LOST
Brent was conscious of a drone of voices. They came from a great distance—from so great a distance that he could not distinguish the words. He half-realized that somewhere, men were talking.
Befuddled, groping, his brain was struggling against the stupor that had held him unconscious for an hour. Two months before, half the amount of liquor he had taken into his system would have drugged him into a whole night's unconsciousness, but the life in the open, and the hard work in the gravel and on the trail, had so strengthened him physically that the rum, even in the poisonous air of the cabin could not deaden him for long. Gradually, out of the drone of voices a word was sensed by his groping brain. Then a group of words. Where was he? Who were these men? And why did they persist in talking when he wanted to sleep? His head ached, and he was conscious of a dull pain in his cramped neck. He was about to shift into an easier position, when suddenly he realized where he was. He was drunk—in the filthy cabinof theBelva Lou—and the voices were the voices of Claw, and the mate, and the Captain, who were still at their liquor. A wave of sickening remorse swept him. He, Carter Brent, couldn't keep away from the hooch. Even in the vile cabin of theBelva Lou, he had fallen for it. It was no use. He would kill himself—would blow his worthless brains out and be done with it, rather than face—A sudden savage rage obsessed him. Kill himself, he would, but first—he would rid the North of these vultures.
He was upon the point of leaping to his feet, and with his fists, his chair—anything that came to hand, annihilating the brutish occupants of the cabin, when the gruff voice of the Captain cut in upon Claw's droning monotone.
"An' when we git him an' his Injun planted, me an' Asa'll take his dogs an' hit back here, an' you kin strike east along the coast till you pick up another woman. It's a damn outrage—that's what it is! Chargin' me fifty dollars apiece fer greasy old pelters like them, that ain't worth the grub they eat! What I want is a young one—good lookin' an' young."
"You had yer pick out of the eight," growled Claw.
"An' a hell of a pick it was! Why, I've went out an' rustled 'em myself, an' fer a sack of flour, an' a half a dozen fish-hooks, an' mebbe a file er two, I've got the pick of a hull village."
Brent's brain cleared gradually as he listened to the villainous dialogue. Vaguely he sensed that it was himself and Joe Pete that the Captain spoke of "planting." So they intended to murder him, did they? And, when that detail had been attended to, they would go on with their traffic in "winter wives." But, they did not intend to kill him here on board the vessel. The Captain had spoken of coming back, after the deed was done. Where would they take him? Brent suddenly found himself possessed by curiosity. He decided to wait and see. And, when the time came, he would give as good an account of himself as he could—and then—what difference did it make? They were not fit to live. He would kill them if he could—or maybe they would kill him. But he was not fit to live either. He had sat at table with them—had fraternized with them—drank liquor in the stinking cabin with the scum of the earth. He was no better than they—he was one of them. The bottle scraped along the table, and he could hear the audible gulping of liquor, the tap of the returned glasses, and the harsh rasping of throats as they were cleared of the fiery bite.
Then the voice of Claw: "You ain't had no pick of a village since the Mounted begun patrolin' the coast."
"Damn the Mounted!"
"Yeh, that's what I say. But damnin' 'em don't git red of 'em. Facts is, they're here, an' everyyear it's harder an' harder fer a man to make a livin'. But listen, Cap, I've got one bet up my sleeve. But it'll cost you more'n any fifty dollars—er a hundred, either. She ain't no Husky—she's an Injun breed—an' damn near white. Her name's Snowdrift—an' she's the purtiest thing in the North. I've had my eyes on her fer a couple of years. She was in the mission over on the Mackenzie. But she ain't there no more. She's way up the Coppermine, with a band of about twenty Dog Ribs." Claw paused to pour a glass of liquor, and Brent felt the blood pounding his eardrums in great surging throbs. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and the palms of his hands, and it was only by a superhuman effort that he continued to feign sleep. Surely, they would notice the flush on his face, the sweat glistening on his forehead and the dryness of his lips—but, no—Claw was speaking again:
"I tried to buy her once—last year it was, offen her mother—offered her a thousan' dollars, cash money—an' 'fore I know'd what happened, the damned old squaw had me about half killed. She's a hell cat. She done it barehanded—clawed my eyes, an' clawed out a hull handful of whiskers—you kin see that patch on my throat where they never grow'd back. It was over near Good Hope, an' I didn't dast to make no holler, nor kill her neither, on account of the Mounted—but I'll get her yet. An' when I do, I'll learn her to pull folks whiskers out by the ruts when they're tryin' to do the right thing by her!"
"You won't git no thousan' dollars from me!" exploded the Captain, "They ain't no woman, white, red, brown, yaller, or black that's worth no thousan' dollars o' my money!"
"Oh, ain't they?" sneered Claw, "Well you don't git her then. Fact is I never figgered on sellin' her to you, nohow. I kin take her over to Dawson an' make ten thousan' offen her in six months' time. They got the dust over there, an' they ain't afraid to spend it—an' they know a good lookin' woman when they see one. I'm a tellin' you they ain't no woman ever hit the Yukon that kin anyways touch her fer looks—an' I've saw 'em all. The only reason I'm offerin' her to you is because I kin run her up here a damn sight easier than I kin take her clean over to Dawson—an' with a damn sight less risk, too."
"How old is she?" growled the Captain.
"Ain't a day over twenty. She's dirt cheap at a thousan'. You could have her all winter, an' next summer you could slip into one of them coast towns, Juneau, or Skagway, or even the ones farther north, an' make five or ten times what you paid fer her."
