IN THE TOILS
Late one afternoon, a dog sled, with Joe Pete in the lead, and Brent and Snowdrift following swung rapidly down the Klondike River. A few miles from Dawson, the outfit overtook a man walking leisurely toward town, a rifle swung over his shoulder. Recognizing him as one Zinn, a former hanger-on at Cuter Malone's, Brent called a greeting.
"Damned if it ain't Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the man, in well simulated surprise. "They'll be rollin' 'em high in Dawson tonight!"
Brent laughed, and hurried on. And behind him upon the trail Zinn quickened his pace.
At the outskirts of town the three removed their snowshoes and, ordering Joe Pete to take the outfit to his own shack, Brent and Snowdrift hurried toward the Reeves'.
As they passed up the street Brent noticed that the dark eyes of the girl were busily drinking in the details of the rows upon rows of low frame houses. "At last you are in Dawson," he said, including witha sweep of the arm the mushroom city that had sprung up in the shadow of Moosehide Mountain, "Does it look like you expected it would? Are you going to like it?"
The girl smiled at the eagerness in his voice: "Yes, dear, I shall love it, because it will be our home. It isn't quite as I expected it to look. The houses all placed side by side, with the streets running between are as I thought they would be, but the houses themselves are different. They are not of logs, or of the thin iron like the warehouse of the new trading company on the Mackenzie, and they are not made of bricks and stones and very tall like the pictures of cities in the books."
Brent laughed: "No, Dawson is just half way between. Since the sawmills came the town has rapidly outgrown the log cabin stage, although there are still plenty of them here, but it has not yet risen to the dignity of brick and stone."
"But the houses of brick and stone will come!" cried the girl, enthusiastically, "And take the place of the houses of wood, and we shall be here to see the building of another great city."
Brent shook his head: "I don't know," he replied, doubtfully, "It all depends on the gravel. I wouldn't care to do much speculating in Dawson real estate right now. The time for that has passed. The next two or three years will tell the story. If I were to do any predicting, I'd say that instead of the birth of a great city, we are going to witnessthe lingering death of an overgrown town." He paused and pointed to a small cabin of logs that stood deserted, half buried in snow. "Do you see that shack over there? That's mine. It don't look like much, now. But, I gave five thousand in dust for it when I made my first strike."
The girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected looking building, "And that will be our home!" she cried.
"Not by a long shot, it won't!" laughed Brent, "We'll do better than that. I never want to see the inside of the place again! Yes, I do—just once. I want to go there and get a book—the book that lured me to the Coppermine—the book in which is written the name of Murdo MacFarlane. We will always keep that book, darling. And some day we will get it bound in leather and gold."
Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the man paused: "The Reeves' live here," he announced, and as he turned into the neatly shovelled path that led to the door, he reached down and pressed the girl's hand reassuringly: "Mrs. Reeves is an old, old friend," he whispered, "She will be a sister to you."
As Brent led the way along the narrow path his eyes rested upon the slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the walls of the house, "Hardest work I ever did," he grinned, "Hope the floor kept warm."
As he waited the answer to his knock upon thedoor, he noticed casually that Zinn sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led straight to Cuter Malone's. The next instant the door was opened and Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of early evening she did not recognize him. "Is Mr. Reeves home?" he asked.
"Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside.
"Thank you. I think we will."
Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and peer sharply into his face: "Carter Brent!" she cried, and the next instant the man's hands were in both of hers, and she was pulling him into the room. Like a flash Brent remembered that other time she had called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but this time they were tears of gladness. And then, from another room came Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders and he was spun around to meet the gaze of the searching grey eyes that stared into his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that accompanied Reeves' words: "Good Lord! What a change!" A hand slipped from his shoulder and grasped his own.
A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the lamp, turned and drew Snowdrift toward him. "And now I want you tomeet—Miss Margot MacFarlane. Within a very few hours she is going to become Mrs. Carter Brent. You see," he added turning to Reba Reeves, "I brought her straight to you. The hotel isn't——"
The sentence was never finished, already the two women were in each other's arms, and Reba Reeves was smiling at him over the girl's shoulder: "Carter Brent! If you had dared to even think of taking her to the hotel, I'd never have spoken to you again! You just let me catch you talking about hotels—when yourfolksare living right here! And now take off your things because supper is most ready. You'll find warm water in the reservoir of the stove, and I'll make an extra lot of good hot coffee, because I know you will be tired of tea."
