CHAPTER XI.THE QUICKSAND.
Theyset to work at once and built another raft. After it was done, Jules mounted and rode away to the east. At any other time, Ben would have questioned him with regard to his absence. But Millicent gave him a sign which he understood, and he let him go without a word. The moment he was gone she came to the old trapper and revealed to him enough to excite Ben’s anger and scorn of the treacherous rascal.
“Don’t say a word to him. I gave my promise to remain silent about it while he remained quiet. He has broken his pledge, but do not let him know that we suspect him.”
“The gal is right,” said Ben. “Don’t let him know. But we kin watch the devil clust; an’ when he gives us a chaince, down with him.”
“You will do nothing rashly, I hope. Remember, much depends on that.”
“I can’t keep my hands off him,” responded Bentley.
They had just prepared dinner when Jules returned, coming, not up the river, but out of the pass to the east.
Ben looked at his face as he came in and saw that it was moody. He said nothing, but made a place for him at the fire so that he might have the benefit of the warmth. Jules did not immediately take advantage of this, but busied himself in removing the blanket from his horse, and turning him loose. When this was done, he came slowly toward the fire and sat down.
“Whar have ye been?” asked Ben.
“Up the east pass. I thought, this morning, that I sighted a moose-herd, and I’ve been out scouting round, thinking I might possibly find some of the critters. I struck their tracks at the bottom of the second cañon, and not long after came upon the herd. There was only three of them in all, and pretty well south they have got, too. But if we can kill one, it will give us good fodder for a week to come.”
“Moose down hyar? That’s mighty uncommon, I tell ye. Their grounds is at least five hundred miles to the north of this. I’d like to go with ye, but I don’t think I kin, I’ve got so much to do. S’pose ye go out with Jan? Mebbe ye’ll git one of them.”
“All right,” said Jules, eagerly. “What do you say, Jan? Will you go?”
“I coes mit you,” said Jan. “I likes to shoot von vat you call him—moose.”
They started out directly after eating their dinner, leaving the rest at the camp. Jan carried the tremendous weapon which already had done such fearful execution. Jules had his rifle. They kept their horses until they had reached the mouth of the pass down which Jan, Ben and Millicent hadturned to get upon the mountain, on the day when the Indians came to the camp. Here they picketed the animals and went forward on foot, with great caution. As they emerged from the pass they had a view of the small valley. It was like their own camp, nearly circular in form, with the river in front and the mountains on the other three sides. There might have been sixty acres of flat land in the valley, and on the other side, close down to the water’s edge, three moose were feeding. Along the western base of the mountains ran a long strip of timber, and into this the trappers at once plunged, keeping the wind in their faces, for the keen-scented animals would have detected them in a moment if they had come up on the other side. The distance from the woods to the game was not more than a hundred yards, and Jules prepared to fire. As he dropped on one knee and laid his rifle across a low limb, the leading moose raised his stately head and looked about him, as if scenting danger. Jan had followed the example of the Frenchman, and his roer was lying across a branch, pointed at the second of the two animals. As the moose looked up, both pieces exploded. To the utter surprise of Jules, the one he fired at bounded away unhurt, while Jan’s dropped upon the ground, staining it with his flowing life-blood. Jan ran hastily toward the wounded beast, while Jules watched him with a malevolent eye. He knew the danger into which the honest Dutchman ran in approaching a wounded moose, but did not warn him. A hundred feet from the body of the game Jan’s feet suddenly sunk beneath him, and he fell as if an iron hand had seized his ankles and held him down.
“Coom here, Shules,” he shouted. “I pe got in der mut. Coom here unt help me out!”
Jules walked slowly to the end of the quagmire, about ten feet from the imprisoned Dutchman. All the evil in the man’s heart showed itself at that moment. All that was bad, all that was cruel, imprinted deep lines on his face, which gleamed savagely in the sun-rays.
“You are in trouble, friend Jan?” he said, coolly.
“Help me out!” cried Jan.
“Keep quiet,” said Jules. “Do you remember the day out yonder on the prairie, when you threw me down and plantedyour elephant foot upon my breast? Ah, I see you have not forgotten. You remember it with pleasure. I have not forgotten it either, and I swore, sooner or later, to have my revenge. You aided that girl against me, and forthatI’ll be doubly revenged.”
