him for the man he had -worked for. Then instead of killing Quin or Ginger -White he had killed poor old Skookum. He hadn't -meant to kill him, but if the law knew he would be -hanged all the same. And now poor Mary was -having a bad time with old Cultus. When Cultus -got mad, he was very dangerous, Pete knew that. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary's a damn fool to stay with him," said -Pete. "I tell her to leave heem. I get wu'k here, -in the Mill. She live with me." -</p> - -<p> -He went to the Kamloops Mill to look for work. -They were full up and couldn't give him a show. -But one of the men who knew him gave him a dollar -and that made Pete happier. He raised a drink -with it, a whole bottle of liquid lightning, and he -didn't start for Cultus's ranche that day. -</p> - -<p> -It was an awful pity he didn't. For Cultus had -been in town that morning and had taken two -bottles back with him. He had been drinking for -weeks and was close upon delirium tremens. He -had horrid fits of shaking. -</p> - -<p> -Ned Quin was ten years George's senior, and had -been in British Columbia for thirty years. He had -been married to a white woman, whose very name -he had forgotten. For the last ten years, or eight -at least, he had lived with Mary, whom the previous -owner of his ranche had taken from the kitchen of -the Kamloops Hotel when she was twenty. Now -he lived in a rude shanty over toward the Nikola, -"nigh on" to twenty miles from Kamloops. He -had a hundred and fifty steers upon the range, and -made nothing out of them. The Mill, in which he -had an interest, kept him going. He wanted nothing -better. He was very fond of Mary, and often beat -her. -</p> - -<p> -Mary was a tall and curiously elegant woman for -an Indian or a half-caste. By some strange accident, -perhaps some inheritance from her unknown white -father, she was by nature refined. -</p> - -<p> -She had a sense of humour and a beautiful smile. -She talked very good English, which is certainly -more than her brother did, who had no language -of his own and knew the jargon best of all. Mary -was a fine horse-woman and rode like a man, -straddling, as many of the Dry Belt women do. -She could throw a lariat with some skill. She -walked with a certain free grace which was very -pleasant to see. And she loved her white man in -spite of his brutality. For when Ned was good, he -was very good to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Now he beats poor me," she said. Perhaps -she took a certain pleasure in being his slave. But -she knew, and more knew better, that she lived -on the edge of a precipice. More than once Ned -had beaten her with the flat of a long-handled -shovel. More than once, since Pete left, he had -threatened to give her the edge and cut her to rags. -</p> - -<p> -It was a great pity Pete had that dollar given him -at the Kamloops Mill. He got drunk, of course, -and only started for the ranche a little before noon -next day. -</p> - -<p> -It was a clear and cloudless sky he walked under as -he climbed the winding road up from the town by the -Lake. There was a touch of winter in the air and the -road was still hard. The lake was quite blue, beyond -it the hills seemed close: the North Fork of the -Thompson showed clear: the Indian reservation on -the other side seemed near at hand. But of those -things Pete thought nothing. He wanted to see -his sister, he groaned that he hadn't a cayuse to ride. -</p> - -<p> -He was five miles out of Kamloops and on the -upper terraces of the country, when he saw someone -coming who had a cayuse to ride. Pete could see the -rider from afar: he saw the cattle separate and -run as the man came nearer to them. He saw how -the steers, for ever curious, came running after him -for a little way as the rider went fast. The man was -in a hurry. Indeed he was in a desperate hurry. -Pete, who knew everyone between the Thompson and -the Nikola, wondered who it was, and why he was -riding so fast. -</p> - -<p> -"He ride lik' hell," said Pete, as he stopped and -filled his pipe. -</p> - -<p> -Every man has his own way of riding, his own way -of holding himself. -</p> - -<p> -"He ride lik' Cultus," said Pete curiously. "Jus' -lik' Cultus." -</p> - -<p> -For all his thirty years in a horse country Cultus -Quin rode like no horseman. He worked his elbows -up and down as he went at a lope. He usually wore -an old ragged overcoat, which flew behind him in the -wind. -</p> - -<p> -"It is old Cultus," said Pete. "What for he -ride lik' that?" -</p> - -<p> -A little odd anxiety came into Pete's mind, and he -held a match till it burnt his fingers. He dropped it -and cursed. -</p> - -<p> -"What for he make a dust lik' that? I never see -him ride lik' that!" -</p> - -<p> -The rider came fast and faster when he reached a -pitch in the road. He was a quarter of a mile away, -a hundred yards away, and then Pete saw that it was -Cultus, but no more like the Cultus that he knew. -The man's face was ashy white and his eyes seemed -to bolt out of his head. As he swept past Pete he -turned and knew him, and he threw up one hand as -if it were a gesture of greeting. But it might be -that it was rather a gesture of despair, for he threw -his head back, too. He never ceased his headlong -gallop and disappeared in dust on the next pitch of -the descending road. -</p> - -<p> -Pete stood staring after him. -</p> - -<p> -"What for he ride lik' that?" he whispered. He -wouldn't speak to himself of Mary. He walked on -with his head down. Why did Cultus Muckamuck -ride like that? Why did he ride like that? -</p> - -<p> -The answer was still miles ahead of him, and if -there was any answer he knew it was to be found -where Mary was. There was no light in the sky for -him as he went on. -</p> - -<p> -And the answer came to meet him before an hour -was past. -</p> - -<p> -He saw others, on the far stretched road before -him, and he wondered at the pace they came. They -did not come fast, but very slow. As he held his -hand above his eyes he saw that there were many -men coming. They were not on horseback but on -foot. Why did they come so slow? -</p> - -<p> -"Why they walk lik' that?" asked Pete. He sat -down to think why a crowd of men should be so slow. -There were eight or ten of them. If they went so -slow—— -</p> - -<p> -"It lik'——" said Pete, and then he shaded his -eyes again. The men in front were carrying -something. It looked like a funeral! -</p> - -<p> -But Pete shook his head. There was no burial -place nearer than Kamloops, and if a body were -being taken there they would have drawn it on -a wagon. -</p> - -<p> -"They're toatin' something on their shoulders," -said Pete, with a shiver. It was as if there had -been an accident, and men were carrying someone -to the hospital. Pete had seen more than one -carried. He turned a little sick. Was Cultus -riding for the doctor? Was there anyone the old -devil would have ridden to help? -</p> - -<p> -"When he wasn't pahtlum he was very fond of -Mary," said Pete shivering. -</p> - -<p> -He started to walk fast and faster still. Now the -melancholy procession was hidden behind a little -rise. He knew they were still coming, for a bunch of -steers on a low butte were staring with their heads -all in one direction. Pete ran. Then he saw the -bearers of the burden top the hill and descend -towards him. His keen eyes told him now that they -were carrying someone on a litter shoulder high. -He knew the foremost men: one was Bill Baker -of Nikola Ranche, another was Joe Batt, and yet -another Kamloops Harry, a Siwash. He named -the others, too. -</p> - -<p> -And some knew him. Pete saw that they stopped -and spoke, turning their heads to those in the rear. -One of the men, it was Simpson of Cherry Creek, -came on foot in front of the others. Pete watched -his face. It was very solemn and constrained. He -nodded to Pete when he was within twenty yards. -When he came up he put his hand on Pete's shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"We're takin' your sister to Kamloops, Pete," -said Simpson. -</p> - -<p> -Pete stared at him. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -Simpson nodded and answered Pete's wordless -question. -</p> - -<p> -"No, she ain't dead——" -</p> - -<p> -Pete turned towards Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"Ole Cultus passed ridin' lik' hell, Mr. Simpson." -</p> - -<p> -The procession halted within a few yards. -</p> - -<p> -"Damn him," said Simpson, "he's cut the poor -gal to pieces with a shovel." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -XV -</h3> - -<p> -They said to Pete— -</p> - -<p> -"Come into Kamloops with us." -</p> - -<p> -Pete shook his head and said nothing. But his -eyes burned. Kamloops Charlie urged him to come -with them, and talked fast in the Jargon. -</p> - -<p> -"You come, Pete, no one at the house now, Pete. -By-by she want you. She often talk of you with -me, want to see you." -</p> - -<p> -Charlie had worked for Cultus since Pete went -away. -</p> - -<p> -"I come by-by," said Pete. They left him standing -in the road. When some of them turned to look -at him before they came where they would see him -no more, he was still standing there. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell you Pete's dangerous," said Simpson. He -was a long, thin melancholy man from Missouri, with -a beard like grey moss on a decayed stump. -</p> - -<p> -"He'll hev' a long account with the Quin -brothers," replied Joe Batt. -</p> - -<p> -"Many has," said Bill Baker. Cultus owed him -money. Baker chewed tobacco and the cud. He -muttered to himself, and the only audible word was -"dangerous." Above his shoulder the hurt woman -moaned. -</p> - -<p> -And even when they had disappeared Pete stood -staring after them. They had time to go more than -a mile before he stirred. Then he walked a little -distance from the road and cached his bundle behind -a big bull-pine. He started the way his sister had -come, and went quick. He had seen some of his -sister's blood on the road. -</p> - -<p> -In two hours he was at the ranche, and found it -as the others had found it, when Kamloops Charlie -had come to tell them that Cultus had killed Mary. -The door was open, the table was overturned, -there was broken crockery on the floor. There was a -drying pool of blood by the open fire which burnt -logs of pine. Scattered gouts of blood were all -about the room: some were dried in ashes. The -dreadful shovel stood in the corner by the fire. Pete -took it up and looked at it. Many times he had -heard old Cultus say he would give Mary the edge. -Now he had given her the edge. Pete's blood boiled -in him: he smashed the window with the shovel. -Then he heard a bellow from the corral in which some -of the best of Cultus' small herd were kept up, some -of them to fatten for the railroad. -</p> - -<p> -"I do that," said Pete. In the stable he found -Mary's horse, a good old grey, but past quick work -save in the hands of a brute, or a Mexican or an -Indian. Pete put the saddle on him and cinched -up the girths. He found a short stock whip which -he had often used. He led the horse out, and going -to the corrals, threw down the rails. Going inside -he drove thirty cows and steers out. On the hills -at the back of the ranche about fifty more were -grazing. Pete got on the horse and cracked his -whip. He drove them all together up the hills and -into a narrow valley. It led towards a deep -cañon. There was little water in the creek at the -bottom, but there were many rocks. From one -place it was a drop of more than two hundred feet -to the rocks, and a straight drop too. The mountain -path led to it and then turned almost at right -angles. The valley in which the cattle ran grew -narrow and narrower and Pete urged them on. -</p> - -<p> -Cultus loved his steers and had half-a-dozen cows -that he milked himself when they had calves. -Whenever Pete came near one of these he cut at her -with the whip, and urged them all to a trot. They -were lowing, and presently some of the rowdier steers -bellowed. They broke at last into a gallop, and -then Pete shrieked at them like a fiend and raced the -old pony hard. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix 'em," said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -Now they were in thickish brush, with no more -than a big trail for a path. Pete lashed the grey -till he got alongside the very tail of the flying herd -and made them gallop faster still. They were all -dreadfully uneasy, alarmed, and curious, and as they -went grew wilder. They horned each other in -their hurry to escape the devil behind them, and the -horned ones at last fairly stampeded as if they were -all wild cattle off the range in the autumn. They -went headlong, with a wild young cow leading. -Pete screamed horribly, cracked with his whip, cut at -them and yelled again. The brush was thick in -front of them on the very edge of the cañon. The -little thinning trail almost petered out and turned -sharply to the left. The leader missed it and burst -through the brush in front of her. The others -followed. Behind the maddened brutes came -Pete. He saw the leader swerve with a horrid -bellow and try to swing round. She was caught -in the ribs by a big steer and went over. The ones -who came after were blinded, their heads were up -in the crush: they saw nothing till there was nothing -in front of them. They swept over the edge in a -stream and bellowed as they fell. On the empty -edge of the cañon Pete pulled up the sweating grey, -who trembled in every limb. Below them was a -groaning mass of beef. They were no longer cattle, -though one or two stumbled from the thick of the -herd and the dead and stood as if they were paralysed. -</p> - -<p> -"I wis' Ned was there," said Pete, as he turned -and galloped back down the beaten, trampled trail. -"I wis' I had him here. I serve him out." -</p> - -<p> -He rode as hard as the wretched grey could go -to where he had left his bundle. He picked it up -and turned the horse loose. Perhaps it was hardly -wise to ride it into Kamloops. It was night before -he got there. He found Kamloops Charlie in town, -drinking, and reckoned that no one would find out -for days what had happened to the cattle. He told -Charlie that he had stayed where he was left, and -had at last determined to come into town. -</p> - -<p> -"Kahta ole Cultus?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -But Cultus had taken steamer, having caught it -as it was on the point of leaving. Pete saw Simpson -at the hotel and spoke to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Your sister says as it warn't Cultus as done it," -said Simpson. "That's what she says: she allows -it was a stranger, poor gal!" -</p> - -<p> -They said she would live. But those who had -seen her said it would be best if she died. One side -of her face was dreadfully injured. -</p> - -<p> -"She must ha' bin' mighty fond of Ned Quin," -said Simpson. "She's the only one araound ez -is, I reckon." -</p> - -<p> -He stood Pete a drink. Pete told what he had -told Kamloops Charlie. -</p> - -<p> -"I tho't you'd kem along bymby," said Simpson. -"I'm sorry for the poor gal, so I am. There's them -as don't hanker after any of you Siwashes, Pete, but -I maintain they may be good. But dern a nigger, -anyhaow. You'll be huntin' a job, Pete?" -</p> - -<p> -Pete owned sulkily enough that he was hunting a job. -</p> - -<p> -"Then don't you stay araound hyar," said Simpson. -"Barrin' sellin' a few head o' measly steers -there ain't nothin' doin'. When the railroad is -through, the bottom will fall out of B.C. fo' sewer. -You go up to the Landing: things is fair hummin' -up to the Landing, an' Mason hez gone up there -to start up a kin' o' locomotive sawmill at what -they calls the Narrows. You hike off to the -Landing and tackle Mason; say I named him to you, -Pete, and if he ain't full-handed you'll be all hunkey." -</p> - -<p> -He stood himself another drink, and grew more -melancholy. -</p> - -<p> -"A few measly steers in a Gawd-forsaken land -like B.C.! Don't you hanker arter revenge agin -Ned for mishandling Mary. Revenge is sweet to -the mouth, Pete, but it's heavy work on the stummick, -ondigestible and apt to turn sour. If it hadn't -been that I hankered arter revenge (and got it) I'd -ha' bin now in Mizzouri, Gawd's kentry, whar I -come from. A few head o' weedy miserbul steers! -You leave Ned alone and I'll be surprised if he don't -leave you and Mary alone. To half cut off a gal's -head and her not to squeal! I calls it noble. -Ned will be sorry he done it, I reckon. You go up -to the Landing, boy." -</p> - -<p> -And Pete did go up to the Landing. -</p> - -<p> -And Ned, the poor wretch, was very sorry "he -done it." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVI -</h3> - -<p> -Ned Quin hadn't been down in the coast country -for years. Indeed, the last time he had been in New -Westminster he had gone there by coach. Now it -was a new world for him, a world of strange hurry -and excitement. B.C. was in a hurry: the people -of the East were in a hurry: the very river in the -roaring Fraser Cañon seemed to run faster. And -he, of all the world, was the one thing that seemed -to go slow, he and his train. He was sober now, -and in terror of what he had done. -</p> - -<p> -"By God, they'll hang me," he said. They -hanged men for murder in British Columbia, hanged -them quickly, promptly, gave them a short quick -trial, and short shrift. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I was over the Line," said Ned, as he -huddled in a corner seat and nursed his chin almost -on his knees. Across the Line they didn't hang men -quick, unless they stole horses and were exceedingly -bad citizens who wouldn't take a clean cut threat -as a warning. "I wish I was over the Line." -</p> - -<p> -And the 49th Parallel wasn't far away. Yet to -get to it wasn't easy. He had galloped from what -he believed a house of death with no money in his -pocket. He had borrowed from the skipper of the -sternwheeler, which took him from Kamloops to the -Ferry, enough to pay his fare down to Port Moody. -He must go to George's to get more. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll catch me," said Ned Quin, "they'll -catch me: they'll hang me by the neck. That's -what they say—'by the neck till you are dead'—I've -heard Begbie say it, damn him!" -</p> - -<p> -Yes, that was what Judge Begbie said to men who -cut their klootchmen to pieces with a shovel. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I was drunk," said old Ned. "Poor Mary." -</p> - -<p> -She had been as good a klootchman as there was -in the country, sober, clean, kind, long-suffering. -He knew in his heart how much she had endured. -</p> - -<p> -"Why didn't she leave me?" he whined. Whenever -the train stopped he looked up. He saw men -he knew, but no one laid his hand on his shoulder. -Few spoke to him: they said that it was as clear -as mud that he was rotten with liquor and half mad. -They left him alone. He wanted them to speak to -him, for he saw Mary on the floor of his shack. He -saw the shovel. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete will find her," said Ned. "He said he'd -kill me if I hurt her. He'll take her horse and ride -to Kamloops and tell 'em, and they'll telegraph and -catch me, they'll catch me!" -</p> - -<p> -At Port Moody he saw a sergeant of police and -felt a dreadful impulse to go up to him and have it -all over at once. He stopped and reeled, and went -blind. When he saw things again the sergeant was -laughing merrily. He looked Ned's way and looked -past him. -</p> - -<p> -"They don't know yet," said Ned. He got a -drink and took the stage over to New Westminster. -A postman with some mail-bags sat alongside him. -A postman would naturally hear anything that -anyone could hear, wouldn't he? This postman didn't -speak of a murder. He told the driver bawdy -stories, and once Ned laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Good story, ain't it?" said the pleased postman. -</p> - -<p> -They came to the City late, and as soon as they -pulled up Ned slipped down on the side away from -the lights, and went down the middle of the street -towards the Mill. He knew that George now lived -in a new house and wondered how he should find it. -He didn't like to speak to anyone. But by the Mill -he found an old Chinaman and spoke to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss live up there," said the Chinaman. "You -tee um, one plenty big house, velly good house." -</p> - -<p> -He pointed to George's house and Ned followed -the path he indicated. Ten minutes later he -knocked at the door and it was opened by Sam. -But he was not let in till Sam had satisfied himself -that this was really the brother of the Boss. He -went to the door of the sitting-room, opened it just -enough to put his head in, and said—— -</p> - -<p> -"One man, alla same beggar-man my tinkee, say -he wantee see you, Sir. My tinkee him velly dlunk. -He say your blother. My tinkee t'at not tlue." -</p> - -<p> -But George ran out and found the beggar man -shivering on the steps. -</p> - -<p> -"Ned, why, what's brought you?" -</p> - -<p> -The hall was dimly lighted and he couldn't see -Ned's face. But by his voice he knew he was in -trouble. He trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"George, I've—I've killed Mary," he said in a -dreadful whisper, "help me to get away." -</p> - -<p> -"You—my God," said George. He took the -wretched man by the sleeve. "You've done what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Killed Mary," said Ned shivering. "For God's -sake help me over the border or they'll hang me." -</p> - -<p> -He broke down and wept. George stood and -looked at him in the dim light. Sam could not pass -them to go back to the kitchen, and waited. The -sitting-room door was ajar. Someone inside moved. -</p> - -<p> -"Who's with you?" asked Ned. -</p> - -<p> -He knew nothing about Jenny. But George -forgot that he knew nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Go in," he said, "it's Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -He thrust Ned inside and turned to Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"Sam, boy, you savvy no one has come. If -anyone ask you say no one. You savvy?" -</p> - -<p> -"My savvy all light, my savvy plenty," said Sam -doubtfully. "My tinkee him your blother all light, -Sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Quin. He stood with his hand on -the handle of the door after Sam had returned to -the kitchen. -</p> - -<p> -"My God," said George again. He went into the room. -</p> - -<p> -When Ned had gone in he failed to recognise -Jenny, and thought she was a white woman. She -was nicely dressed, and now her hair was done very -neatly. Sam had taught her how to do it. When -she stood up, in surprise at the unexpected entrance -of Ned, it was obvious even to his troubled eyes -that she was near to becoming a mother. She -gasped when she saw him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mr. Ned," she cried. He looked dreadful: -his clothes were disordered, ragged; his grizzled -beard and hair unkempt and long. He looked -sixty, though he was no more than fifty, and his eyes -were bloodshot. -</p> - -<p> -"Who are you?" asked Ned sharply. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm Jenny," she murmured, looking abashed and -troubled. -</p> - -<p> -And then George came in. When Jenny saw him -she cried out— -</p> - -<p> -"What's the mattah, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -There was matter enough to make her man pallid. -But he was master of himself, for he had to look -after the poor wretch who now fell into a chair by -the fire and sat huddled up in terror. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you by and by," said George. "Give -him a drink, Jenny girl, and give me one. I've got -to go out." -</p> - -<p> -She brought the whisky to him. He poured some -out for Ned, who swallowed as a man, who had -thirsted for a tropic day, would swallow water. -George took some himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Sit quiet, Ned," said George. "I'll be back in -half an hour, Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -She followed him to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't let him move. If anyone calls, say I'm -out, dear." -</p> - -<p> -"What's the mattah, Tchorch? He looks very -ill," she murmured, with her hand on his shoulder. -George told her what Ned had told him, and Jenny -trembled like a leaf. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor, poor Mary!" she sobbed. "Oh, the cruel man!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell," said George, and Jenny controlled her -tears. -</p> - -<p> -"What you do, Tchorch?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm going to get someone to take him across the -other side," said George. "I must, I must." -</p> - -<p> -He ran out and down the hill path, and Jenny -went back reluctantly to the room where the -murderer sat. He was shivering, but the liquor had -pulled him more together for the time. He wanted -to talk. How was it that Jenny was here? He -remembered he had seen Pete on the road. -</p> - -<p> -"I saw Pete to-day," he said suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny stared down at the floor and answered -nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm a wretched man, girl," said Ned; "did -George tell you?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny did not reply, and Ned knew that she knew. -He burst into tears. -</p> - -<p> -"I've killed Mary," he said. His face was -stained with the dust of the road and the tears he -shed channelled the dirt. He looked dreadful, -ludicrous, pathetic, hideously comic. "I—I killed -her with a shovel. She was a good woman to me, -and I got mad with drink. I'll never touch it -again." -</p> - -<p> -He looked eagerly towards the bottle on the table. -He had taken some more when the others were out -of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"I've killed her, and they'll hang me, Jenny! -Where's George gone?" -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down Jenny's face. -</p> - -<p> -"He's gone to get someone to take you away, -Mr. Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -They might come any moment and take him -away! There was quite a big jail in the City. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I saw Pete this morning, no, yesterday. I -don't know when," said Ned. "When did you -come here, Jenny?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny said it was long ago. She dried her tears -for shame was hot within her. And yet joy was -alive within her. She loved Tchorch! -</p> - -<p> -"I couldn't leave Tchorch now," she said to herself, -as Ned went on talking. "I'd rather he killed -me. Poor Mary!" -</p> - -<p> -If Pete had been brutal, Mary had always been -kind. She hated Ned suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -He took another drink and sat crouched over the -fire. Every now and again he looked round. At -any noise he started. Perhaps the police were -trying to look into the house. Jenny could have -screamed. It seemed hours since George went away. -Ned muttered to the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Mary, Mary," he said in a low voice. He and -Mary had been lovers once, for when she first went -to him he was a man, and she was quite beautiful. -Across the dark years he saw himself and her: and -again he saw her as she lay in blood upon the -earthen floor of his shack, what time he had run -out and taken his horse for flight. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll hang me," said Ned, choking. -</p> - -<p> -And there were steps outside. He sprang to his -feet and hung to the mantel-shelf. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he asked. The next minute -they heard George enter the house with some other -man. -</p> - -<p> -"It's the police," screamed Ned thinly. He -believed George had denounced him. And George -put his head inside the room and beckoned to him. -Ned ran to him stumbling. The door closed on -them and Jenny fell upon her knees. Then she sank -in a heap upon the floor. She had fainted. -</p> - -<p> -In the hall was someone Ned did not know. But -George knew him and knew that he was a capable -strong man. He was Long Mac of the Pony Saw, -as strong as he was long. In the winters he hunted, -and knew all the country round about. -</p> - -<p> -"Take him across the river to-night, and away by -Whatcom to-morrow, Mac," said George; "do your best." -</p> - -<p> -Mac never did less, whether it was for evil or for -good. On the balance he was a good and fine man. -But he cared nothing for the Law and had a curious -respect and liking for George Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do that," said Long Mac. He took Ned by -the arm, and Ned without a backward glance -shuffled into the darkness. -</p> - -<p> -George went in to Jenny and found her unconscious -on the floor. He sprinkled cold water in her -face, and she moaned. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor little woman," said George. "Oh, but it's -hard lines on these poor squaws. If I died what'd -happen to her?" -</p> - -<p> -He knew their nature and knew his own. -</p> - -<p> -"But Mary's dead," said Quin. "Better for her." -</p> - -<p> -Yet Mary wasn't dead, though Mac was dragging -a whining, puling wretch of a man on a dark trail -to a country where there's a very poor trail indeed -cut for the slow and burdened army of the Law. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVII -</h3> - -<p> -Next day the Pony Sawyer was wanting at the Mill -and no one knew what had become of him, the finest -and steadiest man in the place. George White was -pleased to hear of it, for it was always his notion -that Quin would some day fire him and put Long -Mac at the lever of the Hoes. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah," said Ginger, "we never can tell: some -crooked business, I dessay! They crack up -M'Clellan 'sif he was a gawd-a-mighty, but to my -tumtum he ain't nothin' extra." -</p> - -<p> -He put Shorty Gibbs from the Shingle Mill in -Mac's place, and found his usual pleasure in piling -poor Shorty up. For of course Gibbs, though he -understood the Pony, couldn't run that lively -animal at Mac's pace. When Ginger stood up and -groaned publicly at Shorty, the new man was cross. -It led to a scene at last, but one which only puzzled -the others. For Shorty Gibbs was one of the very -quietest men who breathed. He said he hated rows -like "pison." When Ginger came round to him the -second time and said "Oh, hell," Shorty had had -enough. He stopped the Pony carriage and walked -over to Ginger. He nodded to him and said— -</p> - -<p> -"Say, see here, Ginger!" -</p> - -<p> -Ginger was an uninstructed man, he was very -hard to teach. -</p> - -<p> -"Get on with your work," said Ginger. -</p> - -<p> -Shorty was up to his shoulder. He lifted an -ingenuous face to the sawyer. -</p> - -<p> -"Ain't you bein' rather hard on a new hand, -Ginger?" he asked politely. And Ginger White -mistook him, altogether. He swore. What -happened then the other men missed; it was all so -quiet. -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, you red-headed bastard," said -Shorty in a conversational tone, or as near it as the -clatter of the Mill would allow, "look here, you -slab-sided hoosier, if you as much as open your head -to me agin I'll rip you up from your fork to your -breast-bone. See!" -</p> - -<p> -And Ginger saw. -</p> - -<p> -"You can't bull-doze me," said Shorty, becoming -openly truculent, "any more than you can bull-doze -Mac, you white-livered dog!" -</p> - -<p> -White was never brave, but since the saws had -killed Skookum his nerve was bad indeed. There -were spikes in every log for him by now. He went -back to the lever without a word and ran so slow -that Gibbs got a chance to clear the skids. -</p> - -<p> -By the time Gibbs knew what was what with -the Pony, Mac returned. He had taken Ned somewhere -to the neighbourhood of Seattle and left him -there. He went to see George Quin the moment -he got into town. And by that time there was news -from Kamloops. -</p> - -<p> -"I've planted him with an old partner of mine -that runs a hotel back o' Seattle," said Mac. -"Jenkins will keep him away from too much liquor. I -rely on Jenkins." -</p> - -<p> -George thanked him. -</p> - -<p> -"But after all," said George, "I hear that the -woman isn't dead, Mac, and what's more she lets -on that it wasn't my brother that hurt her." -</p> - -<p> -He looked at the sawyer. -</p> - -<p> -"Good girl," said Mac, "but he did it right -enough, Sir; he talked of nothing else all the -way across." -</p> - -<p> -"But if she dies what she says won't be everything," -said George. "It's best he should stay. -Thank you for going with him. Gibbs is taking -your saw." -</p> - -<p> -"Hell he is," said Mac pensively; "has he had -trouble with White?" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin hadn't heard of it. Just of late White -hadn't gone to the office with so many complaints. -Since the spiking of the logs Quin had been less easy -to deal with. He was troubled in his mind about -Pete, and about Jenny. If Pete had spiked the -logs, as Quin believed, he was capable of anything. -And poor little Jenny was about to be a mother. -It wouldn't be more than a month or two now. -</p> - -<p> -Until Jenny had come into his life in real earnest, -the Mill, the Stick Moola, had been the man's whole -desire. He loved it amazingly: there wasn't a -plank in it he didn't love, just as there wasn't a job -in it that he couldn't do in some fashion, and no -fool's fashion either. He had run the old Moola -"good and strong," caring for everything, seeing -that it had the best of everything. There wasn't a -makeshift in it: it was a good Mill and Quin was -a good manager. An accident of any kind hit -him hard. For accidents there must and will be -when saws are cutting lumber. To have a man -killed troubled him, even if it were a sheer -accident. But to have a man killed by a spiked log -was very dreadful to him. It was the more dreadful -that he had provoked the spiking. It shook Quin -up more than he had ever been shaken. It broke -his nerve a little, just as it had broken Ginger's. -And by now he was very fond of Jenny, even if he -cursed her, as he sometimes did. He dreaded this -devil of a Pete, who wasn't the kind of Siwash that -one found among the meaner tribes, the fishing, -begging Indians. He had some red and ugly blood -in him. He got on Quin's nerves. -</p> - -<p> -And then Mary was Pete's sister. If she hadn't -been he would never have known Jenny, and if he -had given Pete a job it would have been like giving -it to any Siwash. Now Pete would be more than -ever down on them both. George began to think it -worth while to find out where Pete was. He sent -up to Kamloops to ask. At the same time he sent -word to the hospital that Mary was to have anything -she wanted. There was a deal of good in George -Quin, and somehow little Jenny brought it out. -</p> - -<p> -The poor girl in the hospital knew there was good -in him. And in the old days there had been good in -Ned. Even now she loved him. When they asked -her how she had come to be injured, she declared -that it was not Ned who had done it. She said that -as she lay swathed in bandages before she knew how -much she had been hurt. She said it with white -lips that trembled when she had seen herself for the -first time in the looking-glass. Perhaps few women -would have been so brave, for she knew that -henceforth no one would look on her without strange -white bandages to hide the wound which her mad-man -had made. For she had been beautiful, and -even now there was beauty in her eyes and in the -sunken cheek and curved chin that had been spared. -But henceforth she went half covered in white linen, -since none but a doctor could bear to look upon her -without it. -</p> - -<p> -"It wasn't Ned that did it," she said to the Law -when it came to her. "It was a stranger." -</p> - -<p> -And everyone knew better than that, unless -indeed too much liquor had made Ned a stranger. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to see Ned," she murmured. And yet -she was very strong. A weak thing would have -died. But she loved life greatly, though she -wondered why. She made one of the nurses write to -her man saying that she wanted him. That brought -Ned back from Seattle. George received him -sullenly. Jenny refused to see him. -</p> - -<p> -"Watch out for Pete," said George when his -brother went up-country. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete, oh, to thunder with Pete," replied Ned. -</p> - -<p> -"Look out for him," repeated George. -</p> - -<p> -"You ain't wanting me to be scared of a Sitcum -Siwash, are you?" asked Ned angrily. "Perhaps -you're scared of him yourself. You took his -klootchman anyhow. It's more'n I did." -</p> - -<p> -George Quin was afraid of him. Many who knew -his record would have said that he was alike -incapable of fear or love, but some might have known -that love for the mother of his first and unborn -child took the courage out of him and made him -full of fears. Now he was always "watching out." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -XVIII -</h3> - -<p> -Difficult to think of anything at the Landing, Sir, -but what was going on! Give you my word it was -hurry; it hummed, and hissed and sizzled and -boomed. The forest fell down before the axe and -saw: felling axe and cross cut; and shacks arose, -shacks and shanties and shebangs, drinking shanties, -gambling shanties, stores which sold everything -from almonds to axes, and all that comes after A -right down to Z. -</p> - -<p> -The Landing's in the Wet Belt. It rains there, -it pours there, the sky falls down. Sometimes the -Lake (it's on the Shushwap, you know, close to the -head of it) rises up in dancing water-spouts. It -was once a home and haunt of bears (and is again -by now likely), but when Pete stepped ashore from -the hay-laden lake wagon called the s.s. <i>Kamloops</i>, -it wouldn't have been easy to find a bear or a -caribou within earshot. The Street, the one Street, -was full of men. There were English, French, -Germans, Dutch, Swedes, Norwegians, Russians, -Finns and Letts, mixed with autochthonous -Americans with long greasy hair (Siwashes who -lived on salmon) and other Americans of all sorts. -It was a sink, a pool, a whirlpool, it sucked men -up from down country: it drew them from the -mountains. To go East you had to pass it: going -West you couldn't avoid it. -</p> - -<p> -Men worked there and drank there and gambled -there. There were Chinamen about who played the -universal Fan-tan. There were Faro tables: Keno -went there: stud-horse poker had its haunts and -votaries. The street was a mud channel: men -drank and lay in it. By the Lake they lay in piles, -and more especially the Swedes did. They are -rousing drinkers "and no fatal error." -</p> - -<p> -There was night there, of course, for the sun -couldn't and wouldn't stay to save them oil, but as -to peace or quietness, the peaceful quiet of a human -night, there was no such thing. Sunday was rowdier -than other days, if any day could be rowdier. -If a man wanted work he could get it. Devil -doubt it, work was to be had at fine prices. Bosses -employed men to come and pretend even for two -and a half a day. They dragged men in and said, -"Take my dollars, sonny, and move some of this -stuff." Men worked and took the dollars and -gave them to the stores and gamblers. It seemed -impossible that there could ever be a lack of work. -You could get work on the grade, tilikum; you -could have a little contract for yourself, my son. -You could drive a team if you could handle horses -and mules over a toat road that would make an -ordinary driver weep: why, there were all kinds -of work, with axe and saw and pick and shovel, -and bar and drill and wedge and hammer, and maul -and all sorts of other tools. It was a concert truly, -a devil's dance of work, and of hurry and scurry -and worry. -</p> - -<p> -Why, tilikum? -</p> - -<p> -Because the railroad was being put through and -coming to an End, to two ends, to two Ends of -Track, now closing up rapidly. Once the work had -been spread over four thousand miles, away by -Montreal and Quebec and the Lake of the Woods -and the Great Lake Side, and away to Winnipeg -and Medicine Hat and Calgary and the Rockies. -Now the work narrowed to a few hundred miles, -to a hundred; to-morrow, perhaps to fifty. All -the world of the road was rammed and jammed and -crammed into a little space, as if it were but the -Gulf of Athlone. Men thrust each other aside, it -was elbow work, jostling, it was a high old crowd. -Betcher life, tilikum, it was a daisy of a time and -place that dark-eyed Pete stepped into out of that -old scow of a stern-wheeler. -</p> - -<p> -The Town scooted: she hummed: she sizzled. -What ho, and let her rip! That was the word. The -soberest men grew drunken on mere prospects: -there was money in everything: no one could miss -it: dollars grew on trees: they lined the roads: -they could be caught swimming in the Lake. Men -lived fatly: hash was good and none too dear, after -all. "For hayf a dollar" one could get piled up, -get stodged, pawled. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, come in and Eat," said one house. -</p> - -<p> -"We give the best Pie," said another. Pie -fetched the men every time. Your worker loves his -pie: there's a fine lumberers' song about Pie which -is as popular with the men of the Woods as "Joint -Ahead and Centre Back" is with Railroaders. -They all gave good pie at the Landing. You bet, -tilikum. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, in all his born days, had never seen or heard -or dreamt of such an astonishing hubbub, such go, -such never-let-up, as he saw at the busy Landing. -He was a stunned, astonished Siwash for a while and -wandered around with his eyes out of his head, -feeling lonely, stranded, desolate. And then he -found that he knew men here and there and -everywhere. Some of them slapped him on the back: -some said "Howdy": some said "Hev a drink, -sonny!" Men were generous: they felt they were -millionaires or on the way to be: it was a fine old -world. Pete smiled and smoked and drank in this -house and that and forgot for awhile all about -Mason, who was supposed to be running a little -saw-mill in the woods, that Missouri Simpson had -told him of. Pete put his woes into the background; -he couldn't hear or see them at the Landing for -quite a while. There was truly a weakness of -revenge in him. If either or both of the Quins had -followed him up and said: -</p> - -<p> -"Look hyar, Pete, come and hev a drink and let's -talk about these klootchmen——" -</p> - -<p> -Why, it is at least possible that Pete would have -drunk till he wept and have taken dollars to forgive -them about Jenny and Mary. He had a weakness -in him, poor devil, as so many have. -</p> - -<p> -But when finally he did get work in a big stable -helping the head stableman who looked after some -of the C.P. Syndicate's horses, he found many who -remembered or had heard, or had just learned all -about Jenny and Mary. That's the best or the -worst of B.C., as I said some time ago, everyone -knew everyone and all about them. They talked -scandal like a lot of old or young women: told you -about this man's wife or that: they raked up the -horrid true story of Ned Quin's killing one poor -klootchman by kicking her. They asked Pete for -information about Mary. When some were drunk -they mentioned Jenny. They never gave poor Pete -a chance to forget, and over and above the mere -mischief of drunken scandalous chatter, there were -one or two who hated the Quins. Neither of them -hesitated about downing a man by way of business, -though of late years Ned had been no more than a -shooling no-good-sort of man all round. So one -or two said: -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Pete, you ain't let up on them Quins, hev -you? Them Quins are two damn smart-alecks, -that's what they are! I say they're mean, oh, -mean ain't the word. I hear Ned Quin cut your -sister to slivers with an axe. Is it true?" -</p> - -<p> -They got him crying about Mary and Jenny, and -presently it was understood that Pete had forgotten -nothing. All he was after was a few dollars. Why? -"Well, to tell the trewth, tilikums, I believe, -straight, that the boy's idea is to kill one or both o' -them Quins and then skip across the forty-ninth -Par'lel and away." -</p> - -<p> -They put that into Pete's head: told him it was -easy to skip out. They knew better. But one -man, named Cumberland, who had been done in a -deal by George and done pretty badly, cheated, in -fact, and outfaced, egged the boy on daily. -Cumberland had all the desire to be "a bad man" -without the pluck, or grit, or sand to be an imitation -of one. But he never forgot. -</p> - -<p> -In all the fume and roar of this short-lived Town -it was easier to get money than to save it. -Everything cost money, cost dollars; "two bits" was the -least coin that went, and that's a quarter of a -dollar. Pete had an Indian's thirst, and drank -more than was good for him. If it hadn't been -that the rush of work handling hay-bales, sacks of -oats, maize, flour, mats of sugar, cases of dynamite, -and tools and all the rest, sweated the alcohol out -of him he would have got the sack promptly, the -Grand Bounce. As it was he stayed, being really a -worker, and as nice a boy to work alongside as -one could wish. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete's a clever boy for a Sitcum Siwash," said -the Boss. For clever in the vernacular of the West -means nice. They quite liked him, even though -the real white men looked down on him, of course, -as real Whites will on everyone who isn't White. -But he had his tilikums even there, an Irish Mike -who hadn't learned to look down on anyone and -would have actually consorted with a nigger, and -another half-breed, originally from Washington -Territory and by his mother a D'wamish, or Tulalip, -of the Salishan, but educated, so to speak. They -both looked down on the Indians of the Lakes, who -caught salmon and smelt wild and fishy, like a bear -in the salmon-spawning season. Oh, yes, Pete had -his friends. But no friend that was any good. For -D'wamish Jack was a thick-headed fellow and the -Micky always red-headed for revenge on everyone. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll stick 'um," he used to say. He was going to -stick everyone who disagreed with him. He had an -upper lip almost as long as an American-Irish -caricature. When he was drunk he moaned about Ireland -and Pete's woes and his own. -</p> - -<p> -With such partners in the hum of the Town it -wasn't a wonder that Pete didn't accumulate the -shekels, or pile in the dibs or the dollars, or the -t'kope chikamin. He had as many cents to his -name by the time it was high summer as when he -came to the Landing. And then he struck a streak -of luck, as he said, and as D'wamish Jack said and -as the Mike said. He went one Sunday into a -Faro lay-out, run by an exceedingly pleasant -scoundrel from Arizona, who was known as Tucson -Thompson. You will kindly pronounce Tucson as -Tewson, and oblige. -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't another such a man as Tucson in the -Town, or the Wet Belt, or the Dry Belt, or all B.C. -He was born to be a gambler and was really polite, -so polite that it was impossible to believe he had -ever killed anyone when you were with him and -quite as impossible to doubt it when you went away -and thought of him. He was nearly fifty, but as -thin as a lath, he could talk like a phonograph, tell -stories like an entertainer, and the few women in the -town held the belief that he was exceedingly -handsome. He wasn't, but he had a very handsome -tongue. When he lost, if he did lose, he didn't seem -to mind. When he won, he appeared to take the -money with some regret. At the worst he did -it as a pure matter of business: he gave you so -many cards, and you gave him so many dollars. He -said he ran a straight game. There wasn't a man in -the Town equal to saying he didn't, and when one -understands that no one is allowed to kill anyone -else in British Columbia for saying he is a liar, it will -be understood that there was more to Tucson -Thompson that lay on the surface. He inspired -respect, and required it with a politeness which -was never urgent but never unsuccessful. -</p> - -<p> -He had his lay-out in the back-room of the -Shushwap House, where they sold "Good Pie," and said -so outside in big letters. -</p> - -<p> -It was there that Pete acquired what he looked on -as a competency. It was two hundred and fifty -dollars, a very magnificent sum. Whether Tucson -really ran a straight game, or thought it was about -time to give himself a great advertisement, cannot -be said, but this time Tucson or the straight cards -let Pete in for a mighty good thing, which turned -out a bad thing, of course. The only point about it -was that Tucson didn't get the cash back again, as -he might very reasonably have expected, seeing that -gamblers are gamblers, and that a Sitcum Siwash -doesn't usually hang on to dollars till the eagles -on them squeal in anguish. -</p> - -<p> -And the reason of this was that someone from -Kamloops, a storekeeper on the look out for business -at the Landing, was in the gambling shanty when -Pete raked in his pile. He slapped Pete on the back -first of anyone and took him on one side. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, Pete, old son, hev you heard about your -sister?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Heard what?" asked Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"She's outer the hawspital." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you seen her?" -</p> - -<p> -The storekeeper nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"She's dreadful hurt, Pete," he said with horrid -unction. "I saw her the day she kem out. She's -wropped up all one side of her face, like a corp, all -in white. They say Ned Quin cut half her face off." -</p> - -<p> -Pete's face was as dreadful as his sister's. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"She's gone back to Ned," replied the storekeeper. -"She would go back: it warn't no good arguin' with -her. Mrs. Alexander offered her a job in her kitchen, -bein' a good old soul, but Mary would go back to -him, she would." -</p> - -<p> -Pete stood him a drink and then took one himself -and then another. He flatly refused to play any -more. But he spent ten dollars on the crowd. The -more he drank the soberer he seemed to grow. The -liquor hid the tension in him, and the excitement of -the game. Mary was cut to bits and was back with -Ned! He chewed on that as he drank. The -storekeeper got hold of him again. -</p> - -<p> -"Some enemy o' Ned's got home on him, Pete, and -no fatal error," said he, with his eyes fixed on the -young fellow; "some enemy got home on him and -no fatal error." -</p> - -<p> -"What?" said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -"They ran his cattle, some fine fat steers and a -few good cows, into the cañon back of his place, and -killed most of them." -</p> - -<p> -Pete grunted and looked on the floor. -</p> - -<p> -"He allows you done it, Pete. But there ain't no -evidence you done it, boy. The men araound -Kamloops allows it sarves him right, Pete. Ned Quin -ain't a single friend araound Kamloops. The poor -girl! She used to be so pretty. I reklec' her as a -little girl: there warn't a tenas klootchman araound -ez' could hold a candle to Mary, bar your wife Jenny. -I heerd George Quin hez give her dresses and rides -her araound in a carriage, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -There were many times when the Kamloops -steamer left the Landing at night. She couldn't -keep to times: she came and went when she was -full or empty. The owners of the cranky old scow, -turned into a sternwheeler, coined money out of -her, though her steam-chest leaked and she shook -as she went. Now she tooted her horn, blew her -whistle. It was nigh on to midnight, but there was -a high white moon above the hills, and on the quiet -lake a moon's wake shone. Pete thrust the -storekeeper aside and went to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Hullo, Pete, old chap, where you goin'? Halo -klatawa, you son of a gun!" said many. But Pete -paid no attention. His wife was riding around in -carriages with George Quin, and Mary had gone -back to Ned. He ran down to the wharf where the -steamer lay and jumped on board as she backed off -the shingle. -</p> - -<p> -He saw the fairy lights of the Landing die down, -and then the steamer rounded a point and the -Landing saw him no more. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll kill em' both," said Pete. He could not -see the quiet wonder of the night and the glory of the -moon above the peaceful pine-clad hills. He saw -poor Mary in a shroud, and Jenny laughing at him -from the side of George Quin, who also smiled in -triumph. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -XIX -</h3> - -<p> -What the storekeeper told Pete was true enough, -but such a man as that could know nothing of the -deep inside of things, and the heart of such a strange -woman as Indian Mary was hidden from him and all -like him. It was hidden from herself, even when she -knew she was maimed and disfigured, for still in spite -of her bitterness and grief she yearned to go back to -him who had hurt her and made her very dreadful -to see. She had given herself to him once for all, -and her heart was steadfast to the man he seemed -to be when he took her to his house. Even then she -had known his history, and had not been ignorant -of his cruelty to a little dead woman who lay with -an unborn child in the cemetery at the back of -Kamloops town. When they first met he was -grieving, as even such as Ned must, for the deed -that made him lonely, and he was doing his poor -best to keep away from drink. In those days he -was a handsome man, taller and finer looking than -his brother, and he captured Mary's heart. She was -taken, as women can be taken, by seeing a strong -man grieving, and she believed that he was more -unfortunate than evil. For ten years she had -hoped against hope, and now knowing that it was -almost hopeless, was yet faithful rather to the dead -man within him than to the wretch that he was. -</p> - -<p> -"I must go back to him," she said. She could do -no other. -</p> - -<p> -And yet when he came to the hospital, and asked -for her, she fell into a deadly tremble of sickness and -would not see him. He had made her hideous, for -though white linen hid her face, she could see beneath -it, and knew. The man would hate what he had -done, and hate her to whom he had done it. He -went away mournfully, and for once went out of -Kamloops quite sober, carrying no liquor. But -before he went he was spoken to by the same -sergeant of police whom Pete had feared after he had -destroyed the cattle, and Ned was sick of heart to be -so spoken to. -</p> - -<p> -"It's lucky for you the gal didn't die, Quin," said -the sergeant. "We'd ha' hung you high for it. She -allows you didn't do it, but we know better. Run -straight and keep sober, or we'll have you yet. -You're a disgrace to a civilized community, a disgrace -to a civilized country, Sir, that's what you are, -you damned cayoot!" -</p> - -<p> -Ned Quin had to take that and chew on it. And -once, as he knew, he had been a man. He cried as -he rode back to his ranche. He met old -acquaintances who would not know him, and when he got -back home to find it lonelier than his worst -imagination, he feared to face it. Even the corrals were -empty. The cattle that he had loved were dead: -the cañon stank with them. One solitary cow lowed -near the shack: Mary's horse was on the hill behind -it with horses that belonged to Missouri Simpson, -one of those who that day had met him on the road -without the salutation that any stranger would get -in a hospitable and kindly land. -</p> - -<p> -He "hung it out" for days without drinking. He -worked all he could: he rode over to the Nikola and -rounded up a few head of steers that hadn't been -handy when Pete drove the rest to death. He -mended the broken fences of his corrals: he cleaned -up the cold, neglected house. He cleaned up Mary's -blood, and shivered as he scraped the earthen floor -of the signs that were so nearly those of murder and -of death. -</p> - -<p> -He suffered agonies at night-time and still struggled, -perhaps in his last fight against alcohol. -</p> - -<p> -And when he had been alone a week Mary came -back. She could not help coming: her heart was a -mother's, seeing that she had no children, and the -poor thing she loved was her child. She was lonely -without him. Perhaps he would be kind now, -perhaps he would forgive her for being so hideous. -For one side of her face was still beautiful: both -her sorrowful eyes were lovely. She left the hospital, -and never entered a house in town. She went out -at night lest they should see her, and faced the -hill-road, as it wound up the hills at the back of the -town, in a starry darkness. Her strength was not -much, but she had enduring Indian blood in her -veins, that blood that helps poor squaws to carry -loads their lordly men will not touch: that blood -that helps them to suffer uncomplaining: that -blood which, in their male children, helps to endure, -if need be, the dreadful torture of the hostile fire -and stake. She went swiftly through the night, and -long before dawn came over the last hill in the trail -which led to the desolate ranche where her steadfast -heart lay. Under the stars and a faint fine glow -that was the dawn, she saw the little shack, and -then her heart and limbs failed her. She sat down -and cried softly for her sad life and her tortured -love, and her lost beauty under the shroud of white -linen over her right cheek and jaw. Would he be -kind to her, or would he hide his eyes and drive her -from him? She knew nothing but that her sad -heart needed him, even him, rather than any kind -and gentle man that lived. She rose up trembling -but set forward on the trail, and at last came to the -house. A little chill breeze blew down from the -hills, and a cloud hid the faint rose of dawn, so -that it was full night as she crossed the threshold. -For Ned, sleeping uneasily and afraid of the very -house, had set the door open. She stayed and heard -him move in the bed. She reached out her empty -arms, but not to any God. She reached them to -her wretched child, her man. And then Ned woke. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he cried aloud. He saw a dark -figure against the lucid night beyond the door. -</p> - -<p> -"What's that?" he cried again. His voice shook. -</p> - -<p> -"It's Mary," said the ghost he saw and feared. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you——" he cried. She heard him shake. -"Have you come back?" -</p> - -<p> -She fell upon her knees by the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Ned." -</p> - -<p> -He reached out a hand to her. It was cold as -ice: for the blood had gone to his heart and brain. -</p> - -<p> -"You've come back—to me?" -</p> - -<p> -He knew it was a miracle, and, brutish and -besotted as he was, he felt the awful benediction -of her presence. -</p> - -<p> -"To me!" -</p> - -<p> -To him, to a man who had cursed her life at its -springs, who had given her no joy, who had cut her -to pieces by their bed and warm hearth! She had -come back. -</p> - -<p> -"If you want me," she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -He shook and trembled. If he wanted her! He -wanted nothing but her: she was the world to -him. -</p> - -<p> -"If I want you!" -</p> - -<p> -He clutched her hands and kissed them. She felt -the hot tears run on them. He wept for her, the poor -man wept. She dragged herself close to the bed and -tried to speak, tried to tell him that she was so -altered. She spoke as if he had nothing to do with -it: as if she had been smitten by some strange -accident, by some disease, by some malignant and most -unhappy fate. He heard her whisper. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm, I'm not pretty now," she sobbed dryly. -"Ned, I'm not toketie any more!" -</p> - -<p> -For once, perhaps, he suffered more than she did: -for that time he exceeded her grief, because this was -his deed. He groaned. -</p> - -<p> -"But if you want me!" -</p> - -<p> -"I want you, Mary," he screamed suddenly, "no -one else, dear Mary: oh, what a wretch I am!" -</p> - -<p> -The best of him, long hidden, long concealed, in a -drought of tears, came up at last. He hid his head -in the pillow and cried like a child. She sat upon the -bed in an urgent desire of maternal help and held his -head between her hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -She took him at last in her arms and murmured -to him gently. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh, my man, my Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -He felt the linen on her face and shivered, but -spoke no more. She lay down by him and, overcome -by her strange pure passion and the fatigue -of the miles she had travelled to come to him, she -at last fell asleep. -</p> - -<p> -Then the slow dawn grew up over the clouds, and -came in colour across the sunburnt hills and entered -their home. Ned sat up in bed beside her and saw -her dear face covered by its shroud. -</p> - -<p> -"Help me, oh, God!" said the man. -</p> - -<p> -And perhaps help might come, not from any -God, but from the deep heart that prayed to the -spirit of man which hides in all hearts and only -answers to prayer, if it answers at all to any -pleading. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -XX -</h3> - -<p> -Though the railroad, the mighty railroad, the one -and only Railroad of the Big Admiring World, was -the chief topic of talk from Montreal to the Pacific, -and not least so in little Kamloops by her blue -river and lake, yet there was time for talk of other -things even there. The men cackled and chattered -in saloons and out of them, as is the fashion in -sparsely inhabited countries as well as in suburbs, -of all the windy ways of men. Like dust was the -talk lifted up, like dust it fell and rose again. And -the boys often talked of Ned, who, it seemed, had -struck a new streak of virtue and avoidance of -liquor. -</p> - -<p> -"'Twas nip and tuck with him and the law," -said one, "and he's still scared." -</p> - -<p> -"True 'nough, Indian Mary nigh payssed in her -checks. One more cut and she'd ha' bin mimaloose. -They say so at the hawspital," said another. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if he's done with Pitt River Pete, -yet," wondered a third. "D'ye think he druv -them steers into the cañon?" -</p> - -<p> -"Who else? No, Ned Quin ain't through with -Pete. Now I like Pete, he's a first-class Siwash, -not bad by no means. And I never cottoned to -Ned. He's got religion now, eh? Oh, shucks!" -</p> - -<p> -So the fates and men disposed of things even at -the time that the <i>Kamloops</i> sternwheeler came -sweeping west through the quiet waters of the -lakes and the quick stream of the connecting river, -bearing Pete and his strange fortunes. -</p> - -<p> -He fell instantly among such thieves of reputation, -such usual slanderers of hope in sorrowful men, -and heard the worst there was to hear, made better -by no kindly word. Perhaps they knew well in -their hearts that reformation was a vain thing: -they scorned Ned's efforts to be better, and made the -worst, as the world is apt to do, of all he had done. -They drew frenzying pictures of Mary with the -half-hid face: they told Pete of her sad aspect, -and related, in gross passages of bloody words, -exaggerations constructed out of stories from the -hospital of mercy. -</p> - -<p> -As if their incitements were insufficient, the coast -talk of George and Jenny came up stream to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Him and her's havin' a hell of a good time, Pete. -He took your pretty klootchman over to Victoria -as bold as brass, as if he was Lord High -Muckamuck and she my Lady Dandy oh! Druv her -araound in carriages, little Jenny as we knowed -in Mis' Alexander's kitchen: she ez praoud ez any -white woman, dressed to kill, and no fatal error. -He's giv' her silks and satins like as if she wuz his -wife, and she gigglin' happy. I say it's a dern -shame for a man to kapsualla a chap's klootchman. -Bymby he'll throw her over, chuck her out. And -they say she's got a kid now, and it ain't yours, Pete." -</p> - -<p> -There was love of offspring deep in Pete's heart, -hidden from himself till this moment. He ran out -of the shanty into the street. -</p> - -<p> -"There ain't no need to fill the boy up the way -you're doin'," said one of the loafers uneasily. -"If ain't no good to make him so ez he'll murder -them Quins." -</p> - -<p> -The others laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"None of us is stuck on the Quins," they -declared. "And if Pete is burro enough to bray -too loud and kick up his heels, forgettin' he's only -a Siwash, they'll fill him up with lead. And even -in this yer British Columbia, which is a dern sight -too law-abidin' for a man, we reckon that -self-defence is a good defence sometimes. Here's the -worst of luck to Judge Begbie, anyhaow." -</p> - -<p> -Next morning Pete rode on a hired horse towards -the Nikola, being full of liquor ere he set out with a -bottle in his pocket. He had tried to buy a gun, -a six-shooter, but there are few in most British -Columbia towns, and those who wore them by -habit, in spite of the law, were not sellers. When a -man has carried a "gun" for years he feels cold -and helpless without it. That's one of the facts -that are facts, tilikum. -</p> - -<p> -But Pete didn't care. There were such things as -shovels, said Pete furiously. -</p> - -<p> -It was a heavenly bright morning, and the far -distance of the warm hills, rising in terraces above -the Lake, shone clear and warm. Such is the -summer there, so sweet, so tender, so clear, and -every day is a bride of kindly earth. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode hard and saw nothing but the wan -aspect of his sister, and the giggling jeer of Jenny, -clad in scarlet and bright shame. -</p> - -<p> -The good brown earth with the lordly bull-pines -scattered on rising hills was very fair to look upon. -On the higher levels of the terraces were pools of -shining lakes: some shone with shores of alkali -and some were pure sweet water. -</p> - -<p> -Pete, riding a doomed man however he wrought, -drank no pure water with his heart. He sucked -bitter water from the bitterest lakes, poor fool, -going to do his duty, as his Indian blood said, and -as much white blood would have said as well. -</p> - -<p> -The sun, unclouded as it was, shone without the -fierceness of the later summer. The grass, though -it was browned, had still sap within it. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode half-drunken, with fire within him. -</p> - -<p> -And then at last he topped the rise that hid -Ned's shack. He saw a woman by the shack, and -with his eyes discerned even from afar that she -wore white linen on her head. But he could not -hear her sing. And yet poor Mary sang: it seemed -that out of her sorrow there had grown so great a -joy that song would come from her wounded -healing heart. -</p> - -<p> -Pete rode down the trail. So in fine weather -among the hills a storm may break. So may a -cyclone, a tornado, approach a city. So may fire -burst out at quiet, sleepy midnight. In one moment -there was horror in the happy and repentant and -praying home where Ned and Mary had come -together once again. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mary," said Pete. He came riding fast. -She looked up, did not know him, and looked again, -and knew him. She called to Ned, who came out -at the sound of galloping. -</p> - -<p> -"It's Pete," she cried, but Ned stood there -stupidly. In his great repentance and his new -found peace he could not believe in bitter enmity, -in war or in revenge. -</p> - -<p> -There is a power of strange madness in the Indian -blood, diluted though it be. Under the maddening -influence of liquor the nature of the Indian flowers -in dreadful passions, forgetful of new circumstances, -oblivious of punishment and of law. None knew -this better than Ned Quin, and yet he stood there -foolishly, with a doubtful smile upon his face, a -smile almost of greeting. He was even ready to -forgive Pete for what he had done. He felt his -heart was changed, and without a touch of religion -or creed this was a natural and sweet conversion. -But Mary tugged at his arm, for she knew. -</p> - -<p> -The whirlwind came down on them: Pete rode at -him and, ere he awakened and turned, rode him -down. Ned fell and was struck by the horse, -reluctant to ride over him, and Pete leapt from the -saddle. He saw Mary with her hands up, but -chiefly saw the white shroud on her face. He forgot -her, forgot his horse, and only remembered that -one of the brothers he hated lay sprawling before -him, half stunned, raised on one hand. With a -club, a branch of knotted fir, that he seized on, he -went for the man and battered him. Mary flew at -him, and he sent her headlong with a backward -motion of his left arm. She reeled and fell and got -upon her knees, screaming with bitter rage at her -brother. But she was weak, and though she got -to her feet again, she fell once more. She saw -Ned bleeding, saw him fall supine, saw his empty -hands open and shut: she heard the blows. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," she cried. Within the shack there -was a shot-gun. It stood in the corner, there were -cartridges handy. She crawled for the house, and -got on her feet again and staggered till she reached -it. She found the gun and the cartridges, threw -the breech open, rammed one in and closed it. The -possession of the weapon gave her strength. She -ran out, and Pete saw her coming, saw the gun go to -her shoulder. With the club in his hand he ran at -her as quick as he had been in the Mill. And as he -nearly closed with her she fired. He felt the very -heat of the discharge, was blinded by it and by the -grains of powder, and fell unhurt, save for a burnt -and bloody ear. Mary struck him with the butt and -knocked him senseless: he lay before her like a -log. She dropped the gun and ran to Ned and fell -upon her knees. She lifted his battered head and -prayed for his life, and even as she prayed she -believed that he was killed. There was no motion -in him; her trembling hand could feel no -heart-beat. She heard her brother groan. -</p> - -<p> -"He's killed him," she screamed, "he's killed him!" -</p> - -<p> -She laid her man down with his head upon a sack -that lay near by. She turned to Pete with blazing -eyes and saw the man she believed she had slain -sitting up and staring about him foolishly. From one -car blood ran: his white face was powder-scorched. -</p> - -<p> -"You devil," said his sister, "you've killed my -man, the man I loved; oh, you wicked beast, you -cruel wretch, you pig——" -</p> - -<p> -She screamed horrible abuse at her brother, -dreadful abuse and foolish. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll hang you, hang you, hang you!" -</p> - -<p> -She yelled this at him as she stood before him -like a fury. The words went by him like a breeze: -they entered his ears but not his brain: he was still -stupefied, half unconscious. He turned away and -was violently sick. She pitied him not and was -remorseless. She took him by the shoulder and -shook him. He turned a foolish and wondering -face at her, with some dawn, a very dim dawn, of -consciousness in him. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll get you hanged," she said. He heard the -word "hanged" and again "hanged" and wondered -sickly what it meant. She ran from him and -he watched her. She went to the horse which -stood some twenty yards away. The animal -started and walked away and she stopped and -spoke soothingly to it, using low words and bidding -it be gentle. She went round in a circle and got -upon the other side of it, and at last the horse -stood still and let her grasp the bridle. Pete -wondered what horse it was and why she was catching -it. She brought it to the shack and slipped the -bridle reins over a post. -</p> - -<p> -He saw her use incredible strength and drag -Ned Quin into the house. She cried aloud and -sobbed most dreadfully. She put her man in the -shadow, laid his head upon a pillow and covered -his wounded face with white, even as her own was -covered. She shut the door and came out. Pete -still sat upon the ground with both hands outspread -behind him. She said that he would be hanged, -again she said it. He saw her get upon his horse -and ride away towards the road. Where was she -going? Who was it that was going? What was -this woman going for? -</p> - -<p> -These were horrible problems, but he knew, as a -man knows things in a nightmare, when he cannot -move, that their solution concerned him. They -concerned him seriously. He struggled to solve them. -It seemed that he spent years, aye, centuries, in the -bitter attempt and still he saw the woman astraddle -on a horse go up the rise to the north. This was a -woman, oh, God, what woman?—a woman with a -white cloth on her face, a ridiculous fierce figure who -had said "hanged!" What was "hanged"? -What did it mean? And why did she say it to -him? What was he for that matter, and who was -he? He struggled hard to discover that. So far -as he could see, he was an unnamed, peculiarly -solitary speck of aching, struggling matter in a -world of pain. So they say the disembodied may -feel. His senses were numbed: they sent foolish -messages to him, messages that warned him and -alarmed him without being intelligible. He knew -that he was in some great danger. He saw a house, -but did not know it; a gun, but could not say -what it was and why it lay there in the pounded, -trodden dust. Something wet dripped from his -head: he put his hand up and saw blood upon -it. Whoever he was, he was hurt in some way. -He sighed and still saw the woman. Now she -disappeared. It mattered very much. Why was -she leaving him? He spoke suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -"What's my name?" said Pete. -</p> - -<p> -If he could only get that. On that point hung -everything: he felt sure of that. Now he knew -he was a man; he had got so far. But what -manner of man he could not tell. How silly -everything was! He groaned and grinned. Then he -started. -</p> - -<p> -"My name's Pete," he said suddenly. "It's Pete!" -</p> - -<p> -This was the clue: this the end of the tangled -cord of things. It was, he felt, utterly idiotic and -alarming to know so much and no more. It was -infinitely annoying. He said "I'm Pete, am I Pete, -I'm Pete, eh!" and then sat staring. He wanted -some kind of help, but what help he did not know. -The task of discovering what all things were from -what seemed the primal fact of all, that he was -called Pete, appeared hugely difficult. He cried -about it at last. And then some chickens came -round the corner of the shack, and pecked in the -dust. A big rooster came after them and stood upon -a log, and whooped a loud cock-a-doodle-doo! It -was a natural sound. Pete knew it and stared with -sudden intelligence at the brilliant bird upon the -log. Of a sudden the whole veil over all things was -lifted. He knew who he was and why he was there -and what he had done! Above all he knew what -the word "hanged" meant. It was his sister who -had said it. He got upon his knees and staggered -till he could hold on to the house. It was a help -to hold on to something while he thought. -</p> - -<p> -"Hanged," said Pete. He had killed a man. -Where was he? It was Ned Quin. But if he had -killed him how had he got away? -</p> - -<p> -"I won't be hanged," said Pete. "I won't. -She's gone to tell 'em I've made Ned mimaloose, -killed him. I'll stop her!" -</p> - -<p> -That was a very clear idea, and the notion satisfied -him for a while as he swayed to and fro. But -how? The woman with the white linen had taken -his horse. It was again a hard problem, but since -he knew who he was, things were very much easier, -though they were still a struggle. He didn't know -how he got there, but presently he found himself -in the stable, leading out Ned Quin's horse, a lean -and old, but still sound, sorrel. It was wonderful to -find that he had a horse already saddled and bridled. -He didn't know that he had put the saddle on and -cinched up the girths himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I'm all right. That kloshe," said Pete. -He almost forgot in his satisfaction what he wanted -the horse for. But presently he remembered that -he had to stop that woman (his sister, was she?) -from going somewhere. Was there such a place as -Kamloops? Very likely there was. Then he saw -the gun. -</p> - -<p> -"She shot at me," he said with feeble indignation, -"I'm bleeding." -</p> - -<p> -He wept again. -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly he saw all things as clear as day. -He had killed Ned: she had shot him and then she -had said she would go into Kamloops and denounce -him. There wasn't any time to lose. He "hung -up" the horse and picked the gun from the ground. -He went to the house and opened the door. It was -very dark inside and the outside sun was now -burning bright. He stumbled across something and only -saved himself from falling with great difficulty. -What had he stumbled over? He peered on the -ground and as the pupils of his eyes dilated he saw -a body stretched out with a white cloth over the -face. He trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"It's—it's Ned," he said, shaking. "They'll -hang me!" -</p> - -<p> -He wanted to lift the white cloth but dared not. -He went round the body to the shelf where he knew -the cartridges were kept. He put a handful in his -pocket and then went out with his eyes straight -before him. But he still saw the white cloth. When -he was outside he loaded the gun in both barrels -and clambered on the old sorrel with great -difficulty. As he rode he swayed to and fro in the -saddle. -</p> - -<p> -But he had to catch Mary, had to stop her. That -notion was all the thought in him. It helped to -keep him from falling off. Yet he rode like a -drunken man, and the landscape reeled and shifted -and danced. The big bull-pines swayed as if there -were a great wind and the road was sometimes a -double track. Yet far ahead of him he saw a figure -on a horse. It must be Mary. He clutched the -gun and the horn of the saddle and spurred the old -sorrel with a solitary Mexican spur which he had -borrowed in the town. And as he rode the world -began to settle down before him at last. Though -his head was splitting he rode without his hat. It -lay in red dust by Ned's house. -</p> - -<p> -At first he went at a walk, but presently he urged -the sorrel to a reluctant lope. The figure before him -loped too. He saw he made little headway. He put -the sorrel into a gallop and knew that he gained on -her who now hated him. It was unjust of her: -what he had done was for her, not for himself. Ned -had hurt her horribly. Pete couldn't understand -her. She appeared to love the man who had cut -her down. It was foolish, strange. -</p> - -<p> -And she meant to have him "hanged." That -was the last spur to him: his vision cleared and -became normal. The shifting planes of the terraced -land in front of him sat down at last. He drove the -spur into the sorrel brutally and set him at a furious -gallop. He knew the horse that Mary rode was -tired: it was not much of a cayuse at any time. He -saw her plainly now. -</p> - -<p> -And then she looked round and saw a horseman -coming furiously. What horseman it was she knew -not. Yet it might be Pete, though he was disabled. -She made her horse gallop: she flogged him with a -heavy quirt that hung to Pete's saddle. -</p> - -<p> -But the man behind her gained. She saw him -coming in front of a cloud of white dust. She looked -back through dust. But perhaps it wasn't Pete. -</p> - -<p> -Then she knew the action of the old sorrel, and -panic got hold of her. It was Pete. Yes, that was -certain. She screamed to her horse, and struck him -hard. Now she heard above the sound of his hoofs -upon the road the following echo-like thud of the -sorrel as he crept up to her. She topped a little rise -and raced down hill recklessly. Behind her now -there was a moment's cessation of the following -sound. Then she heard it again and looking back -saw Pete come down the hill. He was within a -quarter of a mile of her and she was not yet half-way -to Kamloops! -</p> - -<p> -She was his sister and an Indian. She was usually -merciful to animals in spite of that: merciful and -kind. But now she feared for herself, and the deep -nature within her flowered as it had done when she -sought Pete's life. She flogged the horse till she -was weary and then pulled out a little knife she -carried and stabbed it through the hide just behind -the saddle. It was a bitter and cruel spurring. -Under the dreadful stimulus her tired horse -responded and galloped furiously. But the old horse -behind her was the better animal: he answered -that gallop of his own accord and was emulous, -eager. -</p> - -<p> -She heard Pete's voice, she turned and saw him -creeping up to her: she saw he had the gun. She -looked at him over her shoulder as they galloped: -his face was dreadful to see: part of his ear was -hanging loose: the blood was on his neck and -shoulder. She saw him open his mouth: he was -speaking: telling her to stop! -</p> - -<p> -But he had killed her man! She believed it! -She would not stop. -</p> - -<p> -Now he crept further up to her, and her old horse -was urged on by the following thunder of near hoofs. -She turned from her pursuer: he saw nothing of -her face but the white cloth. She heard him cursing -awfully. He called her foul names: he screamed -insults. Though she kept her eyes upon the road -she saw dimly that he was ranging up alongside her. -</p> - -<p> -"Stop," cried Pete. She answered on her horse -with the quirt: she had dropped her knife a mile -back. Behind the saddle there were blood marks. -She was in a whirlwind: the sun burnt: the dust -rose: she saw cattle run across the road. Beyond -that slope Kamloops lay: through a fold of one of -the terraces she saw a patch of the lake away to the -east: yonder was the crystalline and azure Thompson. -In front, the dark stained hill beyond the -river and beyond Kamloops rose more clearly. Then -she heard nothing of what he said: she saw his -furious face, saw the blood again, the flapping -cartilage of his ear, and then she saw him lift the -gun. This then meant death! But when the -explosion burst upon her like a blow, she felt the horse -throw up his head, and knew that they were both -falling. She saw, even as she fell, the one clear -picture: the horse with his bleeding neck -outstretched and his legs failing: the white road: the -radiant prairie: the tall brown trees: the splendid -river. Then the earth rose at her: she pitched -headlong, and rolled over motionless. -</p> - -<p> -On the road the wounded horse lay, lifting up his -head as one aghast at death. He made no sound: -the blood poured from the burst arteries and his head -sank back. -</p> - -<p> -Pete never looked behind him as he threw the gun -away and went at a merciless gallop for the last level -mile before the uplands opened on the valley of the -Lake. He cursed his sister and Ned Quin and -himself. How could he get away? -</p> - -<p> -Before he got to the pitch of the road he turned -in his saddle and looked back. He saw the dark -patch that the dead horse made. He saw the cattle -coming to find out what the unusual spectacle -meant, for their curiosity was insatiable. Some -already stood, staring and tossing their heads, in a -half-circle round Mary and the horse. -</p> - -<p> -Soon all the world would be in a circle round the -victims! Where was he to go and how was he to -act? He pulled up suddenly and put his hand to -his aching head. If he went into Kamloops as he -was, with a horse all flaked with foam, and with his -own ear bleeding, all the little world of the town -would be agog to know what had happened. -</p> - -<p> -And yet if he hid till dark, some would find Mary, -perhaps dead, upon the open road. Someone might -go to the shack and discover Ned. It was hard to -know how to act. He remembered for the first time -that he had a bottle in his pocket. He asked advice -of that: it sent him flying down the road to -Kamloops. It was best to risk things, best not to wait, -not to dodge or to hide. His only chance was to get -down to the coast and out of the country. To get -north to the Columbia and then to Sand Point -through Kootenay, practically the only alternative -route out, was impossibly dangerous. And as he -rode he saw a steamboat coming down the river from -the Lakes. If he rode hard he might catch it and -get away before a word was said. As he rode he -bound up his head and ear with a big coloured -handkerchief. It was red enough to hide the oozing -blood. -</p> - -<p> -It was an hour or more after noon when he rode -into Kamloops. He came in at a lope and took on -a careless air, calling "Klahowya" to some of his -tilikums as they passed him. He even saluted a -mounted policeman and went by him singing till he -came to Alexander's, where he had got his horse -from. He had to explain how he came back on Ned -Quin's instead of the one he hired. But the -stableman, who knew he had hired out a wretched crock, -was easy enough to satisfy. -</p> - -<p> -"That damned kieutan fell with me," said Pete, -swaggering, "fell at an easy lope and burst my ear. -I left him at Ned Quin's, sonny, and Ned'll bring -him in to-molla and fetch out this old sorrel. Here's -four bits for you." -</p> - -<p> -He had paid the hire before he took out the horse -that now lay dead upon the road. He heard the -steamer's whistle at the nigh wharf and ran to catch -her. In ten minutes he was on his way down stream -to the Ferry. -</p> - -<p> -He knew it would be, or so easily might be, "a -close call" for him. And yet there was nothing else -to do but to risk it. As the cool air of the river -struck him he shivered. For he thought he had killed -Ned Quin and, now that the heat went out of his -blood, chilling the fever of revenge in him, he began -to be very much afraid. -</p> - -<p> -But he took a drink. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Far back upon the road the cattle ringed round -Mary's body and the body of the horse, and a million -flies blackened the pool of blood and drank against -the dust that soaked it up. The cattle to leeward, -smelling the horror of a spilt life, tossed their heads -uneasily and challenged strange death, that horror -of which their instincts spoke to them. Some to -windward came closer and blew at the flies. They -rose in black swarms and settled again. From a -distance other cattle marched to the wavering ring -about this wonder. Some came running. One of -the inside steers touched Mary's body with his horn. -She moaned and lifted her hand. The steer ran -backwards, snorting, backing on others, who horned -each other angrily. Then the steers crept up again -to Mary and blew at the dust in which she lay. -</p> - -<p> -But this time she rose to a sitting position, and the -ring of cattle with their lowered heads retreated -from her. -</p> - -<p> -She wondered where she was, and how she came -to be there. Then she saw the dead horse, and the -gun that a cow smelt uneasily. She remembered -that Pete had killed Ned, and that he had perhaps -tried to kill her. She scrambled to her feet and the -cattle jostled each other to get away from her. She -staggered as she stood: for she had no strength, and -all desire of life had gone out of her. And with that -there came a sickness of the notion of revenge: it -would only be trying to revenge herself on the -inexorable destiny which was hers. Pete had killed -her man and had gone. She would go back to her dead. -</p> - -<p> -Overhead the sun burnt as she staggered on the -road, the long, endless, wearying road, so like to life. -She went at a foot pace, and the miles were weary -endless spaces without hope. For her man was dead, -and Pete was a cruel madman, and there was nothing -left for her. Yet still she walked, like some painful -hurt creature returning to its lair. She ached in -every limb: her head seemed splitting: the physical -torture of her being dulled her mind. And as -it seemed to her only the sun of all things moved -swiftly. It was drawing on towards evening when -she came to her house and stood outside the door. -Her knees trembled: she clutched at the latch and -door-post to prevent herself falling. -</p> - -<p> -Inside was her man dead: her man who had been -so good and so cruel. She began to weep and -opened the door, letting the westering sunlight in. -The next moment she screamed dreadfully, for the -place where she had left him was vacant! -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Ned, Ned!" she cried in a most lamentable -voice. And yet within her murdered heart there -sprang a faint poor flower of hope even as she cried. -If he had been moved was it not that someone had -come and taken him away? Then—then, oh, God, -perhaps he was not dead! Her brain turned: she -reeled again and clutched at the table and held to it. -</p> - -<p> -"My God, listen to me, be merciful, where is my -man, the man I love?" -</p> - -<p> -She wrestled with the dark gods of fate whose -blinded eyes knew not, nor cared, whom they trod -down upon the dusty roads of earth. -</p> - -<p> -And then she heard a rustle in the room, as of -something stirring! She prayed that this was true: -that she did not hear amiss and that when her eyes -opened she would see Ned once more. -</p> - -<p> -She heard a groan and ran to it blindly and found -her man there, on the bed, their bed, still alive, -though half blinded, blood-covered and hardly conscious! -</p> - -<p> -"Ned, Ned!" -</p> - -<p> -In her mad desire for revenge she had left him, -believing him dead. She fell beside him with a -scream that was no more than a sigh, and when she -became conscious again after that awful shock of -joy, she found his wounded hands seeking hers. She -heard his hurt mouth whisper for water. For the -little good that came with all the evil she thanked -her God very humbly and brought the man water. -He spoke to her and did not know that she had been -away from him. He knew not how he had reached -the bed, or come back to life and to her. He was -very weak and gentle. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear," he said feebly. She washed his -wounds and bound them up. She cried softly over -his pain, which was so much less than her own. -</p> - -<p> -"I've been a brute to you," he mumbled. "But -God help me I'll be that no more." -</p> - -<p> -"You've always loved me," she said. It was true -in spite of everything. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said old Ned. Then he fell asleep and -woke in an hour and wandered a little in his talk. -But she soothed him into peace again and he rested -quietly. Yet she could not leave him to get help -till next morning, and when she went over to their -nearest neighbour, Missouri Simpson, he was away -from home. It was noon when he returned and rode -into Kamloops for the doctor. He told the police -what had happened, and found that someone had -already brought into town Ned's gun and told them -of the horse. They telegraphed to all stations to -the Coast to hold a certain Sitcum Siwash, known as -Pitt River Pete. But by that time Pete was in -hiding on the south side of the Fraser, over against -the Mill, with a canoe, stolen from a house near -Ruby Creek, where he had left the train. For it -seemed to him that he could not escape if he went -further. That he had not been arrested yet was a -miracle. -</p> - -<p> -"They'll catch me and hang me," he said with a -snarl. -</p> - -<p> -He felt sure they would and he had something to -do before they did. -</p> - -<p> -As he lay in the brush, across the river, he tried -to pick out the lights of the house, high upon the -hill, in which Jenny and George Quin lived. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXI -</h3> - -<p> -The news that one Pitt River Pete was wanted by -the police, by the "bulls," spread fast through the -town and into Shack City. As soon as they heard, -and as soon as Indian Annie was chuckling grossly -over the possible delight of seeing Pete hanged, the -police came down and searched every hole and -corner in the sawdust swamp. They routed out -Annie almost the first of the lot, and she -screamed insults at them as they searched her -den. -</p> - -<p> -"Kahta you damn plisman tink I hide Pete?" -she yelled. "Pete hyu mesachie, him damn bad -Siwash; if him come I say 'mahsh, klatawa, go, -you damn thief.' Oh, you damn plisman, what -for you make mess my house? You tink Pete -him one pin I hide him lik' dat?" -</p> - -<p> -They bade her dry up and when she refused they -took her by the scruff of the neck and bundled her -outside. She sat in sawdust and yelled till they -left her shack and searched the others. They -found nothing, of course, but they found out one -thing, and that was the readiness of most of the men -of the Mill, Siwashes or Whites, to give away Pete -with both hands. For they, at any rate, were -certain that it was he who had spiked the logs and -killed poor old Skookum Charlie. And since he had -killed a Chinaman, too, all the men from the Flowery -Kingdom were ready to do the same. Old Wong -said so to the "damned plismen." But as the -Chinamen relied on the police to save them from abuse -and injury, they were even readier to help than -the Siwashes. -</p> - -<p> -"Supposee we savvy Pete, we tellee you allo -tim'," said Wong. "My tink Pete damn bad man, -spikee logs, killee my flin Fan. Fan velly good man, -my flin, and Pete spoilum 'tumach,' killee him dead. -All light, we come tellee." -</p> - -<p> -There wasn't a doubt about it, that if Pete -turned up in Shack-Town he would be given away, -and though the police went away empty-handed -they had high hopes of nailing him shortly. -</p> - -<p> -They had had a considerable pow-pow that -morning in the Engine-Room before work started -up and there wasn't a soul found there to say a -word for Pete. This was natural enough. -</p> - -<p> -"A man that'll spike logs ain't a human being, -boys," said Long Mac seriously. -</p> - -<p> -"Killing his own tilikums," said Shorty Gibbs. -"It was horrid seein' pore old Skookum!" -</p> - -<p> -"The Chinky was horridest," said Tenas Billy. -"I picked him up." -</p> - -<p> -"So you did," said Shorty. "But what d'ye -think Pete's doin'?" -</p> - -<p> -"He'll be on the scoot." -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure, but where?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, to hell and gone out of this." -</p> - -<p> -"That's your tumtum. It ain't mine by a -mile. If he's been spoilin' Ned Quin's face what'll -he do 'bout George, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Mac intervened. -</p> - -<p> -"Waal, boys, these Injuns are a rotten crowd. -You can't bet on what they'll do. Some o' them -don't care a damn if their klootchmen quit. I -know, for I've run with 'em on the Eastern Slope o' -the Rockies and on the plains. Sometimes they -will though." -</p> - -<p> -He told a ghastly tale. -</p> - -<p> -"Pete's a holy terror, that's what," said Tenas -Billy. "I never give him credit for sand, I admit, -but he has it." -</p> - -<p> -"Sand be damned," said Long Mac; "he -hasn't sand. It's only Injun temper. I know 'em. -They ain't sandy in the way we speak of it, boys. -Bein' sandy is bein' cool. Pete don't do notion' -unless he's mad. None of 'em do, at least none -of these fish-fed coast Injuns. They's a measly -crowd." -</p> - -<p> -The men chewed on that. -</p> - -<p> -"Nevertheless," said Shorty, considering the -matter fully, "I'd rather be me than George Quin -with Pete loose on the tear. The man that spiked -our boom and hunted old Cultus Muckamuck's -steers into a dry cañon and then hammered him -to pulp with a club mayn't have sand, but he's -dangerous." -</p> - -<p> -"He's the kind of Johnny that'd fire the Mill," -said Ginger White, who so far had held his tongue. -</p> - -<p> -"White's on the target," said Mac as the whistle -blew. But he forgot about it when the song and -the dance of the day commenced. There's fine -forgetfulness in work. -</p> - -<p> -Quin was as foolish as the rest of them. That -is to say, he talked to the police and came to the -conclusion that Pete wasn't likely to be on hand -now and for ever after. He knew what Mac knew -and despised the average Coast Indian. It was -true enough they weren't up to much unless they -were "full," full, that is, of liquor. And a man -like Quin knew by instinct the weakness there was -in such as Pete, in spite of his now bloody record. -For Quin had a fine square jaw and Pete hadn't. -But then Quin was incapable of underhand night -work. And he didn't know that Pete was like a -rat in a trap, as a criminal is in British Columbia. -And there was another thing. He knew that Ned -wasn't dead, by any means. It never occurred to -him that Pete believed he had killed Cultus and -must be desperate if he wasn't out of the country. -</p> - -<p> -"I wish the swine was dead," said George Quin. -"I believe I'd marry Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -She had twined herself round his heart, and when -he saw her nursing the one child he had ever been -father of he was as soft as cream with her. Not a -soul about the City would have believed it was -George Quin if they had seen him with his naked -boy in his arms. Only the Chinamen knew about -it, for Sam told them, being delighted, as they all -are, with male offspring. They really sympathised -with the big boss as they thought of their own wives -far away in "China-side" and the children some -of them hadn't seen. Old Wong wept secretly, -for he had worked and gone home to marry a wife, -and she had died. It wasn't likely he would ever -make enough money to buy another, unless he got -it by gambling. He was as bad at that as old Papp, -the German, who still hadn't made sufficient to go -home to "California," in spite of all his work, and -those muscles which made him feel as if he would -"braig dings" if he didn't toil. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, tilikum, George Quin, "Tchorch," was -happy, as happy as he could be. -</p> - -<p> -And Jenny was nearly as happy as she could -be. Her child was a gift from heaven, even if -heaven frowned as it gave her the beautiful boy. -She never saw the Bible or the horrid pictures and -she saw instead the scripture of the child's pure -flesh hourly and read the dark language of her -man's heart. He adored what she had given him, -and she knew, as a woman may know, that underneath -his awkward roughness and his careless ways, -sometimes not wholly gentle, there was real love -for her and the wish to be good. And when he sat -with her and smoked, she caught the paternal -look of full satisfaction that he feigned to hide -from himself. What a boy it was! -</p> - -<p> -He was as fat as a prairie chicken, and as full -of life as a fresh-run salmon. How pink he showed -in hot water: how he squealed like a dear little -pig and kicked his crumpled dimpled legs! Was -there ever such a boy before? -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Tchorch, see," said Jenny. She showed -him the baby's thick dark hair. The child was a -garden of delight that she cultivated all day long. -</p> - -<p> -But she never forgot "Tchorch," who had been -so good to her, and had taken her to Victoria and -driven her about in a fine carriage: who had -showed her the world. If she had only been his -wife the whole earth could have offered her nothing. -</p> - -<p> -And yet behind her was the dark shadow of Pete. -George never spoke of him, and if he had known -that Sam did he would have kicked the Chinaman -from the house to the Mill. Yet it wasn't Sam's -fault, though he was a chatterbox and always -ready for "talkee" at any time. Jenny asked him -about things. She knew that men said it was Pete -who had spiked the logs. Sam told her of the death -of his poor countryman. She wept bitterly about -Skookum, who had always been a kind, thick-headed -chap, very good to his klootchman. She -had now taken up with another who wasn't good -to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor old Skookum," said Jenny. Oh, it was -dreadful of Pete. And yet it was her fault. -</p> - -<p> -But she had her boy! Oh, not for anything, -not for life or heaven or all the round world -contained of good, would she have parted with her -child and George's. She hadn't lived before. And -now "Tchorch" loved her so much more. He was -so satisfied, so content to sit and smoke. Her -Indian blood was happy to see her man sit solemnly -and puff the clouds into the air without a word. -</p> - -<p> -Now she knew of the search for Pete, and knew -what he had done, just as she knew what wicked -Ned had done to poor Mary. She hated Ned, and -was sure he was utterly bad. Nevertheless, Mary -had gone back to him. That she knew was natural. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Mary loves him," she said, "but she has no baby!" -</p> - -<p> -If the sky was clear, it was for her little boy: -when the breezes blew they were for him: the -beauty of the river was his: the loveliness of stars -and the goodness of her milk were the gifts of God, -who was not angry with her but only sorrowful -because she was not married. -</p> - -<p> -"He would marry me if——" -</p> - -<p> -Oh, yes, if Pete were dead! She could not say -it, but could not help the bad thought rising within -her. To be married to George! She trembled to -think of it. -</p> - -<p> -In her heaven Pete was the dark cloud. Perhaps -her constant thought of him put it into George's -head to say, as he did say, very suddenly that -same night— -</p> - -<p> -"I wish I could marry you, tenas!" -</p> - -<p> -She crept to his knee, and laid her head on his -hand. She got more beautiful every day, more -gentle, more tender. -</p> - -<p> -"There's not a spark of vice in the little woman," -said her man, with tears in his eyes. He said he -was a damn fool and spoke gruffly next time. -But she understood her Chief, her great man, and -was pleased to serve his gruffest speech. -</p> - -<p> -"If only that cursed Siwash was dead," said George. -</p> - -<p> -But if he wasn't he would either be in the "pen" -for years or would be seen no more on the Fraser -River. That seemed certain. -</p> - -<p> -And still George was uneasy. It was impossible -to say where the man was. The belief of the police -that he had escaped out of the country went for -nothing. British Columbia might be a mouse-trap, -but it was a handy place for holing up in, and the -brush alongside the river would have hidden a -thousand. George had a talk about the matter -with Long Mac, who was the only one of the workers -in his Mill who had brains beyond his daily task. -</p> - -<p> -"What do you think, McClellan?" asked the Tyee. -</p> - -<p> -Mac's eyes showed that he could think. -</p> - -<p> -"He's a dangerous skunk, that's my tumtum, -Mr. Quin," said Mac. He told him what Ginger -White had said and Quin frowned heavily. -</p> - -<p> -"Fire my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -The Mill was his life, and till Jenny had borne -him a child it had been his true and lasting passion. -There was a fascination about it and the work of -it that he loved. The scent of the lumber: the -sound of the saws: the rush of the work: the -hustling of the men, made something beyond -words. The Mill was a live thing, warm, strong, -adequate, equal to its work. It filled Quin's -alert, strong mind. -</p> - -<p> -"Fire my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -That was Long Mac's "tumtum," his thought, -his notion. -</p> - -<p> -"If he ain't really skipped out, that's what a -cuss like Pete would do to you, Sir," said Mac. -"He's made a holy record for himself, ain't he? -We know he spiked the logs and killed poor -Skookum, and there ain't the shadder of a doubt he -fixed your brother's cattle. And then he's laid him -out, and started off down here. They traced him -to Ruby Creek, and it's tol'ble sure he kapsuallowed -a canoe there. But no one's got on his tracks. -It's bad luck there's been such a mighty poor -salmon run this year, or he'd ha' been seen on the -River." -</p> - -<p> -As it was, the lordly tyee salmon, the quinnat, -had been making a poor show in the Fraser that -year, as he will at intervals, more or less regular. -The canneries were fairly frozen out and shut down. -The river was empty of boats and men. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll set another night-watchman on," said -Quin. "There's something in what you say, -McClellan. The police are damn fools, though." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll take a night or two at it myself, if you like, -Mr. Quin," said Long Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"You're the very man," replied Quin. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -That night Pete got his hidden dug-out into the -water. But his chief thoughts were not of the Mill. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXII -</h3> - -<p> -It was all very well for George Quin, who had -brought all the trouble on himself by running after -other people's klootchmen, to say the police were -fools, but as a matter of fact they had done as -much as could be expected of them, and perhaps -more, seeing that Quin wasn't very popular with -them. His Mill with its Shack-Town gave them -more trouble than the whole of the City, and within -a year two "damn plismen," as Annie called them, -had been laid out cold with clubs in its vicinity. -And nobody had gone into the penitentiary for -the murderous assaults. Nevertheless they had -searched every likely hole and corner for Pete, -from his old native hang-out, Pitt River, down to -the Serpentine and beyond it. They had beaten -the brush along both sides of the Fraser, North and -South Arm and the Island. And, indeed, they -came within a throw of the dice of catching Pete. -One of them missed him and his canoe by a -hair's-breadth, and the Sitcum Siwash had been about to -cave in and show himself when the man turned aside. -</p> - -<p> -As it was, the very search for Pete worked him -up to desperation just as he was beginning to get -cold on revenge and to think rather of escape. -If the police were so keen as to search the brush -and go up and down the river, how was he to get -away? Like most of his sort he didn't know the -country, and would have been puzzled to get even -as far as Whatcom. And even if he did there would -be someone waiting for him. And to go down -stream in the dug-out would be to run right into -a trap, like a salmon. His rage began to burn in -him again, and to this was added hunger. He had -over a hundred dollars in his pocket but hadn't -eaten for four-and-twenty hours. He would have -given his soul for a square meal and a long drink, -and as hunger bit him he knew that if he lingered -any longer mere famine would induce him to give -himself up. Then he would be hanged, and get -nothing more than he had got already as the price -of his neck. When the second night fell he was -wholly desperate. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem to-night, or they catch me," said -Pete. "One ting or the other, Pete, my boy!" -</p> - -<p> -If he only could get a drink! With a drink -inside him he would be equal to anything. He -wondered if he dare trust any of his old tilikums -of the Mill. He thought of Chihuahua and of -Chihuahua's klootchman, Annawillee, and then of -old Annie. They would give him away for a dollar; -he knew that, and very likely there was a price on -his head. If poor old Skookum hadn't been -killed he would have done anything for him. Pete -was very sorry he had killed Skookum, very sorry -indeed. -</p> - -<p> -But he kept on thinking about that drink. If -there was one woman or man in Shack-Town who -always managed to have liquor in her shanty, it -was old Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"I'd choke her for it," said Pete, as he shoved off -in his dug-out and paddled lightly against the last of -the flood coming in from the great Pacific. "I'd -choke her for it." -</p> - -<p> -The night was moonless and cloudy and as dark -as it ever gets on the Fraser in summer. There was -even a touch of an easterly wind about, and the -faint chill of it made him shiver. Without a drink -he felt almost hopeless. -</p> - -<p> -"I try," said Pete in sudden desperation. The -lights were out all over the town. Hardly a solitary -lamp starred the opposing darkness of the hill above -the river. The world was asleep. There was only -a moving lamp in the Mill. He knew it belonged to -the night-watchman, a sleepy-headed old German, -once a worker in the Planing Mill with old Papp. -But since he lost his hand he had been made -night-watchman. -</p> - -<p> -"I give heem plenty light by-by," said Pete. He -slanted across the river and came to an old deserted -rotten wharf a little above the Mill. There in the -black shadow he ran his canoe ashore and stepped -into the mud. He crept silently to where the shore -shelved, and, climbing up, thrust his head out -between some broken flooring of the wharf. The -world was quiet as a tomb. There was even peace -in Shack-Town. Whether he got that drink or not -he had business there that night. Though -Chihuahua most likely wouldn't give him a drink, Pete -meant to make the Mexican help him. For at the -back of Chihuahua's shanty, which was only a -one-room hiding hole, there was a little outhouse. In -that Chihuahua always kept some kerosene. -</p> - -<p> -Pete slipped across the road like a shadow, -dodging among the piles of lumber as he went. -His senses were as alert as a cougar's. And the -sawdust under foot made his steps soundless. On -the other side of the road he waited to be sure -that no one moved. There was only one light in -Shack-Town, and it was at Annie's. That meant -that she was either awake or had fallen asleep drunk -on the floor, forgetful of her lamp. Perhaps she -had a bottle, said Pete thirstily. He felt cold and -nervous and forgot about the kerosene. He ran -lightly across the road and came to Annie's. He -had a sheath knife in his belt. It had once belonged -to Jack Mottram, but Pete had stolen it. He had -no intention of using it on Annie, that is unless -he had to, of course. He carried a heavy stick -in his hand. -</p> - -<p> -He looked into Annie's window, which was -naturally enough foul within and without. He saw -nothing at first but the dim light of the lamp, but -as everything was quiet he rubbed the glass of one -pane with his cap. Then he saw that Annie was -lying on the floor, a mere bundle of rags. Was that -a bottle by her? -</p> - -<p> -You bet it was, tilikum! Pete knew a bottle -when he saw it. Perhaps by good luck it wasn't -empty. He shortened the club in his hand and -tapped lightly on the door with it. Annie never -moved. He pushed the door open, and still she -didn't move. He crept in like a cat until he could -reach out and touch the bottle. It lay on its side -and the cork was out. Nevertheless, a bottle can -hold quite a good drink in it even on its side. It -was as full as it could be in such a position, and -careless of the silent woman he drank it to its fiery -dregs. Hot life ran through his veins. It was -fire: such fire as makes murder light and easy. -He grinned happily and put the bottle down again -by Annie's limp hand. -</p> - -<p> -His life ran warm within him and all his desire of -vengeance grew in alcohol as grass will grow in a -warm rain of spring. -</p> - -<p> -He found the kerosene in Chihuahua's little den, -and started, not for the Mill, but for George Quin's -house. -</p> - -<p> -"My klootchman, ha," said Pete fiercely. "She -have a papoose!" -</p> - -<p> -The papoose slumbered in his loving mother's -arms. By her side big George lay. The night was -so sweet and quiet. If George could marry her he -would. Oh, wonderful, sorrowful world that it was. -And here was the world within her arms and within -her reach. -</p> - -<p> -"I just love Tchorch and baby!" -</p> - -<p> -She woke and slept. Oh, heavenly night and -heavenly day when baby slept, or waked, or stared -solemnly, as Indian blood will and must, at the -strange hard world that meets its wondering eyes. -</p> - -<p> -The summer had been warm and rainless, -everything was dry with the good warmth of summer. -The brush showed brown: the paths were white: -the lumber, whether in stacked piles or in framed -houses, was ready for fire. A spark would light -it: a single match might cause a conflagration as it -would in a dry forest of red cedar or the resinous -spruce. -</p> - -<p> -And Pete carried kerosene. He drenched a -southern wall of boards with it and laid against the -wall dry brush and pieces of sawed lumber that lay -about from the building of the house. He knew the -wood must flame like tinder. If it ran unchecked -for a minute it would take the river to put it out. -And it was high above the river. He grinned and -lighted a match. -</p> - -<p> -The next minute he was running down the hill -like a deer. In less than a minute he dropped, -still carrying the half-emptied kerosene can, through -the hole in the wharf. Then he waited and saw a -warm blaze high upon the hill. -</p> - -<p> -"That fix heem and her," said Pete, intoxicated -with his deed and with the alcohol. "That teach -heem, damn Shautch Quin, heh! I kill his blother, -heh, and burn his house!" -</p> - -<p> -His heart was warm within him as fire. It -seemed so good to be revenged. Now they would -wake, and perhaps would not escape. All the world -would wake and go up there, and then the Mill -would be left alone. Already the flame on the hill -was so fierce that many must see it. -</p> - -<p> -And, indeed, many saw it, and some came running -and there was a growing sound of men, and far off -he heard men call. And then from up above there -came the sound of firearms, used as an alarm. By -this he knew that Quin was up. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem and now I fix his Mill;" said Pete -hoarsely. He had forgotten all they had told him -of the scheme by which a man pays a little so that -he shall not lose all. What did it matter? The -Mill was Quin's, and he loved it. Pete knew that. -</p> - -<p> -As all the town woke he dropped down stream in -his canoe and came to the Mill. -</p> - -<p> -It was built, as all such are when they border on -a river or any water, partly on the land and partly -on great piles sunk in the river bed. The wharves, -where scows and steamboats and schooners loaded -the lumber, were even further towards the deep -water. At high tide a boat could pass underneath -them all, and get beneath the deep shadow of the -Mill. There fish played constantly, schools of little -candle-fish, the oolachan that the fur-seals love, -that is so fat that when it dries it drips oil. And -there were places in the Mill that dripped oil, as -there are in all works where machinery moves -swiftly, and bearings are apt to grow hot. For -many years the Mill had never ceased to run, save -when heavy frost fixed the moving river in thick-ribbed -ice, and it was saturated with all that burns. -In every crack dry sawdust lay that was almost -explosive: the bearings of belts were fat with oil. -Pete knew it would burn like tinder, like dry, dead -resinous spruce, like the bark of red cedar. -</p> - -<p> -As he moved in the darkness, over the sound -of the lapping water he heard the sound of the -waking city. Where so much was built of wood, fire -was dreadfully interesting. He knew the world -would wake and be upon the hill. Now he saw the -glimmer of the fire he had lighted show a gleam upon -the water under the sky. He laughed to himself -quietly, and, holding on to a pile, listened. Was -there anyone above him on the floor of the Mill? -Or had even the watchman run to Quin's house to -help? He knew how fire drew a man, how it drew -all men. -</p> - -<p> -There was no sound above him. He ran his -canoe into deeper darkness and left it on the mud -and climbed straight among crossing interlaced -timbers to the first floor, where the Shingler worked -and laths were made. He moved lightly, his feet -in silent mocassins, and entered the dark hole -under the Chinee Trimmer. Above him was the -chute by which matched-flooring came down to the -Chinamen, who carried it to the Planers and the -machines that worked it. He heard the hum of a -far-off crowd and saw the light of the burning -house. He climbed into the upper Mill. And as he -thrust his head out of the chute at the left hand of -the Trimmer, then idle in the casing, he saw the -house itself through the great side chute of the -Mill, down which he had fallen the day he struck -Quin with the pickareen. -</p> - -<p> -The Mill was empty. He looked round cautiously -and then leapt out upon the floor. There was -sufficient light for him to see by, and he saw that -some man had at least taken precautions against -him. There were buckets of water here and there: -there was even a hose-pipe with a pump, a -force-pump. There was another hose coming from the -Engine-Room. These things showed him he had -been feared: they showed him it would be hard -to get away. But he had no time to think. With a -savage grin he pulled out his knife and sliced the -hose into pieces. He capsized the buckets as they -stood. Then he fetched his oil-can from where he -had put it, close to the Pony Saw, and emptied it -at a spot which he chose, because the oil would run -upon the sawdust carrier and go down past the fine -cedar dust from the Shingler. Below the Shingle -Mill was the water. He knew exactly where to find -the spot where the oil would drip into the river. He -ran back to the chute by which he had ascended -and as he slipped into the chute he heard someone call. -</p> - -<p> -"Hallo, Dutchy, Dutchy!" said a voice. -</p> - -<p> -But Dutchy, the old one-handed German watchman, -did not answer. Pete heard him who spoke -break out swearing. -</p> - -<p> -"Goldarn the old idiot, I believe he ain't here," -said the voice. It was the voice of Long Mac, a -man to be feared, a strong man, a keen and quick -man, a man with brains and skill and grit. -</p> - -<p> -Pete heard him enter the Mill and run upstairs, -and he knew that in another moment Mac would -know someone had been there, although old Dutchy -had done what he should not have done, and had -left the Mill to go to the other fire. There was no -time to lose. He went silently for the canoe, and -found it, got into it, and worked his way to the -space under the Shingle Mill. Now the light of the -burning house was bright upon the lip of the river, -running on the first of the ebb against a warm -Chinook wind. -</p> - -<p> -He heard Mac burst out into blasphemy. He had -found no Dutchy, but cut hose instead. And then -old Dutchy came running. He heard Mac curse him. -</p> - -<p> -"What did I tell you, you old fool? Didn't I -say look out lively here! That swine's about now, -by God! He's cut the hose, maybe lighted the -Mill already!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ach, mein Gott, mein Gott," said Dutchy, "I -haf not been afay von minute." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, to hell," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -He found the capsized buckets and burst out -again. He spoke rapidly, and Pete, as he clutched at -a pile, caught but a word or two. -</p> - -<p> -"Run—police—boat!" -</p> - -<p> -He understood what this meant: if he didn't do -it now, he would have no time. At the sound of -old Dutchy's steps on the boards as he ran -overhead Pete struck a match and lighted dripping -kerosene. The flame circled on a patch of board, -and burnt blue and flickered, drawing upward -through a crack. The Mill was fired! -</p> - -<p> -"I fix heem," said Pete; "if they catch me I fix -heem all the same." -</p> - -<p> -He thrust his canoe for the open water and then -stayed aghast. It seemed that the world was very -light. His lip fell a little. And he heard a voice -speak overhead, a voice which was like a bow -drawn at a venture. -</p> - -<p> -"I know you're about hyar, Pete," said Mac in -a roar like that of a wild beast. "I know you're -hyar!" -</p> - -<p> -He didn't know, but his instincts and his -knowledge told him the truth. Underneath him -somewhere lay the incendiary. In some dark hole or -corner the beast of fire was hidden. Pete's heart -stood still and he knew what a fool he had been to -meddle with aught on the upper floor. -</p> - -<p> -And he heard the light crackle of his new fire. -</p> - -<p> -"Come out, you hound," cried Mac. And then -the flame caught the sawdust carrier and Mac saw -the creep of light under a crack and knew the Mill -was fired—fired irredeemably and beyond hope. -He pulled his gun and shot down through the floor -at a venture, and by a wonderful chance the bullet -cleared any beam and struck the water close by Pete. -The Siwash let go and thrust the dug-out into the -stream. -</p> - -<p> -And in the Mill the fire was like an explosion. It -ran along the carriers and the ways of the belts -and reached out into inaccessible corners where lay -the warm dust of years and grew up through a -thousand cracks like red-hot weeds at the breath of -spring in a tropic garden. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my God," said Mac. The breath of the -fire choked him: he ran back from it: it burst -up about him: to escape he leapt over it, but before -he got to the great Chute the flame spurted from -beneath the Big Hoes and licked at the teeth of -shining steel. Then it played about the Pony Saw -and far off under the Bull-Wheel it grew up and -danced. Then it went like a fiery creeper, like a red -climbing rose, and touched the dusty roof. In the -next moment the body of the Mill was fire. Mac -went back, missed his footing and slipped headlong -down the chute, even as Pete had once fallen. He -rose with a shout which was half a shriek, for he had -dislocated his shoulder, and folks running in the -road to the lesser fire, turned to the greater and -saw the Mill ablaze. -</p> - -<p> -And out in the river Pete was paddling hard. -But the lamp that he had lighted was a very bright -one, that made the river suddenly a golden pool -and shone afar off on the other side of the white roof -of the Big Cannery. One man on the wharf saw -him and called to Mac, who came fast. -</p> - -<p> -"By the Lord, that's Pete," said Mac, "that's -Pete and my shoulder's out. Get a boat, boys, get -a boat! There's one under the wharf at the other -end. Get a boat and go after him!" -</p> - -<p> -But to go out on the river at midnight after a -killer and an incendiary from mere love of the law -or even of hunting was beyond those who heard -the man from Michigan speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell, not me! Tain't my funeral," they -said. And then Quin came running to them. He -was white as the ashes of his house would be on the -morrow, but he saw what Mac and the others saw. -That must be Pete on the river! -</p> - -<p> -"He's got us, Sir, he's got us," said Mas. -</p> - -<p> -Even in that moment Quin saw how he held his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"You're hurt?" -</p> - -<p> -"I fell down the chute, Sir, the fire almost caught me." -</p> - -<p> -The flames roared now. The inside of the Mill -was a furnace. Fire played fantastic games on the -high sloping roof. -</p> - -<p> -"There's a boat——" -</p> - -<p> -"I know," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"These hoosiers ain't game," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -A bigger crowd of those who weren't game to -tackle wild beasts gathered round them. Faces were -white in the glow of the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"At the house, Sir——" -</p> - -<p> -"They're all right. I'll go after him," said Quin. -He ran, and Mac cried— -</p> - -<p> -"Take my gun, Sir——" -</p> - -<p> -But Quin did not hear him. He ran round the -end of the Mill and was lost. -</p> - -<p> -In another moment they saw him in the boat out -upon the river. Pete went out of sight. The crowd -watched till Quin was out of sight, too. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the bettin' we'll see either of em' again?" -asked a man in the crowd. -</p> - -<p> -The odds were against it. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"I fix heem all right," said Pete. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXIII -</h3> - -<p> -It was Jenny who first wakened in the house on the -hill, for she slept lightly as a young mother does. -And yet when she woke, sleep was not wholly out of -her eyes and mind, and it seemed to her that it was -morning, and that Sam, her good Sam, was up -betimes in the kitchen. She heard the fine crackling, -at first a mere crepitation, of the crawling -flame, and felt comfortable as one does at the notion -of the good creature fire, the greatest servant of man. -Deep in the hearts of men lies the love of it, for fire -has served them through the innumerable generations -of their rise from those who knew it not. A -million ancestors of each have sat by brave flames -in dark woodlands and have warmed themselves and -found comfort in all the storms of the open world. -For the house is the fire, the covering of the fire, and -the hearth is the great altar, where a daily sacrifice -is made to the gods. -</p> - -<p> -She fell asleep again. -</p> - -<p> -And then she smelt smoke and roused herself -suddenly and saw a strange light outside in the -darkness. The fire flickered like a serpent's tongue, and -she saw it, and her heart went cold. For the servant -becomes a tyrant, and the god is oftentimes cruel -to his people. She clutched the child, and with her -other hand caught hold of George. She cried to him -aloud, and even before he was awake he stood upon -the floor, knowing that some enemy was at hand. -And even then the red enemy looked in at the -window and there was the tinkle of broken glass. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, this is Pete's work," he said. But he said it -not aloud. "Get up, girl. Come, tenas," he cried. -He opened the door and found the house full of -smoke. Below, he heard the work of the fire. And -the outer wall below the window was one flame. -</p> - -<p> -"This is Pete's work," he said. And he said to -himself— -</p> - -<p> -"What of the Mill?" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny clutched the baby to her bosom, and he -slammed the door to. It was not the first time he -had met fire and he understood it. He wetted a -handkerchief and tied it over his own mouth. There -were some who would have wondered at his swiftness, -and the cool courage of him in so threatening -a fight. He bound wet rags across the brave lifted -mouth of Jenny, and the child cried as he did the -same for him. Then he caught her in his arms and -rushed the stairs, and as he ran he called aloud, "Sam, Sam!" -</p> - -<p> -The smoke was pungent, acrid, suffocating, and -the heat of the air already cracked the skin. Out of -the smoke he saw licking tongues of flame, flame -curious and avid, searching, strenuous, alive. One -tongue licked at him and he smelt, among all the -other odours of the fire, the smell of singed hair. -He heard the crying of the child, its outraged mind -working angrily. Jenny whimpered a little. Her -hand was steel about him. He rushed an opaque -veil of blinding smoke, interpenetrated by lightnings, -and bull-headed burst in Sam's door. He heard the -boy cry out. But they were saved, if it were not -that Pete stood outside to kill those whom he had -driven from their shelter. That might be; Quin -knew it. And yet he could not go first. Sam -caught his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh, Mista Quin!" he cried, "oh, oh, velly -dleadful, my much aflaid." -</p> - -<p> -Sam had pluck enough, as he had more than once -shown when some white young hoodlums of the -town had small-ganged him. But when fire is the -master many are not brave. -</p> - -<p> -"Open the window," said Quin. Outside to the -ground was a drop of twelve feet. But the ground -was hard. Quin put Jenny down by the window -and got a blanket from the boy's bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Out you go first, Sam," he said. -</p> - -<p> -But Sam, though not "blave" and "velly much -aflaid," knew it was the right thing for the "Missus" -to go first. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, no, Mista Quin, my no go first. Missus she -go and litty chilo. My not too much aflaid." -</p> - -<p> -He trembled like a leaf all the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Get out of the window chop-chop," said Quin in -a voice that Sam had only heard once before when -he had dared to be insolent. He sprang to the -window, and, clutching the blanket that Quin held, -he slid to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -"Now my catchee Missus," he said exultantly. -And with the fire beneath the boards of the room, -Quin had no choice. He tied a quilt round Jenny's -waist and lowered her and the child till Sam could -touch her. He let go, and sliding down the blanket, -which he had made fast to the frame of Sam's bed, -he, too, reached the ground safely. And people -came running up the hill. Whether this was Pete's -work or not they were safe. But their house was -a torch, the flames soared above the gambrel of the roof. -</p> - -<p> -Jenny sat upon a rock, clad only in her nightgown, -with the quilt thrown about her shoulders. Her -home was burning and all their beautiful things were -destroyed. She could not cry, but her heart wept, -and the child was her only comfort. She knew well -enough that this was Pete's work, she felt it in her -heart. -</p> - -<p> -And a crowd gathered. There were many from -the City: those whose work it is to put out fires, -and some of the police. There was a fat -saloon-keeper whom she knew by sight and the old boss -of the Farmers' Home. With them were many -Siwashes from Shack-Town: among them the -wedger-off who had replaced Pete. She saw old -Papp, the German from "California," and Chihuahua, -with his beady eyes flashing, and his teeth all -a-grin. With him came his klootchman, Annawillee, -the one who always sang the song of the mournful -one, also called Annawillee. Then there were -Chinamen in wide flapping pyjamas, old Wong, the wise -man, and Fan-tan and Sam Lung, and Quong. They -made a circle about her and the fire, and chattered in -Chinese, in Chinook, in Spanish, for now Spanish Joe, -the handsome man, came up and palavered with -Chihuahua. She felt their eyes upon her. She had -"shem" that they should see her, for she was not -Quin's wife, and his child cried upon her knees. She -hid her bare feet under the nightgown. Sam stood -by her. She saw Quin speak to the police, to the -firemen. Any help was vain. Then Long Mac ran -up the hill, as light as a wapiti on his feet. He said -but a word and ran back. But it was a wise word, -though too late. -</p> - -<p> -"Send someone down to the Mill, Quin. If this -is Pete, it won't satisfy him. I'll get a boat and go -on the River." -</p> - -<p> -"Do," said Quin. "I'll see this through and be -with you in a minute." -</p> - -<p> -But the swift minutes passed, and before they -gave up all hope (though Quin never had hope) and -before he could say what should be done with Jenny, -someone cried out suddenly— -</p> - -<p> -"The Mill, the Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -As if they had been turned on their heels by some -strange machinery the big crowd turned and saw a -running light in the Mill. It was as if the crowd of -workers danced with lamps: as if there were some -Chinese Feast of Lanterns in its dark floors. Then -the flickering, dancing lights coalesced and they saw -flames flow out, and flow down and climb up. -</p> - -<p> -"The Mill!" said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Bad enough to lose his house, his home, which now -he loved, but to lose the Mill was a thousand times -worse. The house was but a new thing and the Mill -was old. Thousands of days he had watched the -work and heard its song: not a board of it, not a -rafter, not a stud or beam or scantling or shingle -that wasn't his delight. It was part of himself, the -thing wherewith he worked, the live muscles with -which he toiled: his spirit extended to it: he ran it -with his steam, with his belts, with his mind, his -energy. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my Mill!" -</p> - -<p> -Barefoot as he was, being clad only in his shirt and -trousers, he leapt down the hill and never felt his -wounded feet. Jenny saw him go, saw the crowd -break and waver, saw it turn and flood the lower -hillside, moving down. Their lighted faces turned from -her, she saw them run. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Tchorch, oh, Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -But George never heard her feeble cry in the -torrent. He had forgotten her and the boy. -</p> - -<p> -And when she could again see for her tears she -was alone save for Sam, her faithful Sam, and -Annawillee and Indian Annie, the last to climb the hill. -Even Chihuahua had gone and all the Chinamen. -She saw Wong departing last of all. The fire drew -even the philosopher. She heard Annie speak to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Ho, tenas Jenny, toketie Jenny, dis your man, -mesachie Pete. Evelybody savvy Pete done um, -Jenny. Oh, what peety toketie house mamook piah, -all bu'n, all flame." -</p> - -<p> -"Oho, hyu keely, hyu keely," moaned Annawillee, -"pletty house mamook piah. Mamook nanitch you' -papoosh, Jenny, let me see papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -These were foul and filthy hags, and now Jenny -knew it. She cried and Sam did not know what -to do. -</p> - -<p> -"Missus, you no cly," he said despairingly. But -still she cried, and Annie sat down by her. -</p> - -<p> -"Where Mista Quin klatawa? Ha, Moola mamook -piah all same yo' toketie house, tenas. Now -you got halo house, you come mine, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -And Annawillee lifted the quilt from the baby and -saw it. -</p> - -<p> -"Hyu toketie papoosh, hyu toketie, ha, I love -papoosh, Jenny's papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -"What I do, Sam?" moaned Jenny. The Mill -was in a roar of flames. It lighted the town and the -river and the white canneries across the wide red -flood. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you come down to sto'e," said Sam. Where -else could she go but to the store? Why hadn't the -big boss told him what to do? For everything -outside the house Sam was as helpless as the very -papoose. He hated and loathed the Siwashes and -their klootchmen. They were dreadful, uncleanly -people. It was his one great wonder in life that -"Missus" was a Siwash klootchman. -</p> - -<p> -"You come down to sto'e," he said. -</p> - -<p> -"You come my house, Jenny," said Annie, who -thought if she gave Jenny shelter she would get -more dollars from Quin, who lately had refused her -anything. "You come my house, tenas." -</p> - -<p> -But Sam held her tight and helped her on the -difficult path. Her feet were bare and so were his. -Neither Annie nor Annawillee had mocassins on, the -soles of their feet were as hard as horn. -</p> - -<p> -They went down the hill slowly, and still the old -hag said— -</p> - -<p> -"You come my shack, tenas, bad for papoose to -be out night." -</p> - -<p> -Every stick and stone of the path was lighted for -them. Jenny's heart was in ashes for the grief of -"Tchorch," who so loved his Mill and his house. All -her beautiful clothes were burnt. Perhaps Pete -would kill him even now. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where is Tchorch?" she cried as they came -to the bottom of the hill. And the wavering crowd -kept on saying where he was. -</p> - -<p> -"The boss is on the river." -</p> - -<p> -"Went in a boat, pardner——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but he was mad! I wouldn't be the Siwash——" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't hanker none to be Quin if Pete gets him. -Pete's a boy, ain't he? Solid ideas, by gosh——" -</p> - -<p> -"See, there's the Planin' Mill goin' up the flume!" -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis a mighty expensive fire, this. Eh, what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Licks me Moolas don't burn mor' off'n, pard!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, we're out of a job, tilikums." -</p> - -<p> -The crowd moved and swayed and moaned. They -cried "Oh!" and "Ah!" and "See!" The Mill -was hell. Old Dutchy sat on a pile of sawed lumber -with his lighted lamp on his knees; the poor doddering -fool trimmed the wick and cried. Jenny heard -old Papp speak to him in German. -</p> - -<p> -"Sei ruhig, alte dummkopf." -</p> - -<p> -And Papp went on in English. -</p> - -<p> -"Dain'd your vault, old shap, iv so be Pete -wanded to purn ze Mill, he vould purn it all same. -If I had him I vould braig him lige a sdick, so!" -</p> - -<p> -There was no pity for the man who had spiked -the logs. They would have hung him if they had -had hold of him. They would have thrown him on -the fire. Then the front of the Mill fell out. The -crowd surged backwards, and Jenny was near -thrown down. Old Papp fell against Sam, and both -went down. Annie and Annawillee caught hold of -Jenny and her papoose, and dragged her to their -shack. -</p> - -<p> -"That all light, tenas. You come. I give you a -dlink, tenas. Here, Annawillee, you hold papoosh." -</p> - -<p> -She snatched the baby from Jenny's weakening -arms and Annawillee ran on ahead with him. -</p> - -<p> -When Sam recovered his feet Jenny was gone. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where my Missus, where my Missus?" -roared Sam, blubbering. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the infernal Chinaman kickin' up such -a bobbery about?" asked the scornful crowd. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXIV -</h3> - -<p> -The canoe in which Pete had set out in his great -adventure was both heavy and cranky, and no one -but a Siwash of the river or the Lakes would have -paddled it a mile without disaster. But he had -been bred in the sturgeon-haunted water of Pitt -River, and knew the ways of his craft and could -use the single-bladed paddle with the same skill -that he showed with the maul and wedges on a great -sawlog. Now as he left the light of the fired Mill -behind him he knew (or feared) that he had not -left his enemies behind him as well. The whole -of the Mill would be his enemies. That he was -sure of: he remembered poor old Skookum -Charlie. He understood the minds of those he -had endangered as well as the heart of such a man -as Quin. And if Quin himself had escaped from -the fire of the house he would be on the river! -That Pete was sure of in his heart. And his heart -failed him even as he swept outward on the first of -the ebb, which ran fast, being now reinforced by -the waters of the big river fed by the melting -snows of a thousand miles of snow-clad hills. -</p> - -<p> -This was, indeed, the nature of the man, as Long -Mac knew it. He was capable of fierce resentment, -capable of secret though unsubtle revenge, but he -was not capable of standing up like a man at the -stake of necessity; not his the blood of those nobler -Indians of the Plains who could endure all things -at the last. His blood was partly water, of a truth, -and now it melted within him. -</p> - -<p> -"They catch me fo' su'e," said Pete. His -muscles weakened, his very soul was feeble. What -a fool, a thrice-sodden fool, he had been to cut the -hose in the Mill. But for that they might not have -known he had fired it. But Long Mac knew, and -perhaps Long Mac himself, who had nerves and -muscles of steel, was out after him in the night. -Oh, rather even Quin than that man, whom Quin -himself treated with a courtesy he denied to all the -others who worked for him. -</p> - -<p> -But now the light of the Mill faded. On both -sides of the river were heavy shadows: the great -moving flood was but a mirror of darkness and a -few stars that flicked silver into the lip and lap of -the moving waters. Pete knew the ebb and current -ran fastest in the middle of the stream, and yet to -be out in the middle meant that he would be seen -easier, if indeed he was pursued. He could not -make up his mind whether to chance this or not. -He sheered from the centre to the banks and back -again. And every now and again it seemed to him -that it would be wisest to run ashore, turn his -dugout loose and take to the brush. And yet he did -not do it. He was weak, now that fear was in him, -and the alcohol died out of him, and he felt -renewed pangs of hunger. To wander in the thick -brush would be fatal. They would renew their -search on the morrow: every avenue of escape -would be guarded. And hunger would so tame -the little spirit he had within him that he would -give himself up. -</p> - -<p> -"They hang me, they hang me," he said piteously, -even as Ned Quin had said it. But there was none -to help him. The very men who had been his -brothers, his tilikums, would give him up now. -</p> - -<p> -He cursed himself and Jenny and Quin and the -memory of Skookum Charlie. He took the centre -of the river at last and paddled hard. It was his -only chance. If he could but get out to sea and -then run ashore somewhere in the Territory, among -some of the Washington Indians who knew nothing -of him, he would be hard to find. The very -thought of this helped him. He might escape -after all. -</p> - -<p> -And then his ears told he was not to escape so -easily. He heard the sound of oars in the rowlocks -of a boat. Or was it only the beating of his own -heart? He could not locate the sound. At one -moment it seemed to him that after all it was but -someone further down the river and then it seemed -behind him. If it were down stream it might be -only some stray salmon boat doing its poor best in -a bad year. Even they would say they had met -him. He ceased to row and sheered across towards -the darkest shadow of the bank. -</p> - -<p> -And, as he sheered inwards, from behind the last -bend of that very bank there shot a boat which -was inshore of him. For Quin knew the river below -the City as Pete did not, and he had kept in the -strongest of the stream, which sometimes cut its -deepest channel close to the shore. He was but -a hundred yards from Pete when the Sitcum Siwash -saw him and knew it was Quin. -</p> - -<p> -Here the great river below the Island, where -North and South Arms were one, was at its widest. -And by the way his enemy came Pete knew that -his hour had arrived. Though he paddled for -awhile in sheer desperation he knew that his -wretched heavy dug-out had no chance against a -light boat, driven by the strongest arms in the -City, perhaps the strongest in the whole country. -And Quin was an oarsman and had loved the water -always. The wretched fugitive changed his tune -even as he strove in vain. -</p> - -<p> -"He fix me, oh, he fix me——!" -</p> - -<p> -Hot as he was with paddling, the cold sweat now -ran down his brow and cheeks. He felt his heart -fail within him: he felt his muscles fail. Yet still -he strove and kept a distance between himself and -Quin that only slowly lessened. For now Quin -himself slackened his pace. He was sure he had -the man, and yet it needed coolness to secure him. -</p> - -<p> -To Quin, Pete had become the very incarnation -of the devil, and he was wholly unconscious now -that he had ever wronged him. The fact that he -had stolen Jenny from him was but an old story. -And Pete had brought it upon himself. No one -but Quin in the whole world could have known -(as Quin did know) that any kindness, any decency -of conduct, in Pete would have secured Jenny to -him against the world itself. She was pure -faithfulness and pure affection, and malleable as wax -in any warmth of heart. But Pete had been even -as his fellows. He should have wedded some -creature of the dust like Annawillee, to whom -brutality was but her native mud. And Jenny -was a strange blossom such as rarely grows in any -tribe or race of men. -</p> - -<p> -It was not of Jenny that Quin thought. He -forgot her very danger that night and forgot his -own. He even forgot his child. He remembered -nothing but the burnt Mill, nothing but the spiked -logs. Oh, but he "had it in" for Pete! -</p> - -<p> -"He's burnt my Mill," said Quin. In spite of -any help the loss would be heavy, but it was not -the loss that Quin thought of: it was of the Mill -itself. So fine a creature it was, so live, so quick, -so wonderful. Rebuilt it might be, but it would -no longer be the Mill that he had made: that he -had picked up a mere foundling, as a derelict of the -river, and turned to something so like a living -thing that he came to love it. Now it was hot -ashes, burning embers: the wind played with it. -It was dead! -</p> - -<p> -There was no sign of red fire behind them now, -but the fire burnt within Quin. The fire was out -in Pete. He wished he had never seen Jenny, never -seen the Mill, never played the fire. He went blind -as he paddled, ever and ever more feebly. If Quin -had called to him then the Siwash would have -given in: he would have said—— -</p> - -<p> -"All right, Mista Quin, I'm done!" -</p> - -<p> -That was his nature: the nature of the Coast -Indians, as Long Mac knew it. There wasn't in -him or his tilikums, pure-blooded or "breeds," -the stuff to stand up against the bitter, hardy -White, who had taken their country and their -women, and had made a new world where they -speared salmon, or each other. He knew he had no -chance. -</p> - -<p> -But Quin never spoke, even when he was within -twenty yards of his prey. -</p> - -<p> -The terror of the white man got hold of Pete, -and the terror of his silence maddened him anew. -There was not so much as a grunt out of his pursuer. -Pete saw a machine coming after him. It was not -a man, it was a thing that ran Indians down and -drowned them. So might a steamer, a dread -"piah-ship," run down the dug-out of some poor -wild Siwash in some unexplored creek. Quin was -not a man, or a white man, he was the White Men: -the very race. There had always been a touch of -the wild race in Pete: an underlying hint of the -wrath of those who go under. He had avenged -himself, but it was still in vain. The last word was, -it seemed, with the deadly thing behind him. -</p> - -<p> -Of a sudden Pete howled. It was a horrid cry: -like the cry of a solitary coyoté on a bluff in -moonlight on a prairie of the South. The very forests -echoed with it, as they had echoed in dim ages past -with the war-whoops of other Indians. It made -Quin turn his head as he rowed. It was just in -time, for with one sweep of his paddle Pete had -turned his canoe. The next instant it ran -alongside the boat, and Pete with one desperate leap -came on board with his bare knife in his hand. -He fell upon his knees and scrambled to his feet as -Quin, loosing his oars, got to his. The capsized -dug-out floated side by side with the boat. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix you," said Pete. Even in the darkness -Quin could see the white of his eye, the uplifted -hand, the knife. The boat swayed, nearly went -over, Pete struck and missed, staggered, threw out -his left arm and Quin caught it. The next -moment they were both in the river, fighting -desperately. -</p> - -<p> -"I fix you," said Pete. They both mouthed -water and Quin got his right wrist at last. But -not before a blow of Pete's had sliced his ribs and -cut a gash that stung like fire. -</p> - -<p> -Both of the men could swim, but swimming was -in vain. Both were strong, and now Pete's strength -was as the strength of a madman who chooses -death in a very passion for the end of all things. -He seemed as if made of fine steel, of whip-cord, of -something resilient, tense. There was in him that -elasticity which enables the great quinnat to -overcome the awful stream of the Fraser in its narrow -Cañon. It was with difficulty, with deadly difficulty, -that Quin held the wrist that controlled the knife. -He knew that he must do that even if he drowned. -It was his last thought, his last conscious thought, -just as Pete's last thought was to free himself and -find Quin's heart. -</p> - -<p> -They sank, as they struggled, far below the -surface of the flood. Quin held his breath till it -seemed that he would burst. His lungs were -bursting with blood: his brain fainted for it. He -struggled to preserve his power of choice, for it -appeared better to be stabbed if even so he could -breathe. But even as he fought he was aware in -some cool and dreadfully far-off cell of his brain -that though he let go he would not yet rise. It -was a question of who could last longest. As he -was drowning he remembered (and recalled how -he had heard the saying) that the other man was -probably as bad. He even grinned horribly as he -thought this. Then he saw Jenny and the child. -The vision passed and he saw the burning Mill. -He heard Mac speak, heard the roar of the flames, -and the murmur of the crowd. Then he came to -the surface and knew where he was, knew that he -was alive but at handgrips with Death himself. -He sucked in air, filled his lungs and rolled over, -and went under once again. -</p> - -<p> -When consciousness is past there is a long space -of organized, of purposed, instinctive struggle for -life left in a man. So it was with Quin. He knew -not that he slipped both hands to Pete's right -wrist: he was unaware that when they once more -rose Pete howled as his wrist snapped. Even -Pete did not know it: he knew that he was a fluid -part of nature, suffering agony and yet finding -sleep in agony, sleep so exquisite that it was a -recompense at last for all the woes of the world. -And he was all the world himself, one with the -river, one with the night and the great darkness -which comes in the end to all. Pete sighed -deliciously and sank, and rose and sank again, into -the arms of one who was perhaps his mother, -perhaps his dear Jenny whom he now loved so -tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -And a blind creature, still unconscious, -unknowing, hung on to Pete's wrist. That was what -Quin thought. But what he hung to was the -boat, capsized but still floating, which had gone -down stream with them. He was in a cramp of -agony: if he could have let go he would have -done so, but something not himself, as it seemed, -made him hold on. He still fought with the dead -man who rolled below him at the bottom of the -river. -</p> - -<p> -Then he came back to the knowledge that he -was at least alive. Yet at first he was not even -sure of that. He was only sure that he suffered, -without knowing what it was that suffered. -It seemed monstrous that he should be in such -agony, in all his limbs and body and brain. But -he could not distinguish between them for a long -time after he was able to discern, with such curious -eyes as an infant may possess, the fact that there -were lights in the dim sky. That was the first thing -he named. -</p> - -<p> -"Stars!" he said doubtfully. -</p> - -<p> -And then he knew that there was such a creature as -a man! He gasped and drew in air again and with -it life and more far-off knowledge. He remembered -the Mill which was burnt in some ancient day, and -Jenny, long since dust, of course. And then the -past times marched up to him: he knew they were -the present, and that he had lost Pitt River Pete -in the river, and that he hung feebly to a capsized -boat. The rest of his knowledge of himself was -like an awful flood: it was overwhelming: it -weakened him and made him cry. Tears ran -down his face as he lifted his chin above the water. -</p> - -<p> -And still he floated seaward. -</p> - -<p> -A huge and totally insoluble problem oppressed -him. He was aware now that water was not his -element. This dawned on him gradually. At -first all his remembered feelings were connected -with water. He had, it seemed, been born in it. -It was very natural to be floating in it. There -was at least nothing to contradict its being natural. -But now he felt for something with his feet, for he -was conscious of them. What he wanted was land. -Men walked on land. Houses, yes, houses and -Mills were built on land. -</p> - -<p> -That was land over there! It was a million -miles off. How did one get so far? To be sure, -one swam! He shook his head feebly. One -couldn't swim, one would have to let go the boat! -He forgot all about the land far a very long time. -When he remembered it again with a start it was -much nearer, very much nearer. He saw individual -trees, knew they were trees. Branches held out -their arms to him. Though swimming, was -impossible it was no longer wholly ridiculous. He -remembered doing it himself. He even remembered -learning swimming. He had won a race as a boy in Vermont. -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure," said Quin. The current swept -him closer in shore. Something touched his feet. -He drew them up sharply and shuddered. Pete -was down there somewhere. Oh, yes, but he was -dead! Dead men were disagreeable, especially -when they had been drowned and not recovered -for days in hot weather. He touched bottom -again. It was very muddy. It was easy to get -stuck in mud. One could drown in it. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, I may be drowned yet," said Quin. It -was very surprising to think of! -</p> - -<p> -"No, I won't be drowned," said Quin. "I'll -hang on to this boat. Why not?" -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless the water was cold. It came down -from the mountains, from much further off than -Caribou and from the Eagle Range. There was snow there. -</p> - -<p> -"I am cold," said Quin. "I ought to get ashore." -</p> - -<p> -The boat itself touched a mud-bank. Quin felt -bottom again and just as he was deciding to let go -the boat swung off. Quin cried and was very angry. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do it next time," said Quin. But he didn't. -He was afraid to let go. And yet the shore was very -close. Once more the boat touched and his feet -were quite firm in the mud. But there was a bottom -six inches down. He thought he prayed to -something, to God perhaps, and then he saw the boat -swing away from him. He was quite alone and very -solitary. To lose the boat was like losing one's -home. He staggered and fell flailing and found -bottom with his hands. He hung to the very earth, -but was dizzy. He waited quite a while to be sure -of himself and then scrambled with infinite and most -appalling labour to the shore. His limbs were as -heavy as death, as lead. He dragged them after -him. He ached. -</p> - -<p> -But at last he came out on the land. -</p> - -<p> -It was earth: he had got there. Was there ever -in all human experience such a pleasant spot to lie -down on, to sleep in? He just knew there wasn't. -He forgot he was wet, that he was cold, that Pete -was dead, that he was alive, and he went on his knees -and scrabbled like a tired beast at the ground. And -then he went to sleep, holding himself with his arms -and making strange comfortable little noises. -</p> - -<p> -Sleep rolled over him like a river. Artillery -would not have awakened him, nor thunder, nor the -curious hands of friends or the hostile claws of -creatures of prey. -</p> - -<p> -And within a few minutes of his going to sleep -other boats came down the river and passed him. -</p> - -<p> -They picked up the capsized boat. -</p> - -<p> -"Quin's dead then," they told each other. -</p> - -<p> -It was quite possible Quin's body believed that, -too. But his warm mind knew better, of course. -He had got earth under him, and he warmed it. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXV -</h3> - -<p> -"Oh, oho, the toketie papoosh: I love the papoosh, -Jenny's papoosh," said Annawillee, as she held the -baby. The shack was lighted by the burning Mill -rather than by the stinking slush lamp on the foul -table. Jenny cried for her baby, but Annawillee -was after all a woman and loved children in her own -way. For years she hadn't handled one. Her only -child had died. Its father was not Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, give him me, Annawillee," said Jenny. -He was George's child, and now she knew that -"Tchorch" was out on the great lonely river, hunting -unhappy Pete. Men said they would never come -back. Her soul was burning even as the Mill burnt. -"Tchorch" loved her and yet had forgotten her. -</p> - -<p> -"Give him to me." -</p> - -<p> -But Annawillee sat on the floor and sang about -the papoosh, a song of a poor Klootchman deserted -by her man and left with her child: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Oh, nika tenas<br /> - Hyas nika klahowyam,<br /> - Hyu keely,<br /> - Konaway sun,<br /> - Nika tenas.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Ah, my little one,<br /> - Sad am I——<br /> - I mourn and weep,<br /> - Ah, still must cry,<br /> - Ah, my little one, every day!