"But s'pose she got spunky, an' I'd kill her, or knock out her teeth, er an eye—then where'd my profits be? Women's hell to handle if they take a notion."
"That's your lookout. It's your money that'sinvested, an' if you ain't got sense enough to look after it, it's your funeral—not mine."
"How you goin' to git her here? How you goin' to git her away from the Injuns? An' how do you know where she's at?"
"It's like this. Last summer she leaves the mission an' her an' the old squaw talks the Dog Ribs into hittin' over onto the Coppermine to prospect. They gits over there an' builds 'em a camp, an' starts in trappin' an' prospectin'. But a couple of the bucks has got a thirst fer hooch, an' they can't git none so they pulls out an' hits back fer the Mackenzie. I run onto one of 'em an' he give me the dope—he's the one that's here with me, an' he's goin' to guide me down to the village when I git ready to go. That's why I asked Ace-In-The-Hole if he'd saw 'em. I didn't want him buttin' in on the deal—the old squaw's bad enough, but Gawd! I seen him kill three men in about a second in a saloon in Dawson over a stud game—bare handed. They ain't no woman ever got her hooks into him—not even The Queen of the Yukon—an' she done her damndest—really loved him, an' all that sort of bunk. I know all about women, an' she'd of run straight as hell if he'd of married her—some says she's run straight ever sense she got caked in on him—even after she seen it wasn't no use. He kind of sticks up fer 'em all. Anyways, he knocked hell out of me one night when I was lacin' it to a gal I'd brung into the country with a dog whip. Hewon't stand fer no rough stuff when they's women mixed up in it, an' I'd ruther be in hell with my legs cut off than have him find out what we was up to. I don't want none of his meat—me!"
"Better go easy with yer jaw then," advised the Captain, "Mebbe he ain't so damn dead to the world as he's lettin' on."
Claw laughed: "I've got him gauged. I've studied him 'cause I aimed to git him sometime. He's a hooch-hound right. Half what he's drunk today will put him dead fer hours. You could pull all his teeth an' he'd never feel it. No, we ain't got to bother about him. He'll be out of the way before I hit fer the Injun camp, anyhow. We'll wake him up after while, an' I'll give him the bottle of hooch, like I said, so he'll stay soused an' not move his camp, then we'll hit over there with more hooch, an' when he uncovers his dust we'll git him an' the Injun both. Your share of his dust will be half enough to pay fer the breed. But, before we start out you fork over half the price—balance payable on delivery, an' me an' the Injun'll hit on up the river an' fetch back the girl. It'll cost you a keg of rum besides the thousan', 'cause the only way to git her away from them Siwashes'll be to git 'em all tanked up. They'll be right fer it, bein' off the hooch as long as they have. But, at that, I better take along a man or two of the crew, to help me handle 'em."
"We won't bother none of the crew," rasped theCaptain, harshly. "I'll jest go 'long myself. With five hundred dollars of my dust in yer jeans fer a starter after ye'd got her, ye might git to thinkin' o' them ten thousan' you could make off her in Dawson—not that I wouldn't trust you, you understand, but jest to save myself some worry while you was gone, then, if she's as good lookin' as you say, I'd ruther be along myself than let you an' some of the crew have her till you get here."
Brent's first sensation when he heard the name of Snowdrift upon Claw's lips had been one of blind, unreasoning fury, but his brain cleared rapidly as the man proceeded, and as he listened to the unspeakable horror of the conversation, the blind fury gave place to a cold, deadly rage. He realized that if he were to save the woman he loved from a fate more horrible than he had ever conceived of, he must exert the utmost care to make no false move. His heart chilled at the thought of what would have happened to her had he yielded to the first blind impulse to launch himself at the throats of the men there in the little cabin where all the odds were against him. A pistol shot, a blow from behind, and Snowdrift would have been left absolutely in the power of these fiends.
Cold sober, now, his one thought was to get out of the cabin, yet he dared not move. Should he show signs of returning consciousness he knew that suspicion would immediately fasten upon him, and that his life would not be worth a penny. He mustwait until they roused him, and even then, he must not be easily roused. Claw had assured the Captain that half the amount of liquor would deaden him for hours, therefore he must play his part. But could he? Was it humanly possible to endure the physical torture of his cramped position. Every muscle of his body ached horribly. His head ached, he was consumed with torturing thirst, and his mouth was coated with a bitter slime. Added to this was the brain torture of suspense when his every instinct called for action. Suppose they should change their minds. He dared not risk opening his eyes to the merest slit, because he knew that Claw or the Captain might be holding a knife to his ribs, or a pistol at his head. Any moment might be his last—and then—Snowdrift—he dared not even shudder at the thought. There was another danger, suppose he should over-play his part, when they undertook to awaken him, or should under-play it? He knew to a certainty that one false move would mean death without a chance to defend himself, unarmed as he was and with the odds of three to one against him.
An interminable period, during which the men talked and wrangled among themselves, was interrupted by a loud knock upon the door.
"Who's there?" roared the Captain, "An' what d'ye want?"
"Dat me—Joe Pete," came a familiar voice from beyond the door. "An' I'm t'ink dat tam we goin'back. She start to snow, an' I ain' lak we git los'. Too mooch no trail."
"Might's well git 'em started now as anytime," whispered Claw. "Wedon't want 'em to git lost, neither. What we want is fer 'em to git to their camp an' then the snow an' the hooch'll hold 'em till we git there."
