A day of shattered hopes is a desolate thing, but the night of such a day is desolate indeed. In all his life Poleon Doret had never sunk to such depths of despondency, for his optimistic philosophy and his buoyant faith in the goodness of life forbade it. Therefore, when darkness came it blotted out what little brightness and light and hope were left to him after Necia's stormy interview with the Lieutenant. The arrival of the freight steamer afforded him some distraction, but there was only a small consignment for the store, and that was quickly disposed of; so, leaving the other citizens of Flambeau to wrangle over their private merchandise, he went back to his solitary vigil, which finally became so unbearable that he sought to escape his thoughts, or at least to drown them for a while, amid the lights and life and laughter of Stark's saloon. Being but a child by nature, his means of distraction were primal and elementary, and he began to gamble, as usual with hard luck, for the cards had ever been unkind to him. He did not think of winnings or losings, however—he merely craved the occupation; and it was this that induced him to sit at a game in which Runnion played, although ordinarily he would not have tolerated even tacitly such a truce to his dislikes. As it was, he crouched in a corner, his hat pulled down over his brow, his swarthy face a darker hue beneath the shadow, losing steadily, only now and then showing a flash of white teeth as he saw his money go. What mattered loss to him? He had no more need of money now than Necia had of his love. He would spend the dollars he had eked and scraped and saved for her as she had spent the treasures of his heart, and now that the one had brought him no return he wished to be rid of the other, for he was shortly to go again in search of his "New Country," where no man needs gold half so much as a clean heart. It would be a long journey, far to the West and North—a journey that none of his kind had ever fared back from, and he wished to go light, as all good adventurers go.
Runnion annoyed him with his volubility, for the news of his good-fortune had fired the man with a reckless disregard for money, and he turned to gaming as the one natural recourse of his ilk. As the irony of fate would have it, he won what the Canadian lost, together with the stakes of various others who played for a time with him and then gave up, wagging their heads or swearing softly at the cards.
It was shortly after midnight that Stark came into the place. Poleon was not too absorbed in his own fortunes to fail to notice the extraordinary ferocity and exhilaration of the saloon-keeper, nor that his face was keener, his nostrils thinner, his walk more nervous, and his voice more cutting than usual when he spoke to Runnion.
"Come here."
"I'll be with you when I finish this hand," said the player, over his shoulder.
"Come here!" Stark snapped his command, and Runnion threw down his cards.
"I'm right in the middle of a winning streak. You'll break my luck, Ben."
But the other only frowned impatiently, and, drawing the reluctant gambler aside, began to talk rapidly to him, almost within ear-shot of Poleon, who watched them, idly wondering what Stark had to say that could make Runnion start and act so queerly. Well, it was their affair. They made a bad pair to draw to. He knew that Runnion was the saloon-keeper's lieutenant and obeyed implicitly his senior's commands. He could distinguish nothing they said, nor was he at all curious until a knot of noisy men crowded up to the bar, and, forcing the two back nearer to the table where he sat, his sharp ears caught these words from Runnion's lips:
"Not with me! She'd never go with me!" and Stark's reply:
"She'll go where I send her, and with anybody I tell her to."
The Frenchman lost what followed, for a newly dealt hand required study. He scanned his cards, and tossed them face up before the dealer; then he overheard Runnion say:
"It's the only one in camp. He might sell it if you offered him enough." At this Stark called one of the men at the bar aside, and the three began to dicker.
"Not a cent less," the third man announced, loudly. "There ain't another Peterborough in town."
It was Poleon's deal now, and when he had finished both Stark and Runnion had disappeared, also the man they had accosted, which pleased the Canadian, for now that Runnion was eliminated from the game he might win a little. A steady, unvarying run of bad hands is uninteresting, and does not occupy one's mind as well as an occasional change of luck.
Outside Runnion was saying again to Stark:
"She won't go with me, Ben; she don't like me. You see, I made love to her, and she got mad and wanted me killed."
"She'll never know who you are until it's too late to turn back," said the other, "and you are the only man I can trust to take her through. I can trust you—you owe me too much to be crooked."
"Oh, I'll act square with you! But look here, what's all this about, anyhow? Why do you want that girl? You said you didn't care for her that way; you told me so yourself. Been having a change of heart, or is it your second childhood?" He laughed disagreeably.