Never in his life had Brent enjoyed a meal as he enjoyed that supper in the dining room of the Reeves', with Snowdrift, radiant with happiness, beside him, and his host and hostess eagerly plying him with questions.
"I think it is the most romantic thing I ever heard of!" cried Reba Reeves, when Snowdrift had finished telling of her life among the Indians, and at the mission, "It's easy enough to see why Carter chose you, but for the life of me I can't see how you came to take an old scapegrace like him!" she teased, and the girl smiled:
"I took him because I love him," she answered, "Because he is good, and strong, and brave, and because he can be gentle and tender and—and heunderstands. And he is not a scapegrace any more," she added, gravely, "He has told me all about how he drank hooch until he became a—a bun——"
"A what?"
"A bun—is it not that when a man drinks too much hooch?"
"A bum," supplied Brent, laughing.
"So many new words!" smiled the girl. "But I will learn them all. Anyway, we will fight the hooch together, and we will win."
"You bet you'll win!" cried Reeves, heartily, "And if I'm any judge, I'd say you've won already. How about it Brent?"
Deliberately—thoughtfully, Brent nodded: "She has won," he said.
"On the word of a Brent?" Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straight into his own as she asked the question.
"Yes," he answered, "On the word of a Brent."
A moment's silence followed the words, after which he turned to Reeves: "And, now—let's talk business. I have used about half the dust you loaned me. There is nothing worth while on the Coppermine—now." He smiled, as his eyes rested upon the girl, "So I have come back to take that job you offered me. Eleven hundred miles, we came, under the chaperonage of Joe Pete——"
"And a very capable chaperonage it was!" laughed Reeves, "Funniest thing I ever saw in my life—therein your cabin the morning you started. It was then I learned to know Joe Pete. But, go on."
"That's about all there is to it. Except that I'd like to keep the rest of the dust, and pay you back in installments—that is, if the job is still open. I've got to borrow enough for a start, somewhere—and I reckon you're about the only friend I've got left."
"How about that fellow, Camillo Bill? I thought he was a friend of yours."
"I thought so too, but—when I was down and out, and wanted a grub-stake, he turned me down. He's all right though—square as a die."
"About that job," continued Reeves, gravely, "I'm a little afraid you wouldn't just fill the bill."
For a moment Brent felt as though he had been slapped in the face. He had counted on the job—needed it. The next instant he was smiling: "Maybe you're right," he said, "I reckon I am a little rusty on hydraulics and——"
"I'd take a chance on the hydraulics," laughed Reeves, "But—before we go any further, what would you take for your title to those two claims that Camillo Bill has been operating?"
"Depends on who wanted to buy 'em," grinned Brent.
"What will you sell them to me for?"
"What will you give?"
"How would ten thousand for the two of them strike you?"
Brent laughed: "Don't you go speculating on any claims," he advised, "I'd be tickled to death to get ten thousand dollars—or ten thousand cents out of those claims—but not from you. It would be highway robbery."
"And if I did buy them from you at ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, you would be only a piker of a robber, as compared to me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if anybody offers you a million for 'em—you laugh at 'em," exclaimed Reeves, "Because they're worth a whole lot more than that."
Brent stared at the man as though he had taken leave of his senses. "Who has been stringing you?" he asked, "The fact is, those claims are a liability, and not an asset. Camillo Bill took them over to try to get the million I owed him out of 'em—and he couldn't do it. And when Camillo Bill can't get the dust out, it isn't there."
"How do you know he couldn't do it?"
"Because he told me so."
"He lied."
Brent flushed: "I reckon you don't know Camillo Bill," he said gravely, "As I told you, he wouldn't grub-stake me when I needed a grub-stake, and I don't understand that. But, I'd stake my life on it that he never lied about those claims—never tried to beat me out of 'em when I was down and out! Why, man, he won them in a game of stud—and he wouldn't take them!"