"Next thing is to git him woke up," answered the Captain. Aloud, he called to Joe Pete: "All right, come on in an' give us a hand, yer pardner's stewed to the guards, an' it ain't goin' to be no cinch to wake him up."
The door opened, and Brent's heart gave a leap as he felt the hand of the big Indian upon his shoulder. If anything should go wrong now, at least the odds against him were greatly reduced insofar as the occupants of the cabin were concerned. But, there would still be the crew—they could shoot from the cover of the igloos— The hand was shaking him roughly, and it was with a feeling of vast relief that Brent allowed his head to roll about upon the stiffened muscles of his neck. A glass was pressed to his lips, and there was nothing feigned in the coughing with which he sought to remove the strangling liquor from his throat. His eyes opened, and the next instant a dipper of cold water was dashed into his face. The shaking continued, and he babbled feeble protest: "Lemme 'lone. G'way—le'me sleep!" The shaking was redoubled, and Brent blinked stupidly, and feigned maudlin angeras the Indian slapped him with the flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. "Who you slappin'," he muttered, thickly, as he staggered to his feet and stood swaying and holding to the table for support, "C'm on an' fight!" he challenged, acting his part to a nicety, glaring owlishly about, "I c'n lick y'all. Gi'me some water, I'm burnin' up." A dipper of water was thrust into his hands and he drained it in huge gulps, "What's goin' on here?" he asked, apparently revived a little by the water, "Gi'me some hooch!"
Claw laid a conciliating hand upon his arm: "Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole," he purred, "Not no more hooch right now. It's startin' to snow, an' you got to be hittin' fer camp. Look a here," he picked up a corked bottle and extended it to Brent, "Here's a bottle fer you. Wait till you git to camp, and then go to it. 'Twon't take you only a little while—but you got to git goin'. If she thicks up on you before you git to the mountains you'll be in a hell of a fix—but you got time to make it if the Siwash will shove the dogs along. Better let him ride the sled," he said, turning to Joe Pete, "You'll make better time."
Brent took the bottle and slipped it beneath his parka: "How much?" he asked, fumbling clumsily for his sack.
"That's all right," assured Claw, "Tain't nothin' 't all. It's a present from me an' Cap. Shows we know how to treat a friend. Come over an' see usagin, when the storm lets up. Yer welcome to anything we got."
"Much 'blige, Claw," mumbled Brent, blinking with solemn gravity, as he smothered an impulse to reach out and crush the man's wind-pipe in the grip of his hand, "Didn't know you was good fren' of mine. Know it—now—an' you, too, Cap—an' you, too, Snaggs."
"Scroggs," corrected the mate, "Asa Scroggs."
"Sure—Scroggs—'scuse me—mus' be little full. My name's Ace, too—Ace-In-The-Hole—pair of aces, haw, haw, haw! Pair to draw to, I'll say. Well, s'long. Tell you what," he said, as he turned to the door, leaning heavily upon Joe Pete, "You come on over to my camp, when the storm lets up. Right on the river—can't miss it—Bloody Falls—where Old Hearne's Injuns butchered the poor Eskimos—damn shame! Bring over plenty of hooch—I've got the dust to pay for it—bring dozen bottles—plenty dust back there in camp—an' it'll be my treat."
"We'll come," the Captain hastened to accept, "Might's well be good friends. Neighbors hain't none too thick in these parts. We'll come, won't we Claw—an' we'll bring the hooch."
Stumbling and mumbling, Brent negotiated the narrow ally and the steep flight of stairs in the wake of Joe Pete. At the head of the ladder that led down the ship's side, he managed to stumble and land harmlessly in a huge pile of snow that had beenshoveled aside to make a path to the igloos, and amid the jibes of the two sailors who were cutting blubber, allowed Joe Pete to help him onto the sled.
The wind had risen to half a gale. Out of the northeast it roared, straight across the frozen gulf from the treeless, snow-buried wastes of Wollaston Land, driving before it flinty particles of snow that hissed earthward in long cutting slants.
Heading the dogs southward, Joe Pete struck into the back-trail and, running behind, with a firm grip on the tail-rope, urged them into a pace that carried the outfit swiftly over the level snow-covered ice.
Upon the sled Brent lay thinking. Now that the necessity for absolute muscle control no longer existed, the condition of cold hate into which he had forced himself gave place to a surge of rage that drove his nails into his palms, and curses from his lips, as he tried in his unreasoning fury to plan extermination of the two fiends who had plotted the soul-murder of his wonder woman. He would tear them to shreds with his two hands. He would shoot them down from ambush without a chance to protect themselves, as they searched for his camp among the rock-ridges of Bloody Falls.
Gradually the fume of fury cooled and he planned more sanely. He was conscious of a torturing thirst. The bottle of hooch pressed against his side, and carefully so as not to disturb the covering robe, he drew it from beneath his parka. He wascold sober, now. The shock of what he had heard in the cabin of theBelva Louhad completely purged his brain of the effect of the strong liquor. But not so his body. Every nerve and fibre of him called for more liquor. There was a nauseating sickness in his stomach, a gnawing dryness in his throat, and a creeping coldness in his veins that called for the feel of the warm glow of liquor. Never in his life had the physical desire for drink been more acute—but his brain was cold sober.