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Annie screamed at her. -</p> - -<p> -"Pelton Annawillee, halo mamook Jenny keely, -make her not mournful, pelton, oh, fool!" -</p> - -<p> -"I love papoosh," said Annawillee. She burst -into tears. -</p> - -<p> -"Take heem, Jenny, take yo' papoosh. Mine -mimaloose, is dead." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny took the baby to her bosom, and sat down -desolately on the edge of Annie's bed. Her body -shivered at the foulness of things, even as her soul -shivered for fear about George. An hour ago -she had been happy, happy, happy! Now—— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, God," she prayed. But she could not weep. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, you have dlink, you tak' one dlink, tenas -toketie?" said Annie. What else was there but -"dlink" for misery, for the loss of a home, for the -loss of her man? -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -"I got one," said Annie. For she remembered -she had not finished the bottle before she went to -sleep by the fire. She hunted for the bottle and -found it. It was empty! -</p> - -<p> -"Some dam' tief stealum," screamed Annie. -Who could it have been but Annawillee? -</p> - -<p> -"I never takum," yelled Annawillee when the old -hag got her by the hair and tugged at it. "You -old beast, leggo me. I never tak' um." -</p> - -<p> -Jenny cried out to Annie. It was awful to see -this in her agony of grief. -</p> - -<p> -"I get mo'," said Annie. "I got dolla. I find -Chihuahua, he buy bottle whisky!" -</p> - -<p> -She went out. Annawillee wrung her hair into a -horrid coil and knotted it clumsily at the back of her -neck. She cried about her dead papoosh. The tears -ran down her dirty face. -</p> - -<p> -Outside the hum and murmur of the crowd still -endured. Every now and again there was a crash, -as some of the great Mill fell in. Piles of lumber -caught: they roared to the skies in wavering -columns. The crowd laughed and moaned and -roared and was silent, as the sea beach is silent -between great breakers. -</p> - -<p> -And George was on the river hunting Pete! -Jenny clutched her baby to her bosom. Annawillee -went on crying. Then the door opened and Annie -came back. -</p> - -<p> -"I send Chihuahua. He get dlink. Dlink velly -good for you, Jenny. By-by Shautch Quin come -back and say I good to you, and he be good to poor -old Annie, who get you for heem, tenas!" -</p> - -<p> -But Jenny only heard her words as part of the -sounds of the night. If George did not come back! -She moaned dreadfully, and shivered in spite of the -heat of the great fire, which made itself felt even in -the shack. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch, Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -She felt him in her arms, as she had held to him -when he bore her through the fire. He was a man, a -real man. She saw poor Ned, who wasn't one. She -saw Mary. But Mary had no child. Poor Mary -and poor Annawillee! -</p> - -<p> -The door opened and Chihuahua came in with a -bottle. -</p> - -<p> -"You dam' thief, you open um and dlink," said -Annie furiously. Chihuahua laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Hey, hermosa Annie, why you tink I no do dat?" -</p> - -<p> -He was half drunk already. He saw Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Hallo, Jenny, peretty Jenny! Peretty womans -make mischief. All for dis Pete burn the Moola, -and we all out of jhob!" -</p> - -<p> -That was true enough, and Jenny knew it. But -Chihuahua was a beast. He came over to her and -put his arm about her waist and hugged her. -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, peretty," he whispered; "if de boss -no come back, I kick Annawillee out and have you -for klootchman!" -</p> - -<p> -It was as if he had struck her down and dragged -her in the mud. She turned cold with horror. Oh, -if George didn't come back what would she do: -what would she do? -</p> - -<p> -"I love you, peretty Jenny!" said the hot breath -of the beast. And Annawillee mourned upon the -floor, but heard not. Annie took a drink. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, toketie, my own tenas Jenny, you have -dlink," said Annie. She spoke in Chinook, and -Jenny answered in it. It was the first time she had -used the Jargon since she went to George. -</p> - -<p> -"Nika halo tikegh, I no want it," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"You have it, pelton," said Annie. "What for, -kahta you so fool? Him velly good whisky." -</p> - -<p> -"Take it, Jenny," said the hot breath in her ear. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't," said Jenny. She knew all it meant -now. Again Chihuahua put his arm about her. -She wrenched herself away from him and Annawillee -saw what her man was doing, and scrambled to her -feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you dam' man you do dat," she screamed -jealously, forgetting her dead child and its dead -father. -</p> - -<p> -"You s'ut up, dry up," said Chihuahua, "or I -keek you, Annawillee." -</p> - -<p> -He took the bottle from Annie and drank. -</p> - -<p> -"I lov' Jenny, toketie Jenny; Jenny mia hermosa -muchacha, and she lov' me." -</p> - -<p> -He caught at her again, and Annawillee came at -him with her claws. He knocked her down, and she -lay where she fell. Annie screamed at him. -</p> - -<p> -"You no do dat, Chihuahua. You leave Jenny -alone, man. When Shautch Quin come back he keel -you——" -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua grinned. -</p> - -<p> -"He no come back no more. Pete fix him on the -river, I sure of dat, Annie. Jenny she be my -klootchman, eh, Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny was as white as death. She had lived for -more than a year with George and this was hell for -her. And if George didn't come back! Chihuahua -came staggering to her. She caught the empty -bottle by the neck and stared at him with blazing -eyes. He stopped. -</p> - -<p> -"You peretty devil!" said Chihuahua. "I lik' -kees you all same, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll keel you," she whispered. There was -murder in her eyes, and drunk as he was he knew -it. And Annie had picked up a burnt bar of iron -that served her as a poker. Chihuahua quailed -before them. -</p> - -<p> -"I on'y jhoke," he said. "My klootchman she -Annawillee, very good woman, Annawillee. You -geeve me one mo' dolla I get mo' whisky, Annie." -</p> - -<p> -But all Annie had to give him was the iron bar. -</p> - -<p> -"You bad man, you beas', you go!" -</p> - -<p> -And Chihuahua whitened, as he had done more -than once before when Annie got mad. He went -out like a lamb, and Jenny sat down on the bed, and -sobbed for the first time as if her heart would -break. -</p> - -<p> -And the fire still burnt, but without great flames. -Some of the crowd went home. It was past two -o'clock and soon would be dawn. -</p> - -<p> -"You no tak' my man, Jenny?" moaned Annawillee. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, no," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Chihuahua him a beas' to me," said Annawillee. -"I hat' heem, but I hav' no other man now and I no -more a pretty klootchman. What I do if he tak' -other klootchman?" -</p> - -<p> -"I rather die, Annawillee," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Him no so velly bad," said Annawillee, "but -easy for young and toketie gal lik' you fin' nodder -man." -</p> - -<p> -She murmured, snuffling, a song that the Siwash -women often sing: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Kultus kopet nika,<br /> - Spose mika mahsh nika,<br /> - Hyu tenas men koolie kopa town,<br /> - Alkie wekt nika iskum,<br /> - Wake kul kopa nika."<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "'Tis naught to me,<br /> - If you act so,<br /> - For I can see,<br /> - Young men who go<br /> - About the town, and when I can<br /> - I soon will take another man."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"You soon fin' a man, you," said Annawillee. -"All men say you toketie. S'pose Shautch Quin -mimaloose any man tak' you, Jenny." -</p> - -<p> -"Dat so," said Annie soothingly. "I fin' you -Shautch, Jenny, and I queek fin' other one, my -pretty Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -And Jenny's heart was cold within her. For her -child's sake perhaps—— -</p> - -<p> -And then there came a knock at the door, and her -heart leapt again like a babe. Annie opened the -door, and outside stood Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"My Missus here, oh, where my Missus?" he -cried dolorously. "My loosee my Missus in the -clowd!" -</p> - -<p> -Jenny cried out to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Sam, Sam!" -</p> - -<p> -He had always been good and kind and was clean -and bright. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Missus here, my heap glad, Missus. What -for Missus stay inside house like t'is, no good for -Missus, no clean, bah!" -</p> - -<p> -She cried out for George, and Sam shook his head -mournfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Boss no come back, Missus, Moola-man say Boss -low boat in liver, looksee t'at tief makee fy in Moola -and house. Bymby boss catchee. You come, -Missus." -</p> - -<p> -But Annie had no mind to let her go. -</p> - -<p> -"Dam' Shinaman, klatawa, you go. Jenny she -stay wit' Annie." -</p> - -<p> -She stood in the doorway, and Jenny was behind -her. Annawillee went on with her song. "Soon -Jenny get another man. That easy for Jenny!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, where I go, Sam?" -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee you go Wong's, Missus. Him velly -good man, house heap clean." -</p> - -<p> -"She no go dam' Shinaman," roared Annie. -</p> - -<p> -"I will go," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -But Annie slammed the door in Sam's face. The -boy was furious. -</p> - -<p> -"All light, Missus! One Moola-man, him Long -Mac, wantshee you. My tellee Wong and him. -Bymby my comee back. Yah, old cow-woman, -Annie!" -</p> - -<p> -He ran to Wong's shack and told the old man he -had found the "Missus." By the time they came -again to Annie's, Chihuahua and Spanish Joe had -gone there and, being more drunk than ever, -Chihuahua had burst the door in. Joe tackled -Annie and took the iron bar from her. She screamed -like a wild-cat in a trap. Both the men went for -Jenny, who stood in the corner and shrieked for -George and Sam. -</p> - -<p> -"'Ole your tongue, peretty one," said handsome -Joe. "I always lov' you; now you be my -woman——" -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua trampled over Annie to get to Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"She mine, Joe, she mine!" -</p> - -<p> -Joe turned on Chihuahua with a very evil smile, -and spoke to him in Spanish. -</p> - -<p> -"I take her, see, Chihuahua!" -</p> - -<p> -Outside, Wong knocked at the door. Perhaps he -was not a very brave man. It is not wise to be very -brave in an alien country, but he owed a good deal -to George Quin and liked him. Sam stood behind -him wringing his hands and crying out, "Missus, -Missus!" -</p> - -<p> -Joe had her round the waist. Annawillee -screamed and held to Chihuahua's legs. He kicked -her hard, and panted furiously at Joe. -</p> - -<p> -"You say you help me, Joe!" -</p> - -<p> -"I help myself, you fool," said Joe. Chihuahua -had been a mat for him to wipe his feet on for years. -"I wait for her; now I have her." -</p> - -<p> -Chihuahua kicked Annawillee again and got free. -Annie got up and ran to their end of the room. She -caught Joe by the arm: he sent her headlong and -she fell against the table. It went over and the -lamp fell on the floor. The only light in the room -came from the live embers of the great dead Mill. -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly Jenny felt Joe loose her. He made -an awful sound, which was not a cry, and something -hot and warm gushed upon her bosom. She saw -him stagger, saw his arms go up in the air, and heard -a growl from Chihuahua. -</p> - -<p> -"Fool," said the Mexican. He had sliced Joe's -throat right open and cut his voice and his cry -asunder. The Castilian reeled again and fell, and -then the door was burst open. Long Mac stood in -the opening. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, my girl," he cried; But Jenny did not -answer. She lay insensible on the bed: she was -dyed crimson. Her child screamed, but she heard -nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"Long Mac!" said Chihuahua. He feared him -always, and now feared all men. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny here," he said in a quavering voice. And -Mac strode in. He stepped across Joe and found -Jenny and her child. He took them in his arms, -though he ached dreadfully in his set shoulder, and -carried them out. -</p> - -<p> -"Missus, oh, Missus," said Sam. Chihuahua -crept out after them and then ran into the shadows, -casting away his stained knife. Annawillee had -lost her man, and the police found him the next -day. A poor fool of a white woman in the City -shrieked about the dead Castilian. No one but -that poor fool was sorry. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> - -<h3> -XXVI -</h3> - -<p> -Mac carried Jenny into Wong's shack, and laid her -on the bed. Though the house smelt of China and -of opium it was clean as fresh sawdust. They -washed the blood from her and the child, while -Sam cried, fearing she was hurt. And she came -back to consciousness. Mac was very solemn. -</p> - -<p> -"Where the boss, you tink?" asked Wong. -</p> - -<p> -The men who had followed George Quin down -the river were home again by now. They brought -back with them the empty boat. -</p> - -<p> -"I reckon he's dead," answered Mac. Sam cried, -for he was "heap solly." Quin had been a good boss -to him and there are many Chinamen who understand -that after all, whatever we may say about them. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, the Missus, the Missus," said Sam. He -sat down and sobbed. Jenny opened her eyes -and saw old Wong, with a million wrinkles on his -kindly face, inscrutable in every feature. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch," she murmured. The tears came -to Mac's eyes, though he was hard to move and -knew much of the bitterness of life. -</p> - -<p> -Wong's face was like that of some carved god -who sits in the peace which is undisturbed by -human prayer. And yet his hands were kind and -his voice gentle. He murmured to himself in his -own tongue. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is Tchorch?" asked Jenny. Now she -saw Long Mac, whom Quin trusted. She appealed -to the strong man. -</p> - -<p> -"He has not returned, ma'am," said Mac. She -was no longer a little Siwash klootchman to him, -but a bereaved woman. -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him long and steadfastly, and -read his face. She was an Indian, after all, and -could endure much. -</p> - -<p> -"My baby," she said. Sam had the boy. He -gave it her. She murmured something to the -fatherless, and lay back with him in her arms, -She motioned to Mac and he came nearer. -</p> - -<p> -"Is Tchorch dead, Mister Maclan?" -</p> - -<p> -She could not speak his name. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid so, ma'am," he answered. -</p> - -<p> -"Have they found him?" -</p> - -<p> -"Only the empty boat." -</p> - -<p> -Then no one spoke. She turned her head away, -Outside the dawn came up and looked down on -ashes. In the distance they heard Annawillee -mourning. She sat in the road with dust upon -her head, like an Indian widow. -</p> - -<p> -"I loved Tchorch," said Jenny. Then she rose -in the bed and shrieked awfully. -</p> - -<p> -"I want Tchorch, I want Tchorch!" -</p> - -<p> -She was like steel under the powerful hands of -the man who sat by her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, ma'am," said Mac. He said—"I've lost many." -</p> - -<p> -The tears ran down his face. Sam was like a -reed shaken by the wind. Old Wong stood by the -window and stared across the river, now open to -the view, since the Mill was gone. -</p> - -<p> -"My poor girl!" -</p> - -<p> -She held his hand now as if it was life itself. -And yet it might have been as if he were Death. -</p> - -<p> -"He was so good," she said. -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't what many would have said. But -Mac understood: for he had lost many, and some -said that he, too, was a hard man. -</p> - -<p> -She lay back again. Wong still stood by the -window without moving. He, too, had lost one -he loved; she, who was to have brought him -children who would have honoured his ashes and -his ancestral spirit, was dead in child-birth far -away across the long, long paths of ocean. -</p> - -<p> -But now he looked across the river as the dawn -shone upon its silver flood. Perhaps he looked at -something. It seemed so to Sam, who rose and -went to him. The old man spoke to him very -quietly. They both went outside. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch is dead," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -But Tchorch was not dead. Something spoke -of hope to Mac, something he didn't understand. -Perhaps the wise old Wong could have explained -it. He and Sam stood by the wharf and looked -across the river to the further bank. His eyes -were strong, they were the eyes of an old man who -can see far. Now he saw something on the other -bank, something moving in the half darkness of -the dawn. As the day grew, even Sam saw that -a man came stumbling along the bank of the -shore. Who was it? -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, even yet he may not be dead, Jenny," -said Mac. It was as if some dawn grew in him -because the dawn grew in the East: some hope -within him because there was hope in the heart of -a poor serving boy and a wise old man. She -clutched his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch was very strong," she said. -</p> - -<p> -And Sam came walking to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Wong wantchee see you, Sir," he said. He -came in without raising his eyes. Mac pressed -Jenny's hand and went out. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Missus," said Sam. -</p> - -<p> -His heart was full. -</p> - -<p> -Though the river was wide the day was now -bright. A strong man's voice might reach across -it in a windless time. But strong men may be -weak, if they have struggled. -</p> - -<p> -Wong stood still as Mac came up to him. -Though he could see so well he was a little deaf. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it, Wong?" asked Mac. Even as he -spoke it seemed to him that he heard a faint far-off -call. -</p> - -<p> -"My tinkee t'at Mista Quin," said Wong as he -pointed across the river. He spoke as quietly as -if he had said that he thought he could see the -rosy cone of Mount Baker shining in the rising sun. -</p> - -<p> -"You think—oh, hell!" said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -He smote Wong on the shoulder and the old man -turned to him. There was something like a smile -upon his face at last. -</p> - -<p> -"Ta't the boss fo' su'," he said; "my can see." -</p> - -<p> -Mac ran a little way up-stream, past the burnt -wharves, and came to one where there was a boat. -He thrust it down the shore into the water and -forgot his aching shoulder, bad as it was. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, poor Jenny, poor Jenny!" he said. He -heard the call again. -</p> - -<p> -"That's Quin's call. By the Holy Mackinaw -that's him," said Mac. Now that he knew, the -ache came back to him. He pulled in one oar and -sculled the boat from the stern with the other. -</p> - -<p> -And George Quin sat down on the edge of the -water and waited. -</p> - -<p> -"If he says 'How's Jenny?' first of all, I'll -recken he's worth the little klootchman," said -Mac. He saw Quin rise up and stand waiting. -He was torn to rags and still soaking, but his face -was strong and calm. -</p> - -<p> -"That you, Quin?" asked Mac. -</p> - -<p> -"That's me," said Quin. Then he spoke aright. -</p> - -<p> -"How's Jenny, old man?" -</p> - -<p> -"All hunkey," said Mac. "But we tho't you -was mimaloose." -</p> - -<p> -"Pete is," said Quin. He climbed into the -boat stiffly. His wound smarted bitterly, but he -said nothing of it. -</p> - -<p> -"You must have had a close call, Quin." -</p> - -<p> -"Tol'rable," said Quin. "Where's the little -woman?" -</p> - -<p> -"Old Wong's lookin' after her. 'Twas him -spotted you over here." -</p> - -<p> -"Wong's all right," said Quin. "'Tis a clean -sweep of the old Moola, Mac." -</p> - -<p> -"That's what," said Mac. They came to the -shore. When they were both on dry land Mac -held out his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Shake," he said. -</p> - -<p> -They "shook," and walked up to the road. -</p> - -<p> -"You and the little gal kin hev my house till -you've time to look araound," said Mac. "It's -not dandy, but I reckon you can make out in it." -</p> - -<p> -Quin nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"Right," he said. He stood still for a minute -and looked at the open space where the Mill had -been. -</p> - -<p> -"You and me and the boys will build the old -Moola up again, Mac," said Quin. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I reckon," said Mac. -</p> - -<p> -And Quin went across the road to Shack-Town -and came to Wong's. The old man saluted him -gravely. -</p> - -<p> -"You're all right," said Quin. What more -could any man say? -</p> - -<p> -He heard a cry inside the shack, and Sam came -out with the papoose in his arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mista Quin, my heap glad you not dead, -my heap glad!" -</p> - -<p> -"You damn fool," said Quin with a smile. He -went in and found Jenny. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch!" she said. -</p> - -<p> -"Jenny, my girl!" -</p> - -<p> -He held her in his arms and she laid her head -upon his heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Tchorch!" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but you've had a time," said George. -</p> - -<p> -"I jhoost want Tchorch," said Jenny. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -<i>Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PREY OF THE STRONGEST ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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