"But he lied to you, just the same," insisted Reeves, and Brent saw that the man's eyes were twinkling. "And it was because he is one of the best friends a man ever had that he did lie to you, and that he wouldn't grub-stake you. You said a while ago that I was about the only friend you had left. Let me tell you a little story, and then judge for yourself.
"About a week after you had gone, inquiries began to float around town as to your whereabouts. I didn't pay any attention to them at first, but the inquiries persisted. They searched Dawson, and all the country around for you. When I learned that the inquiries emanated from such men as Camillo Bill, and Old Bettles, and Moosehide Charlie, and a few more of the heaviest men in the camp, I took notice, and quietly sent for Camillo Bill and had a talk with him. It seems that after he had taken his million out of the claims, he went to you for the purpose of turning them back. He had not seen you for some time, and he was—well, it didn't take him but a minute to see what would happen if he turned back the claims and dumped a couple of million dollars worth of property into your hands at that time. So he told you they had petered out. Then he hunted up a bunch of the real sourdoughs who are your friends, and they planned to kidnap you and take you away for a year—keep you under guard in a cabin, a hundred miles from nowhere, and keep you off the liquor, and make you work likea nigger till you found yourself again. They laid their plot, and when they came to spring it, you had disappeared."
Brent listened, with tight-pressed lips, and as Reeves finished, he asked:
"And you say he got out his million, and there is still something left in the gravel?"
Reeves laughed: "I would call it something! Camillo Bill says he only worked one of the claims—and only about half of that. Yes, I would say there was something left."
"I reckon a man don't always know his friends," murmured Brent, after a long silence, "I wonder where I can find Camillo Bill?"
"He's in town, somewhere. I saw him this afternoon."
Brent turned to Snowdrift, who had listened, wide-eyed to the narrative: "You wait here, dear," he said, "And I'll hunt up a parson, and a ring, and Camillo Bill. I need a—a best man!"
"Oh, why don't you wait a week or so and give us time to get ready so we can have a real wedding?" cried Mrs. Reeves.
Brent shook his head: "I reckon this one will be real enough," he grinned, "And besides, we've waited quite a while, already."
As he turned into the street from the path leading from the door he almost bumped into a man in the darkness:
"Hello! Is that you, Ace-In-The-Hole? Yer theman I'm huntin' fer. Friend of yourn's hurt an' wants to see you."
"Who is it, Zinn? And how did he know I was in town?"
"It's Camillo Bill. I was tellin' I see'd you comin' in—an hour or so back, in Stoell's. Then Camillo, he goes down to the sawmill to see about some lumber, an' a log flies off the carriage an' hits him. He's busted up pretty bad. Guess he's goin' to cash in. They carried him to a shack over back of the mill an' he's hollerin' fer you."
"Come on then—quick!" cried Brent. "What the hell are you standin' there for? Have they got a doctor?"
"Yup," answered Zinn, as he hurried toward the outskirts of the town, "He'll be there by now."
Along the dark streets, and through a darker lumber yard, hurried Zinn, with Brent close at his heels urging him to greater speed. At length they passed around behind the sawmill and Brent saw that a light showed dimly in the window of a disreputable log shack that stood upon the edge of a deep ravine. The next moment he had pushed through the door, and found himself in the presence of four as evil looking specimens as ever broke the commandments. One of them he recognized as "Stumpy" Cooley, a man who, two years before had escaped the noose only by prompt action of the Mounted, after he had been duly convicted by a meeting of outraged miners of robbing acache.
"Where's Camillo Bill?" demanded Brent, his eyes sweeping the room.
"Tuk him to the hospital jest now," informed Stumpy.
"Hospital!" cried Brent.
"Yes—built one sence you was here. But, you don't need to be in no hurry, 'cause he's out of his head, now." The man produced a bottle and pulling the cork, offered it to Brent: "Might's well have a little drink, an' we'll be goin'."
"To hell with your drinks!" cried Brent, "Where is this hospital?" Suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. And whirling saw that two of the men had slipped between himself and the door. He turned to Stumpy to see an evil grin upon the man's face.
"When I ask anyone to drink with me, he most generally does it," he sneered, "Or I know the reason why."