Nothing of the heart-sickening remorse of his first moments of consciousness assailed him now. What was done was done. He knew that he had yielded to his desire for drink, had weakly succumbed to the first temptation, as he had always weakly succumbed—an act, in itself contemptible. But with an ironical smile he realized that his very weakness had placed him in a position to save from a fate a thousand times more horrible than death, the girl who had become dearer to him than life itself. But, with that realization, came also the realization that only by the merest accident, had the good been born of evil, that the natural and logical result of his act would have had its culmination at Bloody Falls when he and Joe Pete would have sunk down dead upon the snow at the moment he produced the gold to pay for more hooch. Claw had laid his plans along the logical sequence of events. "He played me for a drunkard, as he had a right to," muttered Brent. "Andhis scheme would have worked except for one little mistake. He forgot to figure that physically I'm a better man than I was back at Dawson. He thought he had me gauged right, and so he talked. But—he over-played his hand. An hour ago, I was a drunkard. Am I a drunkard now? It is the test," he muttered, "The war is on," and with a grim tightening of the lips, he thrust the bottle back under his parka.
Three times within the next two hours he withdrew the bottle. And three times he returned it to its place. He thought of tossing it into the snow—and a moment later, angrily dismissed the thought. "Shewouldn't ask odds of the hooch and I won't either! I'll keep this bottle right with me. I'll fight this fight like a man—like a Brent! And, by God, when I win, it won't be because I couldn't get the hooch! It will be because I wouldn't drink it when I had it!"
And, the next moment, to the utter astonishment of Joe Pete, he leaped perfectly sober from the sled, and took his place at the tail-rope with a laughing command to the Indian to take a rest on the robes.
An hour later, Brent halted the dogs and aroused Joe Pete. "We ought to have hit shore by this time," he said, "I'm afraid something's wrong."
The snow had thickened, entirely obliterating the trail, and forming an opaque wall through which the eye could penetrate but a short distance beyond the lead dog.
The Indian noted the course, and the direction of the wind. "Mebbe-so win' change," he opined, and even as he spoke the long sweeping lines of snow were broken into bewildering zig-zags. A puff of wind coming at a right angle from the direction of the driving gale was followed by another blustering puff from the opposite direction, and they came thick and fast from every direction, and seemingly from all directions at once. The snow became powder-fine and, in a confusion of battering blasts, the two men pushed uncertainly on.
TRAPPED
For three days the Arctic blizzard raged and howled, and drifted the snow deep over the igloos that were grouped about the hulk of theBelva Lou. On the morning of the fourth day Claw and the Captain made their way across the snow-buried deck and gazed out toward the distant ridges of the Copper Mountains.
"Might's well git started," opined Claw, "Have 'em load a week's grub onto my sled, an' you an' me, an' the Dog Rib'll hit out."
"Will a week's grub be enough?" growled the Captain, "It's goin' to be a hell of a trip. Mebbe we'd ort to wait a couple o' days an' see what the weather'll do."
"Wait—hell!" cried Claw, "What's the use waitin'? The b'rom'ter's up, an' you know damn well we ain't in fer no more storm fer a week er two. What we want to do is to git over to Bloody Falls before Ace-In-The-Hole takes a notion to break camp. An' what's the use of packin' more grub? We'll have his won't we?"
"He ain't goin' to break camp till we come along with the hooch," argued the other, "Couple days more an' this snow will be settled an' the goin'll be easier."
"If you don't want to go, you kin stay here," retorted Claw, "Me—I ain't goin' to take no chances. I an' the Dog Rib kin handle them two, if you don't want none of it. An' then we'll shove on to the Injun camp an' git the girl, an' I'll jest slip on over to Dawson with her—a thousan' dollars is too cheap, anyhow. If I hadn't of b'n lit up I'd never offered her to you fer no such figger."
"A trade's a trade," interrupted the Captain. "If yer so hell-bent on goin', I'll go along." He shouted the necessary orders to the sailors who were clearing the snow from the doorways of the igloos, and the two turned to the cabin.
"I'll take that five hundred now, before we start, an' you kin give me the balance when we git back with the girl," suggested Claw.
"Ye said there'd be five hundred apiece in Ace-In-The-Hole's sack," reminded the Captain, "I'll pay the first installment with that."
"You will, like hell! You'll pay me now. We ain't got that sack yet. Come acrost."
"I'll give ye an order on——"
"You'll give me an order on no one! You'll count out five hundred, cash money—dust, er bills, right here in this cabin, 'fore we budge an inch. You've got it—come acrost!"
After much grumbling the Captain produced a roll of bills and counting off five hundred dollars, passed the money reluctantly across the table to Claw, who immediately stowed it away. "Don't forget to have 'em put a keg of rum on the sled," he reminded, "We'll need it when we get to the Injuns. Not half water, neither. What we want this trip is the strong stuff that'll set 'em afire."
"You got to stand your half o' the rum. We're pardners on this."
"I stand nothin'. You put up the rum, an' the grub, an' a thousan' dollars fer the girl. My contract is to git her, an' deliver her on board theBelva Lou. The only thing we're pardners on is Ace-In-The-Hole's dust. A trade's a trade—an' you got all the best of it, at that."
Late that afternoon Claw and the Captain, and the renegade Dog Rib reached the Bloody Falls of the Coppermine, and searched vainly for Brent's camp.
"Pulled out!" cried the Captain, after an hour's search along the base of the upstanding rock ledges.
Claw shook his head: "They never got here," he amended, "The storm got bad before they hit the ridges, an' they're lost."
"Where's the camp, then?"