"It's none of your business," said the gambler. "I want her, and that's enough. All you have to do is to take her to St. Michael's and keep her there till you hear from me. She thinks she is going to the Mission, and you needn't tell her otherwise until you get her aboard a steamer; then take her, no matter what kind of a fight she puts up. You've got a light-rowing skiff, and you'd better keep going till you're overtaken by a down-river boat. I want her as far away from here as possible. There's going to be some hell in this camp. Now, hike, and get yourself ready."
"All right! But I ain't the safest kind of a chaperon for a good-looking girl."
Stark laid a cold hand on Runnion's shoulder, close up to his neck.
"Get that out of your mind. She belongs to me."
"You said just now—"
"Never mind what I said. She's mine, and you've got to promise to be straight with her. I've trusted you before, and if you're not on the level now, say so. It will save you a lot of trouble."
"Oh! All right!" exclaimed Runnion, testily. "Only it looks mighty queer."
He melted into the darkness and Stark returned to his cabin, where he paced back and forth impatiently, smiling evilly now and then, consulting his watch at frequent intervals. A black look had begun to settle on his face, but it vanished when Necia came, and he met her with a smile.
"I was afraid you had weakened," he said. "Everything is ready and waiting. I've got the only canoe in the place, a Peterborough, and hired a good oarsman to put you through, instructing him to make as fast time as he can, and to board the first steamer that overtakes you. Too bad this freighter that just got in isn't going the other way. However, there's liable to be another any hour, and if one doesn't come along you'll find enough blankets and food in the skiff, so you needn't go ashore. You'll be there before you know it."
"You are very kind," said the girl. "I can't thank you enough." She was clothed in her simple everyday dress, and looked again the sun-colored half-breed girl with the wide, dark eyes and the twin braids of crow-black hair.
"You didn't run into anybody, eh?"
She shook her head. Then he led her out into the darkness, and they stumbled down to the river's-bank, descending to the gravelly water's edge, where rows of clumsy hand-sawed boats and poling-skiffs were chafing at their painters. The up-river steamer was just clearing.
Stark's low whistle was answered a hundred yards below, and they searched out a darker blot that proved to be a man's figure.
"Is everything ready?" he inquired, at which the shadow grunted unintelligibly. So, holding Necia by the arm, Stark helped her back to a seat in the stern.
"This man will take you through," he said. "You can trust him, all right."
The oarsman clambered in and adjusted his sweeps, then Stark laid a hand on the prow and shoved the light boat out into the current, calling softly:
"Good-bye, and good-luck."
"Good-bye, Mr. Stark. Thank you ever so much," the girl replied, too numb and worn out to say much, or to notice or care whither she was bound or who was her boatman. She had been swept along too swiftly to reason or fear for herself any more.
Half an hour later the scattered lights of the little camp winked and twinkled for the last time. Turning, she set her face forward, and, adjusting the cushions to her comfort, strained her tired eyes towards the rising and falling shadow of her boatman. She seemed borne along on a mystic river of gloom that hissed and gurgled about her, invisible but all-pervading, irresistible, monstrous, only the ceaseless, monotonous creak of the rowlocks breaking the silence.
Stark did not return to his cabin, but went back instead to his saloon, where he saw Poleon Doret still sprawling with elbows on the table, his hat pulled low above his sullen face. The owner of the place passed behind the bar and poured himself a full glass of whiskey, which he tossed off, then, without a look to right or left, went out and down towards the barracks. A light behind the drawn curtains of the officer's house told that his man was not abed, but he waited a long moment after his summons before the door was opened, during which he heard the occupant moving about and another door close in the rear. When he was allowed entrance at last he found the young man alone in a smoke-filled room with a bottle and two empty glasses on the table.
For at the sound of his voice Gale had whispered to Burrell, "Keep him out!" and the Lieutenant had decided to refuse his late visitor admittance when he lighted on the expedient of concealing the trader in the bedroom at the rear. It was only natural, he reasoned, that Gale should dislike to face a man like Stark before he had regained his composure.
"Go in there and wait till I see what he wants," he had said, and, shutting the old man in, he had gone forth to admit Stark, resenting his ill-timed intrusion and inquiring brusquely the cause of it.
Before answering, Stark entered and closed the door behind him.