“I’m sinkin’ deeper all de dimes!” cried Jan. “Coom, Shules, pe a goot veller unt help me out. Vat’s de use of voolin’? I bunch your heat ven I does get out, off ye leave me here any more.”
“Perhaps you don’t know where you are?” said Jules. “Then I will tell you. There are places in these hills which we call quicksands. A man falls into one and from that moment, unless help is near, he is doomed. Even his struggles tell against him. Deeper and deeper he sinks in the slimy sand. The iron hands upon his ankles drag him down every moment. He sinks to his knees in the slime. He throws himself down. That is useless and will hasten his death. He struggles up again. He sinks to his thighs.”
“Mein Cott!” moaned Jan.
“You begin to comprehend. You see now what my revenge will be. You have sunk to your knees. The efforts you make to pull up one leg sink the other deeper. Your ponderous weight sinks you very fast. By-and-by you will be up to your neck; then your mouth will be covered; and when you begin to choke, I will sit by and laugh.”
Jan was sinking slowly, his face turned toward his executioner, who sat grimly down by the side of the quicksand, and waited for the end. The Dutchman made no effort to break down his stubborn resolve. A single glance at his set face was enough to show that all entreaties would be useless. In that hour when the true spirit of man comes to the surface, it was plain that Jan’s fears were rather the result of a life fraught with little danger, than cowardice; and if he failed to look danger bravely in the face at first, it was because it came to him in a new form. But now, his face was steady, and though his lips moved, it was in saying the prayers he had heard in faderland, and which he had learned at his old mother’s knee. The cold quicksand had risen above his thighs, and yet Jan seemed unmoved. Such calmness exasperated his enemy. He had expected to hear the Dutchmancry aloud for mercy; to beg him to help him; to humble himself for pity; but Jan did not think of that. His face was pale, but there was a kind of smile upon it.
“Cry for mercy!” shouted Jules, tauntingly. “Beg for your life!”
“No, Shules; off you have any pity in your heart, unt care enough for me to forget vat I did, unt save me, I vould pe glad. Put I don’t ask any t’ings from you.”
“You will die like a dog.”
“Never,” replied Jan. “Like a man whose fader died in battle vor te sake of his dear faderland. Sit py unt see me tie. It vill pe aman’sdeat!”
Jules assailed him with a storm of vituperation, to which Jan made no answer.
At this moment there came a great shout of surprise and anger, and they saw Ben Miffin running toward them at full speed with a hatchet in his hand. Jules caught up his rifle and began to load it hastily, but Ben was too quick for him, and he clubbed the weapon and stood upon his guard. But his defense was vain against the wiry old trapper, who broke down his guard and prostrated him by a blow on the head. Before a minute had passed, his arms were buckled behind him by means of a belt, and his legs served in the same way.
“Quick, Penn, quick!” shouted Jan.
“Keep cool, my boy! I’ll save ye yit,” cried Ben. “Keep yer arms clear of the mud.”
He whistled for his horse, which he had tied in the pass. A loud neigh answered him, and directly they heard the sound of hoofs. Diamond had broken his lariat and was coming at full speed. Catching sight of his master, he bounded to his side. Ben took the broken lariat from the saddle-bow and formed a slip-noose, which he threw to Jan.
“Put that under yer arms an’ draw it taut,” said Ben.
Jan obeyed. By this time Jules had recovered from the effects of the blow, and lay watching their movements anxiously. When the noose was under Jan’s arms, Ben instructed him how to pass a stick through it, so that it would not draw too tightly around his body. The loose end of the lariat he fastened to the saddle-bow. The horse stood quietlywaiting, as if he comprehended fully what was expected of him.
“Be ready, Jan,” said the trapper, “an’ if the strain is too much, sing out. Now then, Diamond, pull!”
The horse did not jerk, but pulled steadily. Jan set his teeth, for the strain was fearful. For a moment he was stationary, then he felt his body rise a little from the clinging sand.
“That started ye,” said Ben, joyfully. “Whoa, Diamond. Can ye stand it?”
“Yaw, yaw, pull away,” cried Jan, in an eager tone. “I shtands any t’ings so dat I gits out vrom dis blace.”
“Pull, Diamond,” said Ben.
The horse drew away on the lariat, and to the intense joy of both, the body of the Dutchman was pulled high up on the hard ground. For a moment Jan lay panting, and the next he sprung up and grasped the trapper by both hands.