Claw indicated the high piled snow: "Tent was only pegged to the snow. Wind blew it down, and the fresh snow buried it. We'll camp an' hangaround a couple of days. If they weathered the storm, they'll be along by that time. If they didn't—well, they won't bother us none with the girl."
"But, how about the dust?" asked the Captain, "If they don't come, we've got to find the camp."
Claw laughed: "You'll have a hell of a time doin' it! With the snow piled twenty foot deep along them ledges. If they don't show up, we'll shove on to the Injuns. It's clost to a hundred an' fifty mile to the camp, accordin' to the Dog Rib, an' it'll take us anyways a week to make it, with the goin' as bad as it is."
"An' if we hang around here fer a couple o' days, that'll make nine days, with a week's grub. What ye goin' to do 'bout that? I told ye we'd ort to take more."
"Yer head don't hurt you none—the way you work it, does it?" sneered Claw, "I s'pose we couldn't send the Dog Rib back fer some more grub while we was awaitin'? An' while he's gone you kin git a belly full of rootin' up the snow to find the camp."
For two days Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the Captain's sporadic efforts to uncover Brent's camp. "If you'd help, 'stead of layin' around laughin', we might find it!" flared the Captain.
"I don't want to find it," jeered Claw, "I'm usin' my head—me. The main reason I come here was to kill Ace-In-The-Hole, so he couldn't butt in onthe other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right."
"But, the dust!"
"Sure—the dust," mocked Claw. "If we find the camp, an' locate the dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't—I slip up here in the spring, when you're chasin' whales, an' with the snow melted off all I got to do is reach down an' pick it up—an' they won't be no dividin', neither."
"What's to hinder me from slippin' in here long about that time? Two kin play that game."
"Help yerself," grinned Claw, "Only, the Mounted patrol will be along in the spring, an' they'll give you a chanct to explain about winterin' them klooches on theBelva Lou. You've forgot, mebbe, that such customs is frowned on."
"Ye damn double dealin' houn'!" cried the Captain, angrily.
"Double dealin', eh? I s'pose I'd ort to be out there breakin' my back diggin' in the snow, so I could divvy up with you dust that I could have all to myself, by takin' it easy. I offered to share the dust with you, cause I figgered I needed yer help in bumpin' off them two. If you don't help, you don't git paid, an' that's all there is to it."
The Indian returned with the provisions, and in the morning of the third day they struck out up the Coppermine, with the Indian breaking trail ahead of the dogs.
"I didn't expect 'em to show up," grinned Claw,as he trudged along behind the Captain. "I figgered if they didn't make camp that first stretch, they never would make it. Full of hooch, a man ain't fit to hit the trail even in good weather. He thinks he kin stand anything—an' he can't stand nothin'. The cold gits him. Here's what happened. The storm gits thick, an' they git off the course. The Siwash is lost an' he tries to wake up Ace-In-The-Hole. He finds the bottle of hooch—and that's the end of the Siwash. Somewheres out on the sea-ice, or in under the snow on the flats they's two frozen corpses—an' damn good reddence, I says."
Shortly after noon of the sixth day on the trail, the Dog Rib halted abruptly and stood staring in bewilderment at a little log cabin, half buried in the snow, that showed between the spruce trunks upon the right bank of the stream. Claw hastened forward, and spoke to him in jargon. The Indian shook his head, and by means of signs and bits of jargon, conveyed the information that the cabin did not belong to the Indian camp, and that it had not been there at the time he fled from the camp. He further elucidated that the camp was several miles along.
"Must be some of 'em got sore at the rest, an' moved up here an' built the shack," opined Claw, "Anyways, we got to find out—but we better be heeled when we do it." He looked to his revolver, and stooping, picked up a rifle from the sled. The Captain followed his example, and Claw orderedthe Indian to proceed. No one had appeared, and at the foot of the ascent to the cabin, Claw paused to examine a snow-covered mound. The Captain was about to join him when, with a loud yell of terror, he suddenly disappeared from sight, and the next moment the welkin rang with his curses, while Claw laughing immoderately at the mishap, stood peering into Brent's brush-covered shaft. It was but the work of a few moments to haul the discomfited Captain from the hole. "Shaft, an' an ore dump," explained Claw. "This here's a white man's layout, an' he's up to date, too. They ain't be'n burnin' in, even on the Yukon, only a year or so. Wonder who he is?"
The two followed the Indian who had halted before the cabin, and stood looking down at the snowshoe trail that led from the door.
"Off huntin', I guess. Er over to the Injun camp. Looks like them tracks was made yesterday. He ain't done no work in the shaft though sence the storm. We'll go in an' make ourself to home till he gits back, anyhow. I don't like the idee of no white man in here. 'Cordin' to who it is—but——"
"Mebbe it ain't a white man," ventured the Captain.
"Sure it's a white man. Didn't I jest tell you that burnin' in ain't no Injun trick?"
"Dog Rib snowshoes," suggested the Indian in jargon, pointing to the tracks.
"That don't prove nothin'," retorted Claw, "Hecould of got 'em from the Injuns, couldn't he? They's two of 'em lives here," he added, from the interior. "Unharness the dogs, while I build up a fire."