"I've got some work for you, Lieutenant."
"I guess it can wait till morning," said Meade.
"No, it can't; it's got to be done to-night, right now! You represent the law, or at least you've taken every occasion to so declare yourself, and to mix in with little things that don't cut much figure; so now I've come to you with something big. It's a serious affair, and being as I'm a peaceful man I want to go by the law." His eyes mocked the words he uttered. "You're mighty prompt and determined when it comes to regulating such affairs. You seem to carry the weight of this whole community on your shoulders, so I'm here to give you some information."
Burrell ignored the taunt, and said, quietly: "It's a little late for polite conversation. Come to the point."
"I've got a criminal for you."
"What kind?"
"Murderer."
"You've had a killing in your place, eh?"
"No, I've just made a discovery. I found it all out by accident, too—pure accident. By Heaven! You can't tell me there isn't a beneficent Providence overlooking our affairs. Why, this felon has lived here among us all this time, and only for the merest chance I never would have recognized him."
"Well, well! Go on!" snapped Burrell, impatiently.
"He's a friend of yours, and a highly respected party. He's a glorious example to this whole river."
The officer started. Could it be? he wondered. Could knowledge of this affair have reached this man? He was uncomfortably aware of that presence in the back room, but he had to know the truth.
"Who is the man?"
"He's your friend. He's—" Stark paused, gloating over his enemy's suspense.
"Go on." "He's everybody's friend. He's the shining mark of this whole country. He's the benevolent renegade, Squaw-man Gale."
"John Gale?"
"Gaylord is his name, and I was a fool not to know it sooner."
"How did you discover this?" inquired Burrell, lamely. "What proof have you?"
The disclosure had not affected the soldier as Stark expected, and his anger began to lift itself.
"That's neither here nor there; the man's a murderer; he's wanted in California, where I came from; he's been indicted, and there's a price on his head. He's hidden for fifteen years, but he'll hang as sure as I stand here."
Disclosures of a complex nature had so crowded on Burrell in the last few hours that he saw himself the centre of a most unfortunate and amazing tangle. Things were difficult enough as it was, but to have this man appear and cry for justice—this man above all others!—it was a complication quite unlocked for—a hideous mockery. He must gain time for thought. One false step might ruin all. He could not face this on the spur of the moment, so, shrugging his shoulders with an air of polite scepticism, he assumed a tone of good-natured raillery.
"Fifteen years? Murder? John Gale a murderer? Why, that's almost—pardon me if I smile—I'm getting sleepy. What proof have you?"
"Proof!" blazed the gambler. "Proof! Ask Gaylord! Proof! Why, the woman he murdered was my wife!"
It was Burrell's turn now to fall incoherent, and not only did his speech forsake him, but his thoughts went madly veering off into a wilderness where there was no trail, no light, no hope. What kind of a coil was this? What frightful bones were these he bared? This man was Bennett! This was Necia's father! This man he hated, this man who was bad, whose name was a curse throughout the length and breadth of the West, was the father of the girl he loved! His head began to whirl, then the story of the trader came back to him, and he remembered who and what the bearer of these later tidings was. He raised a pair of eyes that had become furious and bloodshot, and suddenly realized that the man before him, who persisted in saddling upon Gale this heinous crime, was the slayer of Necia's mother; for he did not doubt Gale's story for an instant. He found his fingers writhing to feel the creature's throat.
"Proof!" Stark was growling. "How much proof do you need? I've followed him for fifteen years. I've tracked him with men and dogs through woods and deserts and mining-camps. I've slept on his trail for five thousand miles, and now do you think I'm mistaken? He killed my wife, I say, and robbed me of my little girl! That's her in his house. That's her he calls Necia. She's my girl—MY GIRL, do you understand?—and I'll have his life."
It was hate that animated him, and nothing more. He had no joy in the finding of his offspring, no uplifted thought of justice. The thirst for revenge, personal, violent, utter, was all that prompted this man; but Burrell had no inkling yet of the father's well-shaped plans, nor how far-reaching they were, and could barely stammer:
"So! You—you know?"
"Yes! She wears the evidence around her neck, and if that isn't enough I can furnish more—evidence enough to smother you. My name isn't Stark at all; I changed it years ago for certain reasons. I've changed it more than once, but that's my privilege and my own affair. Her name is Merridy Bennett."