“T’ank you, Penn. I don’t say much, but I dinks a great deal. I nefer forgets vile I lifs.”
“Pshaw,” said Ben. “Thank the hoss; he did the work.”
The intelligent animal turned his head to look at them, as if conscious that they were talking of him, and bent forward that he might receive the caresses which Jan showered upon him. For awhile they thought nothing of the man who lay at their feet, until Jan’s eye fell upon him as he lay there, his black eyes twinkling with rage and apprehension.
“Dere he lies, dat villains!” said Jan. “He gets me in der mut, unt den he von’t help me out.”
“I was jubous he’d do something of the kind,” said Ben. “I wa’n’t fur away. Thet’s what I let him go with ye fur,jest to try him. I’m sorry I did it now. Ain’t he a sweet specimen for a human?”
He stooped and loosened the strap on the legs of the Frenchman.
“Git up!” he said.
Jules Damand rose slowly, with his eyes continually fixed upon the earth.
“Nicekind of man, ain’t ye?” said Ben. “What ye got to say fer yerself?”
“Nothing,” replied Jules.
“Nothing?”
“Not a word. Do with me as you choose. If you had staid away ten minutes longer, the work would have been complete.”
“Ye cold-blooded scoundrel! I’m sorry I ever broke bread with the like of ye. A mean-sperited skunk! I’d sarve ye right ef I sent a bullet through yer skull. Wouldn’t I now?”
“Do it, then.”
“I leave it with Jan. Ef he says kill ye, why, yer no better then a dead man. Ye owe yer life to him, an’ ef he choses to take it, thar’s no law among free trappers to save ye. Anyway, I won’t help ye. Jan!”
“Vell?”
“Hyar’s a pistol. It’s loaded with a ball. This skunk ain’t fit to live. Trapper law will bar ye out in shootin’ him through the head. He is in yer hands.”
Jan took the pistol, cocked it, and placed it close to the head of the Frenchman. A deathlike stillness reigned in the place. The face of Jules was utterly colorless, but he did not speak a word. He knew that his life was forfeited by the stern laws of the trappers, and that nothing could save him, if the man whose life he had placed in such deadly peril chose to claim that forfeit. But his proud spirit would not permit him to speak a word. He looked straight into the muzzle of the threatening weapon, his lips white as ashes.
“Fire!” he whispered at length.
Jan dropped his hand.
“Remember that this is the second time he has nearly killed ye,” said Ben. “He cut the raft loose the other day.”
“Vat?” cried Jan.
“Yes,” replied Damand. “I did that. Fire away.”
Again Jan raised the weapon and again that deathlike silence fell upon the scene. But Jan could not do it. Such an act was not in his nature. He uncocked the weapon and handed it back to Ben.
“I can’t do it,” he said. “He nearly kills me, deux, swi dimes, put I nefer kills a man mit his hands tied. Let him go.”
“Walk before us,” said Ben, sternly. “Don’t try to escape.”
Jules obeyed sullenly, although glad of any respite.
“Holt on,” said Jan. “Dere ish my moose vat I kills.”
“We ain’t got time to ’tend to him now. Lead my hoss. I want to watch this beauty.”
They went back to the horses. Jules was put upon his own and his feet bound with a lariat. Jan rode in front. Ben brought up the rear, with his pistol ready, in case the fellow tried to get away. He made no such attempt. In this order they reached the camp. Here Ben tied the horse of the Frenchman to a tree and opened the cache. The beaver skins they had taken were bound up in bundles of twenty each. Ben laid them out in three equal piles. When this was done he untied Jules and made him dismount. Millicent and Bentley looked on in silence.
“Ar’ them dividedfa’r?” said Ben.
“Yes,” said Jules.
“Then take either pile ye like andgit.”
“I don’t want them,” said Jules. “Give me my horse and gun and let me go.”
“Do just ez ye chose. Thar they ar’. Ef ye don’t want ’em, it’s all right. We kin find a use for ’em.”
“I won’t take the skins.”
“All right. Thar’s yer hoss an’ thar’s yer gun. Take them an’git, and mind, ef ye turn up against us yer a dead man. I lets ye go now because none here wants yer life or yer company, but yer a dead man ef ye ever crosses my track. I have spoken—so be off with you!”
Jules obeyed. Without a word he rode away and the hills soon hid him from their sight.