From the moment of Brent's departure, Snowdrift bent all her energies persuading the Indians to burn into the gravel for gold. At first her efforts were unavailing. Even Wananebish refused to take any interest in the proceeding, so the girl was forced to cut her own wood, tend her own fire, and throw out her own gravel. When, however, at the end of a week she panned out some yellow gold in the little cabin, as she had seen Brent do, the old squaw was won completely over, and thereafter the two women worked side by side, with the result that upon the test panning, Snowdrift computed that they, too, were taking out almost an ounce a day apiece. When the other Indians saw the gold they also began to scrape away the snow, and to cut wood and to build their fires on the gravel. Men and women, and even the children worked all day and took turns tending the fire at night. Trapping and hunting were forgotten in the new found craze for gold, and it became necessary for Snowdrift to tole off hunters for the day, as the supply of meat shrank to an alarming minimum.
By the end of another week interest began to flag. The particles of gold collected in the test pannings were small in size, and few in number, thework was hard and distasteful, and it became more and more difficult for the girl to explain to them that these grains were not the ultimate reward for the work, that they were only tests, and that the real reward would not be visible until spring when they would clean up the gravel dumps that were mounding up beside the shafts. The Indians wanted to know how this was to be accomplished, and Snowdrift suddenly realized that she did not know. She tried to remember what Brent had told her of the sluicing out process, and realized that he had told very little. Both had been content to let the details go until such time as the sluicing should begin. Vaguely, she told the Indians of sluice boxes and riffles, but they were quick to see that she knew not whereof she spoke. In vain, she told them that Brent would explain it all when he returned, but they had little use for this white man who had no hooch to trade. At last, in desperation, she hit upon the expedient of showing the Indians more gold. From Brent's sack she extracted quantities of dust which she displayed with pride. The plan worked at first, but soon, the Indians became dissatisfied with their own showing, and either knocked off altogether, or ceased work on the shafts and began to laboriously pan out their dumps, melting the ice for water, and carrying the gravel, a pan at a time, to their cabins.
This too, was abandoned after a few days, and the Indians returned to their traps, and to thesnaring of rabbits. Only Snowdrift and old Wananebish kept up to the work of cutting and hauling the wood, tending the fires, and throwing out the gravel. Despite the grueling toil, Snowdrift found time nearly every day to slip up and visit Brent's cabin. Sometimes she would go only to the bend of the river and gaze at it from a distance. Again she would enter and sit in his chair, or moving softly about the room, handle almost reverently the things that were his, wiping them carefully and returning them to their place. She purloined a shirt from a nail above his bunk, and carrying it home used it as a pattern for a wonderfully wrought shirt of buckskin and beads. Each evening, she worked on the shirt, while Wananebish sat stolidly by, and each night as she knelt beside her bunk she murmured a prayer for the well-being of the big strong man who was hers.
But whether it was at the shaft, at her needle, at her devotions, or upon her frequent trips to his cabin, her thoughts were always of Brent, and her love for him grew with the passing of the days until her longing for his presence amounted, at times, almost to a physical pain. One by one, she counted the days of his absence, and mentally speculated upon his return. After the second week had passed she never missed a day in visiting his cabin. Always at the last bend of the river, she quickened her steps, and always she paused, breathless, for some sign of his return.
"Surely, he will come soon," she would mutter, when the inspection showed only the lifeless cabin, or, "He will come tomorrow." When the seventeenth and the eighteenth days had passed, with no sign of him, the girl, woman like, began to conjure up all sort and manner of dire accident that could have befallen him. He might have been drowned upon a thinly crusted rapid. He might have become lost. Or frozen. Or, ventured upon a snow cornice and been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. Every violent death known to the North she pictured for him, and as each picture formed in her brain, she dismissed it, laughed at her fears, and immediately pictured another.
On the nineteenth day she chopped wood until the early darkness drove her from her tasks, then she returned to the cabin and, fastening on her snowshoes, struck off down the river. "Surely, he will be here today," she murmured, "If he is not here today I will know something has happened, and tomorrow I shall start out to find him. But, no—I am foolish! Did he not say it would be two weeks—a month—maybe longer—those were his very words. And it is only nineteen days, and that is not a month. But, he will come sooner!" She flushed deeply, "He will come tome—for he does love me, even as I love him. In his eyes I have seen it—and in his voice—and in the touch of his hand."
The last bend was almost in sight and she quickened her pace. She knew to an inch, the exact spot from which the first glimpse of the cabin was to be had. She reached the spot and stared eagerly toward the spruce thicket. The next instant a glad cry rang out upon the still Arctic air. "Oh, he has come! He has come! The light is in his window! Oh, my darling! My own, own man!"
Half laughing, half sobbing, she ran forward, urging her tired muscles to their utmost, stumbling, recovering, hurrying on. Only a minute more now! Up the bank from the river! And, not even pausing to remove her snowshoes, she burst into the room with Brent's name upon her lips.
The next instant the blood rushed from her face leaving it deathly white. She drew herself swiftly erect, and with a wild cry of terror turned to fly from the room. But her snowshoes fouled, and she fell heavily to the floor, just as Johnnie Claw, with a triumphant leer upon his bearded face leaped to the door, banged it shut, and stood with his back against it, leering and smirking down at her, while the Captain of theBelva Louknelt over her and stared into her eyes with burning, bestial gaze.
"YOU ARE WHITE!"
"So! my beauty!" grinned the Captain, "Fer once in his life Claw didn't lie. An' ye didn't wait fer us to go an' git ye—jest come right to us nice as ye please—an' saved me a keg o' rum." He rose with an evil leer. "An' now git up an' make yerself to home—an' long as ye do as I say, an' don't git yer back up, you an' me'll git along fine."