"There's the reason!" roared Brent, and quick as a flash his right fist smashed into the man's face, the blow knocking him clean across the room. The next instant a man sprang onto Brent's back and another dived for his legs, while a third struck at him with a short piece of scantling. Brent fought like a tiger, weaving this way and that, and stumbling about the room in a vain effort to rid himself of the two men who clung to him like leeches. Stumpy staggered toward him, and Brent making a frenzied effort to release one of his pinioned arms,saw him raise the heavy quart whiskey bottle. The next instant it descended with a full arm swing. Brent saw a blinding flash of light, a stab of pain seemed to pierce his very brain, his knees buckled suddenly and he was falling, down, down, down, into a bottomless pit of intense blackness.
THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S
The porter at Cuter Malone's Klondike Palace was lighting the huge oil lamps as the girl called Kitty sauntered to the bar with her dancing partner who loudly demanded wine. Cuter Malone himself, standing behind the bar in earnest conversation with Johnnie Claw, set out the drinks and as the girl raised her glass, a man brushed past her. She recognized Zinn, one of Malone's despicable lieutenants, and was quick to note that something unusual was in the air. A swift meaning glance passed between Claw and Malone, and as Zinn stepped around the bar to deposit his rifle, he whispered earnestly to the two who stepped close to listen.
Unperceived, Kitty managed to edge near, and the next instant she was all attention. For from the detached words that came to her ears, she made out, "Ace-In-The-Hole," and "the girl," and then Malone, whose voice carried above the others issued an order, "The shack behind the saw mill. Git him soused. Knock him out if you have to—but don't kill him. Once we git the girl here me an'Claw—" the rest of the sentence was lost as it blended with an added order of Claw's. "Ace-In-The-Hole!" thought Kitty, "What did it mean? And who is 'The girl?' Ace-In-The-Hole is dead. And, yet—" she glanced toward Claw whose beady eyes were glittering with excitement. "He just came back from somewhere—maybe he knows—something."
She saw Zinn cross the room and speak in a whisper to four men who were playing solo at a table near the huge stove. She knew those men, Stumpy Cooley, and his three companions. The men nodded, and went on with their game, and Zinn returned and resumed his conversation with Malone and Claw. But the girl could hear nothing more. The "professor" was loudly banging out the notes of the next dance upon the piano, and her partner was pulling at her arm.
For two hours Kitty danced, and between dances she drank wine at the bar, and always her eyes were upon the four men at the solo table, and upon Zinn, who loafed close by, and upon Malone and Claw, who she noted, were drinking more than usual, as they hob-nobbed behind the bar.
The evening crowd foregathered. The music became faster, the talk louder, the laughter wilder. At the conclusion of a dance, Kitty saw Malone speak to Zinn, who immediately slipped out the door. The four men at the table, threw down their cards, and sauntered casually from the room anddeclining the next dance, the girl dashed up the stairway to her room where she kicked off her high heeled slippers, pulled a pair of heavy woolen stockings over her silk ones, and hurriedly laced her moccasins. She jammed a cap over her ears and slipping into a heavy fur coat, stepped out into the hall and came face to face with Johnnie Claw. "Where do you think you're goin'?" asked the man with a sneer.
"It's none of your business!" snapped the girl, "I don't have to ask you when I want to go anywhere—and I don't have to tell you where I'm goin', either! You haven't got any strings on me!"
"Well—fergit it, 'cause you ain't goin' nowhere's—not right now."
"Get out of my way! Damn you!" cried the girl, "If I had a gun here, I'd blow your rotten heart out!"
"But, you ain't got none—an' I have—so it's the other way around. Only I ain't goin' to kill you, if you do like I say.
"Listen here, I seen you easin' over and tryin' to hear what me an' Malone, an' Zinn was talkin' about. I don't know how much you heard, but you heard enough, so you kep' pretty clost cases on all of us. G'wan back in yer room, 'fore I put you there! What the hell do you care anyhow? All we want is the girl. Onct we git her up in the strong room, you kin have Ace-In-The-Hole. An'as long as she's around you ain't nowhere with him. Why don't you use yer head?"