"I don't suppose you know I'm going to marry her," said the Kentuckian, irrelevantly.
"No," replied the other, "I wasn't aware of the fact."
"Well, I am. I'll be your son-in-law." He said this as if it were the statement of an astonishing truth, whereat Stark grinned, a mirthless, disquieting sort of grimace, and said:
"There's a lot of things for you and me to settle up first. For one thing, I want those mines of hers."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm her father, and she's not of age."
"I'll think it over."
"I'll take them, anyway, as her next of kin."
Burrell did not follow up this statement, for its truth was incontrovertible, and showed that the father's ill-will was too tangible a thing to be concealed; so he continued:
"We'll adjust that after Gale is attended to; but, meanwhile, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to arrest the man who killed my wife. If you don't take him the miners will. I've got a following in this camp, and I'll raise a crowd in fifteen minutes—enough to hang this squaw-man, or batter down your barracks to get him. But I don't want to do that; I want to go by the law you've talked so much about; I want you to do the trick."
At last Burrell saw the gambler's deviltry. He knew Stark's reputation too well to think that he feared a meeting with Gale, for the man had lived in hope of that these fifteen years, and had shaped his life around such a meeting; but this indirect method—the Kentuckian felt a flash of reluctant admiration for a man who could mould a vengeance with such cruel hands, and, even though he came from a land of feuds, where hate is a precious thing, the cunning strength of this man's enmity dwarfed any he had ever known. Stark had planned his settlement coldly and with deliberate malice; moreover he was strong enough to stand aside and let another take his place, and thus deny to Gale the final recourse of a hunted beast, the desperate satisfaction that the trader craved. He tied his enemy's hands and delivered him up with his thirst unsatisfied—to whom? He thrust a weapon into the hand of his other enemy, and bade this other enemy use it; worse than that, forced him to strike the man he honored—the man he loved. Burrell never doubted that Stark had carefully weighed the effect of this upon Necia, and had reasoned that a girl like her could not understand a soldier's duty if it meant the blood of a parent. If he refused to act, the gambler could break him, while every effort he made to protect Gale would but increase the other's satisfaction. There was no chance of the trader's escape. Stark held him in his hand. His followers would do his bidding. It was a desperate affair. Was it impossible, the Lieutenant wondered, to move this man from his purpose?
"Have you thought of Necia? She loves Gale. What effect will this have on her?"
"Damn her! She's more his brat than mine. I want John Gaylord!"
At this a vicious frenzy overtook Burrell, and he thought of the man behind yonder door, whom he had forgotten until these words woke something savage in him. Well! Why not? These two men had stalked each other clear into the farthest places, driven by forces that were older than the hills. Who was he to stand between such passions? This was ordained, it was the course of nature, the clash of elements, and this was a fair battle-ground, so why should he undertake to stop a thing decreed?
The gambler's words rang in his ears—"I want John Gaylord"—and before he knew what he was doing he had answered: "Very well. I'll give him to you," and crossed quickly to the door of his bedroom and flung it open. On the threshold he paused stock-still. The place was empty; a draught sucked through the open window, flirting with the curtain and telling the story of the trader's exit.
"If you're looking for your coat, it's here," he heard Stark say. "Get into it, and we'll go for him."
The Lieutenant's mind was working fast enough now, in all conscience, and he saw with clear and fateful eyes whither he was being led, at which a sudden reckless disregard for consequences seized him. He felt a blind fury at being pulled and hauled and driven by this creature, and also an unreasoning anger at Gale's defection. But it was the thought of Necia and the horrible net of evil in which this man had ensnared them both that galled him most. It was all a terrible tangle, in which the truth was hopelessly hidden, and nothing but harm could come from attempting to unravel it. There was but one solution, and that, though fundamental and effective, was not to be expected from an officer of the law. Nevertheless, he chose it, for Ben Stark was too potent a force for evil to be at large, and needed extermination as truly as if he were some dangerous beast. He determined to finish this thing here and now.
Meade went to his bureau, took his revolver from the belt where he had hung it, and came out into the other room. Stark, seeing the weapon, exclaimed:
"You don't need that; he won't resist you."
"I've decided not to take him," said Burrell.
"Decided not to take him?" shouted the other. "Have you weakened? Don't you intend to arrest that man?"