Frantic with terror the girl essayed to rise, but her snowshoes impeded her movements, so with trembling fingers she loosened the thongs and, leaping to her feet, backed into a corner, and stared in wide-eyed horror first at the Captain, then at Claw, the sight of whom caused her to shrink still further against the wall.
The man sneered: "Know me, eh? Rec'lect the time, over to the mission I tried to persuade you to make the trip to Dawson with me do you? Well, I made up my mind I'd git you. Tried to buy you offen the squaw an' she like to tore me to pieces. I'd of kidnapped you then, if it hadn't be'n fer the Mounted. But I've got you now—got you an' soldyou to him," he grinned, pointing to the Captain. "An' yer lucky, at that. Let me make you acquainted with Cap Jinkins. 'Tain't every breed girl gits to be mistress of a ship like theBelva Lou."
Her eyes blazing with anger, she pointed a trembling finger at Claw: "Stand away from that door! Let me go!"
"Oh, jest like that!" mocked the man. "If he says let you go, it's all right with me, pervided he comes acrost with the balance of the dust."
The Captain laughed, and turning to the Dog Rib, he ordered: "Slip out to the sled an' git a bottle o' rum, an' we'll all have a little drink."
For the first time Snowdrift noticed the presence of the Indian. "Yondo!" she screamed, "This is your work! You devil!" and beside herself with rage and terror, she snatched a knife from the table and leaped upon him like a panther.
"Git back there!" cried Claw, leveling his revolver.
Quick as a flash, the Captain knocked up the gun, pinioned the girl's arms from behind, and stood glaring over her shoulder at Claw: "Put up that gun, damn ye! An' look out who yer pullin' it on!"
"By God, that's my Injun! I ain't through with him, yet, an' there ain't no damn jade kin carve him up in under my nose."
"An' this here's my woman, too. An' there ain't no damn hooch runner kin pull a gun on her, neither!"
"Ain't no harm done," conciliated Claw, "An' I guess they ain't no call to fight over 'em. How about that drink?"
"Git it!" ordered the Captain, and as the cowering Dog Rib slunk from the room, he snatched the knife from the pinioned hand of the girl and hurled it under the bunk:
"An', now you hell-cat!" he rasped, pushing her from him, "You set to an' git supper! An' don't go tryin' no more monkey business, er I'll break ye in two! They seems to be grub enough here without usin' none of my own," he added, eying the supplies ranged along the opposite wall, "Who owns this shack, anyhow?"
"Carter Brent owns it," cried the girl, drawing herself erect and glaring into the man's eyes. It was as though the very mention of his name, nerved her to defiance. "And when he returns, he will kill you both—kill you! Do you hear?"
"It's a lie!" roared Claw, then paused, abruptly. "I wonder—maybe it is his shack. He come straight from the Yukon, an' that accounts fer the burnin' in."
"Know him?" asked the Captain.
"Know him!" growled Claw, "Yes, I know him—an' so do you. That's Ace-In-The-Hole's real name."
"The hell it is!" cried the Captain, and laughed uproariously. "So that's the way the wind blows! An' the breed's be'n livin' here with him! Thingsis sure comin' my way! That's most too good to be true—an' you misrepresentin' her to be a virgin, fresh from a school—ho, ho, ho!"
"What'd you mean?" snarled Claw, "How was I to know——"
"Whether ye know'd, er whether ye didn't, it didn't make no difference—I win either way."
"What d'you mean?" Claw repeated.
"You know what I mean," sneered the Captain, truculently, "Secondhand goods—half price—see?"
"You mean I don't git my other five hundred?" yelled Claw jerking the revolver from his holster and levelling at the Captain's head, "Is that what ye mean?"
Surprised at the suddenness of the action, the Captain was caught off guard, and he stood blinking foolishly into the mouth of the gun: "Well," he faltered, moistening his lips with his tongue, "Mebbe we might kind o' talk it over."
"The only talkin' over you'll git out of me, is to come acrost with the five hundred," sneered Claw.
"Ye know damn well I ain't got no five hundred with me. Wait till we git to theBelva Lou."
"I'll wait, all right—but not till we git to theBelva Lou. Me an' the girl will wait on shore, in sight of theBelva Lou, while you go out an' git the money an' fetch it back—an' you'll come backalonewith it. An' what's more—you ain't ahead nothin' on the rum, neither. 'Cause I'm goin' to slipdown to the Injun camp in about five minutes, an' the rum goes along. I'll be back by daylight, an' instead of the rum, I'll have all the fur—an' everything else them Dog Ribs has got. An' I'll git square with that damn squaw fer jerkin' that handful of whiskers out of me, too."
"That's all right, Johnnie," assured the Captain, still with his eyes on the black muzzle of the gun. "Take the rum along—only, we'd ort to split half an' half on that fur."
"Half an' half, hell! You got what you come after, ain't you? An' if I kin pick up an honest dollar on the side, that ain't no reason I should split it with you, is it? I'll jest leave you two to git acquainted while I slip down to the camp."
"Go ahead," grinned the Captain, "An' don't hurry back, we'll wait."
"Yer damn right you'll wait!" retorted Claw, "I'll have the dogs." In the doorway he paused, "An', by the way, Cap. Don't open that door till I git out of range—see?"
The moment the door closed behind Claw, the Captain placed his back against it and turned to the girl: "Git to work now an' git supper! We're goin' to hit the back-trail inside an' hour. We kin pack what grub we'll need, an' we'll git most a hull night's start, cause he'll be busy with them Injuns till mornin'."