"You fool!" screamed the girl, in a sudden fury, and as she tried to spring past him, Claw's fist caught her squarely in the chin and without a sound she crashed backward across the door sill. Swiftly the man reached down and dragged her into the room, removed the key from the lock on the inside, closed and locked the door, and thrusting the key into his pocket, turned and walked down stairs.
How long she lay there, Kitty did not know. Consciousness returned slowly. She was aware of a dull ache in her head, and after what seemed like a long time she struggled to her knees and drew herself onto the bed where she lay trying to think what had happened. Faintly, from below drifted the sound of the piano. So, they were still dancing, down there? Then, suddenly the whole train of events flashed through her brain. She leaped to her feet and staggered groggily to the door. It was locked. In vain she screamed and beat upon the panels. She rushed to the window but its double sash of heavily frosted panes nailed tight for the winter was immovable. In a sudden frenzy of rage she seized a chair and smashed the glass. The inrush of cold air felt good to her throbbing temples, and wrenching a leg from the chair she beat away the jagged fragments until only the frame remained. Leaning far out, she looked down. Her room was at the side of the building, near the rear, and shesaw that a huge snowdrift had formed where the wind eddied around the corner. Only a moment she hesitated, then standing upright on the sill, she leaped far out and landed squarely in the centre of the huge drift. Struggling to her feet she wallowed to the street, and ran swiftly through the darkness in the direction of the sawmill. And, at that very moment, Zinn was knocking upon the door of the Reeves home.
When the door had closed behind Brent, Mrs. Reeves had insisted upon Snowdrift's taking a much needed rest upon the lounge in the living room, and despatching Reeves upon an errand to a neighbor's, busied herself in the kitchen. The girl lay back among the pillows wondering when her lover would return when the sound of the knock sent her flying to the door. She drew back startled when, instead of Brent she was confronted by the man they had passed on the river.
"Is they a lady here name of Snowdrift?" asked the man.
A sudden premonition of evil shot through the girl's heart. She paled to the lips. Where was Brent? Had something happened? "Yes, yes!" she answered quickly, "I am Snowdrift. What has happened? Why do you want me?"
"It's him—yer man—Ace-In-The-Hole," he answered.
"Oh, what is it?" cried the girl, in a frenzy of impatience, "has he been hurt?"
"Well—not jest hurt, you might say. He's loadin' up on hooch. Some of us friends of hisn tried to make him go easy—but it ain't no use. I seen you an' him comin' in on the river, an' I figgered mebbe you could handle him. We're afraid someone'll rob him when he gits good an' drunk."
And not more than an hour ago he had given his promise—on the word of a Brent—a promise that Mrs. Reeves had just finished telling her would never be broken. A low sob that ended in a moan trembled upon the girl's lips: "Wait!" she commanded, and slipping into the room, caught up her cap and parka, and stepping out into the darkness, closed the door noiselessly behind her.
"Take me to him—quickly!" she said, "Surely he will listen to me."
"That's what I figgered," answered the man, and turning led the way down the dark street.
Presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of the Klondike Palace came into view, and as they reached the place Zinn led the way to the rear, and pushed open a door. Snowdrift found herself in a dimly lighted hallway. Cuter Malone stepped forward with a smile:
"Jest a minute, lady. Better put this here veil over yer face. He's up stairs, an' we got to go in through the bar. They's a lot of folks in there, an' they ain't no use of you bein' gopped at. With this on, they won't notice but what it's one of the women that lives here."
Snowdrift fastened the heavy veil over her face, and taking her arm, Malone piloted her through the bar-room and up the stairs. Through the mesh of the veil, Snowdrift caught a confused vision of many men standing before a long bar, of other men, and women in gay colors dancing upon a smooth stretch of floor, and her ears rang with the loud crashing of the piano. Bewildered, confused, she tightened her grasp upon Malone's arm. At the head of the stairs, the man paused and opened a door. "You kin take off the veil, now," he said, as he locked the door behind them, "They ain't no one up here."
A sudden terror possessed the girl, and she glanced swiftly into the man's face. "But—where is he?"