"No!" cried the soldier. "I've listened to your lies long enough; now I'm going to stop them, once for all. You're too dangerous to have around."
They faced each other silently a moment; then Stark spoke in a very quiet voice, though his eyes were glittering:
"What's the meaning of this? Are you crazy?"
"Gale was here just before you came, and told me who killed your wife. I know."
"You do?"
"I do."
"Well?"
"It's pretty late. This place is lonely. This is the simplest way."
The gambler fell to studying his antagonist, and when he did not speak Burrell continued:
"Come, brace up! I'm giving you a chance."
But Stark shook his head.
"Don't be afraid," insisted the Lieutenant. "There are no witnesses. If you get me, nobody will know, and your word is good. If not—it's much simpler than the other." Then, when the gambler still made no move, he insisted, "You wouldn't have me kill you like a rattlesnake?"
"You couldn't," said the older man. "You're not that kind—and I'm not the kind to be cheated, either. Listen! I've lived over forty years, and I never took less than was coming to me. I won't begin to-night."
"You'll get your share—"
"Bah! You don't know what I mean. I don't want you; it's him I'm after, and when I'm done with him I'll take care of you; but I won't run any risk right now. I won't take a chance on losing what I've risked so much to gain, what I've lived these fifteen years to get. You might put me away—there's the possibility—and I won't let you or any other man—or woman either, not even my girl—cheat me out of Gale. Put up your gun."
The soldier hesitated, then did as he was bidden, for this man knew him better than he knew himself.
"I ought to treat you like a mad dog, but I can't do it while your hands are up. I'm going to fight for John Gale, however, and you can't take him."
"I'll have his carcass hung to my ridge-pole before daylight."
"No."
"I say yes!" Stark turned to go, but paused at the door. "And you think you'll marry Necia, do you?"
"I know it."
"Like hell you will! Suppose you find her first."
"What do you mean? Wait—"
But his visitor was gone, leaving behind him a lover already sorely vexed, and now harassed by a new and sudden apprehension. What venom the man distilled! Could it be that he had sent Necia away? Burrell scouted the idea. She wasn't the kind to go at Stark's mere behest; and as for his forcing her, why, this was not an age of abductions! He might aim to take her, but it would require some time to establish his rights, and even then there were Gale and himself to be reckoned with. Still, this was no time for idling, and he might as well make certain, so the young man put on his coat hurriedly, knowing there was work to do There was no telling what this night would bring forth, but first he must warn his friend, after which they would fight this thing together, not as soldier and civilian, but as man and man, not for the law, but against it. He smiled as he realized the situation. Well, he was through with the army, anyhow; his path was strange and new from this time henceforth, and led him away from all he had known, taking him among other peoples; but he did not flinch, for it led to her. Behind him was that former life; to-night he began anew.
Stark traced his way back to his cabin in a ten times fiercer mood than he had come, reviling, cursing, hating; back past the dark trading-post he went, pausing to shake his clenched fist and grind out an oath between his teeth; past the door of his own saloon, which was a-light, and whence came the sound of revelry, through the scattered houses, where he went more by feel than by sight, up to the door of his own shack. He fitted his key in the lock, but the door swung open without his aid, at which he remembered that he had only pulled it after him when he came away with Necia. He closed it behind him now, and locked it, for he had some thinking to do; then felt through his pockets for a match, and, striking it, bent over his lamp to adjust the wick. It flared up steady and strong at last, flooding the narrow place with its illumination; then he straightened up and turned towards the bed to throw off his coat, when suddenly every muscle of his body leaped with an uncontrollable spasm, as if he had uncovered a deadly serpent coiled and ready to spring. In spite of himself his lungs contracted as if with the grip of giant hands, and his breath came forth in a startled cry.
John Gale was sitting at his table, barely an arm's-length away, his gray-blue eyes fixed upon him, and the deep seams of his heavy face set as if graven in stone. His huge, knotted hands were upon the table, and between them lay a naked knife.
It was a heathenish time of night to arouse the girl, thought Burrell, as he left the barracks, but he must allay these fears that were besetting him, he must see Necia at once. The low, drifting clouds obscured what star-glow there was in the heavens, and he stepped back to light a lantern. By its light he looked at his watch and exclaimed, then held it to his ear. Five hours had passed since he left Gale's house. Well, the call was urgent, and Necia would understand his anxiety.