Snowdrift confronted him with blazing eyes: At the words her blood seemed to freeze within her,leaving her cold and numb with horror. She had heard of the coastal traffic in winter wives, but always it had seemed to her a thing vague and unreal. But now the full hideousness of it stood revealed to her. She herself, at that very moment stood trapped, bought and sold—absolutely in the power of the two bearded beasts, who in the very loathsomeness of their filthy minds, discussed her as they would discuss a piece of merchandise, bargained and haggled over the price of her living body! A single ray of hope had dawned in her breast as the men began to quarrel. If they would only come to blows, and to grip-lock in their rage, she might be able to seize a weapon, or better still dash from the room. Once in the scrub, she could easily elude them. But the hope died when Claw covered the Captain with his gun. And with the hope died also the numbing terror. A strange, unnatural calm took possession of her. There was still one way out—and she would seek that way. As the two men stood facing each other, she had caught a glimpse of the blade of the knife that lay where the Captain had thrown it, beneath the edge of the bunk. Stealthily her moccasined foot had reached out and slid it toward her, and as the door opened upon Claw's departure, she had stooped swiftly and recovered it. She would plunge the blade into her own heart—no, better, she would attack the Captain now that they were alone, and either kill him, or by the very fury of her onslaught, would force him to kill her. Sowith the knife concealed by her folded arms, her eyes blazed defiance:
"I'll never cook your supper! You dog! You unspeakable devil! I'll kill you first—or you'll kill me!"
"Kill ye, eh?" sneered the man, "Well, I might, at that, if I didn't have five hundred good dollars tied up in ye. Guess they ain't much danger of me killin' ye till I get my money back, one way er another—an' I guess they ain't no one knows that no better'n what you do. An' as fer killin'me," he laughed, "You look spunky 'nough to—but I'm hard to kill—it's be'n tried."
"I've warned you!" cried the girl, "And I'll kill you!"
"Git to work! Damn ye!" snarled the Captain, "yer losin' time! You cook that supper, er by God I'll make ye wisht I had killed ye! I'll tame ye! I'll show ye who's boss! Mebbe you won't be so pretty when I git through with ye—but ye'll be tame!"
The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words, "Oh, if he were here!"
"Hollerin' fer yer man, eh," taunted the Captain, "Ye ain't his'n now, yer mine—an' he won't come cause he's dead——"
"Dead!" The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl, "No, no, no!"
"Yes, yes, yes," mocked the man, "He's dead an' froze hard as a capstan bar, somewheres uponthe sea ice, an' his Injun, too. Got dead drunk upon theBelva Lou, an' started fer shore in the big storm—an' he never got there. So ye might's well make the best of it with me. An' I'll treat ye right if ye give me what I want. An' if ye don't give it, I'll take it—an' it'll be the worse fer you."
The girl scarcely heard the words. Brent was dead. Her whole world—the world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its possibilities to her—to hold promise of the wondrous happiness of which she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize—her whole world had suddenly come crashing about her—Brent was dead, and—like a flame of fire the thought flashed across her brain—the man responsible for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a fate a thousand times worse than death.
With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot rip of it as it tore into his shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil bracket-lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. Like a flash the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out to ward the blow, and by the merestaccident the barrel of the heavy gun struck the wrist of the hand that held the knife hurling it from her grasp, while at the same time his foot tripped her and she crashed heavily to the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, panting hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild cat, the girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the stanchion of the bunk for support, then with a loud ripping sound the garment, and the heavy woolen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the sight of her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire. Deliberately he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from the girl opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white breasts that rose and fell convulsively, as the breath sobbed from the girl's lungs. And as she looked into his devouring eyes, abysmal terror once more seized hold of her, for the loathsome desire in those eyes held more of horror than had their blaze of fury.
The man moistened his thick lips, smacking themin anticipation, and as he slowly advanced to the table, his foot struck an object that felt soft and yielding to the touch, yet when he sought to brush it aside, it was heavy. He glanced down, and the next instant stooped swiftly and picked up Brent's sack of dust, which the girl had carried inside her shirt. For an instant, greed supplanted the lust in his eyes, and he laughed. Long and loud, he laughed, while the girl, pumping the air into her lungs, gained strength with every second. "So here's where he left his dust, is it? It's too good to be true! I pay five hundred fer the girl instead of a thousan', an' all the dust, that Claw'll be up scratchin' the gravel around Bloody Falls fer next summer. I guess that's poor—five hundred clean cash profit, an' the girl besides!"
The sight of Brent's gold in the man's foul clutch was too much for Snowdrift, and the next instant a billet of stovewood crashed against the wall within an inch of his head. With a low growl, he dropped the sack to the floor and started around the table. In vain the girl cast wildly about for some weapon, as, keeping the table between them, she milled round and round the room. In vain she tried each time she passed it, to wrench open the door. But always the man was too quick for her, and when finally, he pushed the table against it, she once more found herself cornered this time without a weapon, and half dead from fatigue. Slowly, deliberately, the man advanced upon her. When he reached outand touched her bare arm with a thick fingered, hairy hand, she shrieked aloud, and redoubled the fury of her attack, clawing and striking at his face. But, her onslaught was futile. He easily warded off her tiring efforts. Closer and closer he pressed, his eyes aglitter with the fever of lust, his thick lips twisted into a gloating grin, until his arms closed slowly about her waist and his body pressed hers backward onto the bunk.