"Oh, he's on up," he assured her, "This way." He led the way across the room known as the small dance hall, and through a passage from which doors opened on either side, to a flight of stairs in the rear. At the head of the stairs the girl could see a light burning. He motioned her to proceed, and as she gained the top, a man stepped out from the shadow and seized her arms.
One look into his face and the girl gave a wild shriek of terror.
The man was Johnnie Claw.
The next moment she found herself thrust into a room lighted only by a single candle. It was a bare, forbidding looking room, windowless and with adoor of thick planking, secured by a hasp and padlock upon the outside. Its single article of furniture was a bed.
"So," leered Claw, "You thought you could git away from me did you? Thought you was playin' hell when you an' Ace-In-The-Hole hit fer Dawson, did you? Well, you played hell, all right—but not like you figgered. Yer mine, now." Trembling so that her limbs refused to support her, Snowdrift sank down upon the bed.
"Oh where is he?" she moaned.
Claw laughed: "Oh, he's all right," he mocked, "He's soused to the guards by this time, an' after I an' some friends of mine git him to sign a deed to a couple of claims he owns, we'll feed him to the fish."
The girl tried to rise, but her muscles refused to obey the dictates of her brain, and she sank back upon the bed.
"You'll be all right here when you git used to it. The girls all have a lot of fun. I'm goin' below now. You stay here an' think it over. Tain't no use to holler—this room's built a purpose to tame the likes of you in. Some of 'em that's be'n in here has walked out, an' some of 'em has be'n carried out—but none of 'em has evergotout. An' jest so you don't take no fool notion to burn the house down, I'll take this candle along. I got a horror of burnin'." Again he laughed harshly, and the next moment Snowdrift found herself in darkness, and heard the padlock rattle in the hasp.
Kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness between two lumber piles. She heard the sound of voices coming toward her, and a moment later she could distinguish the words. "Damn him! He like to busted my jaw! Gawd, what a wallop he's got! But I fixed him, when I smashed that quart over his head!"
"Maybe he'll bleed to death," ventured another.
"Naw, he ain't cut bad. I seen the gash over his eye. He's bloody as hell, but he looks worse'n he is. Say, you sure you tied him tight? He's been out damn near an hour an' he'll be comin' to, 'fore long—an' believe me——"
The men passed out of hearing and Kitty slipped from cover and sped toward the shack the outline of which she could see beyond the corner of the sawmill.
She made sure that all four of the men were together, so she pushed in without hesitation. "Hello!" she called, softly. "Ace-In-The-Hole! You here?" No answer, and she moved further into the room and stumbled over the prostrate form of a man. Swiftly she dropped to her knees and assured herself that his hands and feet were tied. Deftly her fingers explored his pockets until they found his knife, and a moment later the thongs that bound him were severed. Her hand rested for a second upon his forehead, and with a low cry she withdrew it, wet and sticky with blood. Leaping to her feet, she procured a handful of snow which shedashed into his face. Again and again she repeated the performance, and then he moved. He muttered, feebly, and received more snow. Then she bent close to his ear:
"Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole—it's me—Kitty!"
"Kitty," murmured the man, uncertainly. "Snowdrift!"
"Yes I lit in a snowdrift all right when I jumped out the window—but how did you know? Come—wake up! Is there a light here?"
"Where am I?"
"In the shack back of the sawmill."
"Where's Camillo Bill?"
"Camillo Bill—he's up to Stoell's, I guess. But listen, give me a match."
Clumsily Brent fumbled in his pocket and produced a match. Kitty seized it, and in the flare of its flame saw a candle upon the table. She held the flame to the wick, and in the flickering light Brent sat up, and glanced about him. The air was heavy with the reek of the whiskey from the broken bottle. His head hurt, and he raised his hand and withdrew it red with blood. Then, he leaped unsteadily to his feet: "Damn 'em!" he roared, "It was a plant! What's their game?"
"I know what it is!" cried Kitty, "Quick—tell me—have you got a girl—here in Dawson?"
"Yes, yes—at Reeves—her name is Snowdrift, and she——"
"Come then—we ain't got any time to lose!It's Cuter Malone and that damned Johnnie Claw——"
"Johnnie Claw!" cried Brent. "Claw is a thousand miles from here—on the Coppermine!"