A few moments later he stood above the squaw, who crouched on the trader's doorstep, wailing her death song into the night. He could not check her; she paid no heed to him, but only rocked and moaned and chanted that strange, weird song which somehow gave strength to his fears.
"What's wrong; where is Necia? Where is she?" he demanded, and at last seized her roughly, facing her to the light, but Alluna only blinked owlishly at his lantern and shook her head.
"Gone away," she finally informed him, and began to weave again in her despair, but he held her fiercely.
"Where has she gone? When did she go?" He shook her to quicken her reply.
"I don' know. I don' know. Long time she's gone now." She trailed off into Indian words he could not comprehend, so he pushed past her into the house to see for himself, and without knocking flung Necia's door open and stepped into her chamber. Before he had swept the unfamiliar room with his eyes he knew that she had indeed gone, and gone hurriedly, for the signs of disorder betrayed a reckless haste. Hanging across the back of a chair was what had once been the wondrous dress, Poleon's gift, now a damp and draggled ruin, and on the floor were two sodden satin slippers and a pair of wet silk stockings. He picked up the lace gown and saw that it was torn from shoulder to waist. What insanity had possessed the girl to rip her garment thus?
"She take her 'nother dress; the one I make las' summer," said Alluna, who had followed him in and stood staring as he stared.
"When did she go, Alluna? For God's sake, what does this mean?"
"I don' know! She come and she go, and I don' see her; mebbe three, four hour ago."
"Where's Gale? He'll know. He's gone after her, eh?"
The upward glow of the lantern heightened the young man's pallor, and again the squaw broke into her sad lament.
"John Gale—he's gone away with the knife of my father. I am afraid—I am afraid."
Burrell forced himself to speak calmly; this was no time to let his wits stampede.
"How long ago?"
"Long time."
"Did he come back here just now?"
"No; he went to the jail-house, and he would not let me follow. He don' come back no more."
This was confusing, and Meade cried, angrily:
"Why didn't you give the alarm? Why didn't you come to me instead of yelling your lungs out around the house?"
"He told me to wait," she said, simply.
"Go find Poleon, quick."
"He told me to wait," she repeated, stoically, and Burrell knew he was powerless to move her. He saw the image of a great terror in the woman's face. The night suddenly became heavy with the hint of unspeakable things, and he grew fearful, suspecting now that Gale had told him but a part of his story, that all the time he knew Stark's identity, and that his quarry was at hand, ready for the kill; or, if not, he had learned enough while standing behind that partition. Where was he now? Where was Necia? What part did she play in this? Stark's parting words struck Burrell again like a blow. This life-long feud was drawing swiftly to some tragic culmination, and somewhere out in the darkness those two strong, hate-filled men were settling their scores. All at once a fear for the trader's life came upon the young man, and he realized that a great bond held them together. He could not think clearly, because of the dread thing that gripped him at thought of Necia. Was he to lose her, after all? He gave up trying to think, and fled for Stark's saloon, reasoning that where one was the other must be near, and there would surely be some word of Necia. He burst through the door; a quick glance over the place showed it empty of those he sought, but, spying Poleon Doret, he dragged him outside, inquiring breathlessly:
"Have you seen Gale?"
"Have you seen Stark? Has he been about?"
"Yes, wan hour, mebbe two hour ago. W'y? Wat for you ask?"
"There's the devil to pay. Those two have come together, and Necia is gone."
"Necia gone?" the Canadian jerked out. "Wat you mean by dat? Were she's gone to?"
"I don't know—nobody knows. God! I'm shaking like a leaf."
"Bah! She's feel purty bad! She's go out by herse'f. Dat's all right."
"I tell you something has happened to her; there's hell to pay. I found her clothes at the house torn to ribbons and all muddy and wet."
Poleon cried out at this.
"We've got to find her and Gale, and we haven't a minute to lose. I'm afraid we're too late as it is. I wish it was daylight. Damn the darkness, anyhow! It makes it ten times harder."
His incoherence alarmed his listener more than his words.
"Were have you look?"
"I've been to the house, but Alluna is crazy, and says Gale has gone to kill Stark, as near as I can make out. Both of them were at my quarters to-night, and I'm afraid the squaw is right."