"He's right this minute in the Klondike Palace—and your girl will be there too, if you don't shake your legs! They framed this play to get her—and I heard 'em—partly. If I'd known where she was, I'd have gone there first—but I didn't know."
Already Brent was staggering from the room, and Kitty ran close beside him. The cold air revived the man and he ran steadily when he reached the street. "Tell me—" panted Kitty, at his side. "This girl—is—she straight?"
"I'm going to marry her tonight!" cried the man.
"Then hurry—for Christ's sake!" sobbed Kitty, "Oh, hurry! Hurry!"
At a certain street corner Kitty halted suddenly, and Brent ran on. He rushed into Reeves' house like a whirlwind. "Where's Snowdrift?" he cried, as the Reeves' stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked apparition.
"What has happened——?"
"Where is she?" yelled Brent, his eyes glaring like a mad man's.
"I—we don't know. I was in the kitchen, and—" but Brent had dashed from the room, and when Reeves found his hat, the madman had disappeared in the darkness.
Quite a group of old timers had foregathered atStoell's, Moosehide Charlie drifted in, and seeing Camillo Bill, Swiftwater Bill, and Old Bettles standing at the bar, he joined them.
"What do you say we start a regular old he-man's game of stud?" he asked. "We ain't had no real game fer quite a while."
Camillo Bill shook his head slowly: "No—not fer me. I'll play a reasonable game—but do you know since Ace-In-The-Hole went plumb to hell the way he done over the game—I kind of took a dislikin' to it."
"It was the hooch, more'n the stud," argued Bettles.
"Mebbe it was—but, damn it! It was 'em both. There was one hombre I liked."
"Wonder if he'll come back?" mused Swiftwater Bill.
"Sure as hell!" affirmed Camillo.
"Will he have sense enough to lay off the hooch?"
"I don't know, but I got twenty thousan' dollars says he will."
Camillo Bill looked defiantly around.
"Take it!" cried Swiftwater Bill, "An' I hope to hell I lose!"
The door burst open and Kitty, gasping for breath hurtled into the room: "Camillo Bill!" she screamed. "Quick! All of you! Hey you sourdoughs!" her voice rose to a shriek, and men crowded from the tables in the rear, "Come on! Ace-In-The-Hole needs us! He's back! An' he'sbrought a girl! They're goin' to be married. But—Claw and Cuter Malone, framed it to steal her! He's gone down there now!" she panted. "Come on! They hired a gang to get Ace-In-The-Hole, and they damn near did!"
With a yell Camillo Bill reached clear over the bar and grabbed one of Stoell's guns, and an instant later followed by a crowd of lesser lights the big men of the Yukon rushed down the street, led by Kitty, and Camillo Bill, and Stoell, himself, who another gun in hand, had vaulted the bar without waiting to put on his coat or his cap.
"They'll take her up stairs—way up—" gasped Kitty as she ran, "And—for God's sake—hurry!"
Bareheaded, his face covered with blood, a human cyclone burst through the door of the Klondike Palace. Straight for the bar he rushed, bowling men over like ten pins. Cuter Malone flashed one startled glance and reached for his gun, but before he could grasp it the shape hurdled the bar and the two went to the floor in a crash of glass. Brent's hand first found the gun, and gripping it by the barrel he brought it crashing down on Cuter's head. Leaping to his feet he fired, and the bartender, bung-starter in hand, sprawled on top of his employer.
Across the room came a rush of men—Stumpy Cooley, Zinn, and others. Again Brent fired, and Zinn crumpled slowly to the floor. Stumpy whirled a chair above his head and Brent dodged as themissile crashed into the mirror above the back bar. The bar-room was a pandemonium of noise. Men crowded in from the dance hall bent upon overpowering the madman who had interrupted their frolic. Screaming women rushed for the stairs.
Brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half way across the room, the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred blows. Weaving—milling, the crowd surged this way and that, striking at Brent, and hitting each other. They surged against the stove, and it crashed upon its side, filling the room with smoke from the toppling pipe, and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals.
Suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes! The surging crowd went down before the onrush, and Brent struggled madly to free himself from the thrashing arms and legs. Revolvers barked, chairs crashed against heads and against other chairs. Roulette and faro layouts were splintered, and poker tables were smashed like kindling wood, men seizing upon the legs for weapons. And above all rose the sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women. The room filled with choking smoke. Flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden walls.
The door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and Brent caught sight of the white face of Claw. He was afraid to shoot, for the frenzied girls, instead of seeking safety in the street, had crowded uponthe stairs and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more loudly, fanned by the new formed draught. Struggling through the fighting, surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. It was Kitty. With an oath, Brent sprang up the stairway, as the flames roared behind him.
He turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw Camillo Bill stoop and gather Kitty into his arms, and stagger toward the front door. Other men were helping the wounded from the room. Someone yelled at Brent to come down and save himself. He glanced toward the speaker. It was Bettles, and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat before the flames and was lost to view. At the head of the stairs Brent slammed the door shut. The little dance hall was full of girls huddled together shrieking. Other girls were stumbling from their rooms, with their belongings in their arms. From the narrow hallway that led to the rear rushed Claw. The man seemed beside himself with terror. His eyes were wide and staring and he made for a window, cursing shrilly as he forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls, striking them, knocking them down and trampling on them. He did not see Brent and seizing a chair drove it through the window. Thefloor was hot, and the air thick with smoke. Claw was about to leap to safety when like a panther Brent sprang upon him, and bore him to the floor. He reached out swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they had buried themselves in the Captain's. He glared into the terror-wide eyes of the worst man in the North, and laughed aloud. An unnatural, maniacal laugh, it was, that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls. "Kill him!" shrilled one hysterically. "Kill him!" "Kill him!" Others took up the cry, Brent threw Claw onto his belly, placed his knees upon the small of his back, locked the fingers of both hands beneath the man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward. Backward came Claw's head as he tore frantically at Brent's arms with his two hands. Upward—and backward came the man's head and shoulders, and Brent shortened his leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward just in front of the knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength Brent surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he could not pull another pound.
Suddenly there was a dull audible snap—and Claw folded backward.
Brent released his grip and leaping to his feetrushed back through the hallway, and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him and upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening explosion and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple.
Dashing into the room, Brent snatched Snowdrift into his arms, and rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window Claw had smashed, he stood the girl upon her feet, and knocking the remaining glass from the sash with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of the burning building.
It was light as day, now, the flames were leaping high above the roof at the front, and already tongues of red were showing around the doorway at the head of the stairs. A great crowd had collected, and at the sight of the girl's form hurtling through the air, they surged to the spot. Spurts of smoke and tiny jet-like flames were finding their way through the cracks of the floor. Brent realized there was no time to lose, and seizing another girl, he pitched her out. Then he took them as they came—big ones and little ones, fully dressed and half dressed, screaming, fighting, struggling to get away—or to be taken next, he pitched them out until only Snowdrift remained.
Lifting her to the window, he told her to jump, and watched to see her light safely in the snow.
Smoke was pouring through the fast widening cracks in the floor. Brent leaped to the window sill. As he stood poised, a section of the floor between himself and Claw dropped through, and a rush of flames shot upward. Suddenly he saw Claw's arms thrash wildly: "My Gawd!" the man shrieked, "My back's broke! I'm burnin' up!" The whole floor let go and a furnace of overpowering flame rushed upward as he jumped—almost into the waiting arms of Camillo Bill.
"It's Ace-In-The-Hole, all right!" yelled the big man, as he grasped Brent's shoulders, and rocked him back and forth, "An' by God!He's as good a man as he ever was!"
"Where's Kitty?" asked Brent, when he could get his breath. "I saw her go down. She stopped Claw's bullet that was meant for me! And I saw you carry her out!"
"Kitty's all right," whispered Camillo Bill in his ear, and Brent glanced quickly into the man's shining eyes. "Jest nicked in the shoulder—an' say—I've always wanted her—but she wouldn't have me—but—now you're out of the way—I told her all over again how I stood—an'damned if she didn't take me!"
THE END
Transcriber's Notes:Normalized punctuation,Maintained dialect in it's original spelling and format.Silently corrected a few obvious typesetting errors.