"But w'ere is Necia?"
"We don't know; maybe Stark has got her."
The Frenchman cursed horribly. "Have you try hees cabane?"
"No."
Without answer the Frenchman darted away, and the Lieutenant sped after him through the deserted rows of log-houses.
"Ha! Dere's light," snarled Doret, over his shoulder, as they neared their goal.
"Be careful," panted Burrell. "Wait! Don't knock." He forced Poleon to pause. "Let's find out who's inside. Remember, we're working blind."
He gripped his companion's arm with fingers of steel, and together they crept up to the door, but even before they had gained it they heard a voice within. It was Stark's. The walls of the house were of moss-chinked logs that deadened every sound, but the door itself was of thin, whip-sawed pine boards with ample cracks at top and bottom, and, the room being of small dimensions, they heard plainly. The Lieutenant leaned forward, then with difficulty smothered an exclamation, for he heard another voice now—the voice of John Gale. The words came to him muffled but distinct, and he raised his hand to knock, when, suddenly arrested, he seized Poleon and forced him to his knees, hissing into his ear:
"Listen! Listen! For God's sake, listen!"
For the first time in his tempestuous life Ben Stark lost the iron composure that had made his name a by-word in the West, and at sight of his bitterest enemy seated in the dark of his own house waiting for him he became an ordinary, nervous, frightened man faced by a great peril. It was the utter unexpectedness of the thing that shook him, and before he could regain his balance Gale spoke:
"I've come to settle, Bennett."
"What are you doing here?" the gambler stammered.
"I was up at the soldier's place just now and heard you. I didn't want any interruptions, so I came here where we can be alone." He paused, and, when Stark made no answer, continued, "Well, let's get at it." But still the other made no move. "You've had all the best of it for twenty years," Gale went on, in his level voice, "but to-night I get even. By God! I've lived for this."
"That shot in Lee's cabin?" recalled Stark, with the light of a new understanding. "You knew me then?"
"Yes."
Stark took a deep breath. "What a damned fool I've been!"
"Your devil's magic saved you that time, but it won't stop this." The trader rose slowly with the knife in his hand.
"You'll hang for this!" said the gambler, unsteadily, at which Gale's face blazed.
"Ha!" exclaimed the trader, exultingly; "you can feel it in your guts already, eh?"
With an effort Stark began to assemble his wits as the trader continued:
"You saddled your dirty work on me, Ben Stark, and I've carried it for fifteen years; but to-night I put you out the way you put her out. An eye for an eye!"
"I didn't kill her," said the man.
"Don't lie. This isn't a grand jury. We're all alone."
"I didn't kill her."
"So? The yellow is showing up at last. I knew you were a coward, but I didn't think you'd be afraid to own it to yourself. That thing must have lived with you."
"Look here," said Stark, curiously, "do you really think I killed Merridy?"
"I know it. A man who would strike a woman would kill her—if he had the nerve."
Stark had now mastered himself, and smiled.
"My hate worked better than I thought. Well, well, that made it hard for you, didn't it?" he chuckled. "I supposed, of course, you knew—"
"Knew?" Gale's face showed emotion for the first time. "Knew what—?" His hands were quivering slightly.
"She killed herself."
"So help you God?"
"So help me God!"
There was a long pause.
"Why?"
"Say, it's kind of funny our standing here talking about that thing, isn't it? Well, if you want to know, I came home early that night—I guess you hadn't been gone two hours—and the surprise did it, more than anything else, I suppose—she hadn't prepared a story. I got suspicious, named you at random, and hit the nail on the head. She broke down, thought I knew more than I did, and—and then there was hell to pay."
"Go on."
"I suppose I talked bad and made threats—I was crazy over you—till she must have thought I meant to kill her, but I didn't. No. I never was quite that bad. Anyhow, she did it herself."
Gale's face was like chalk, and his voice sounded thin and dry as he said:
"You beat her, that's why she did it."
Stark made no answer.
"The papers said the room showed a struggle."
When the other still kept silent, Gale insisted:
"Didn't you?"
At this Stark flamed up defiantly.
"Well, I guess I had cause enough. No woman except her was ever untrue to me—wife or sweetheart."
"You didn't really think—?"
"Think hell! I thought so then, and I think so now. She denied it, but—"
"And you knew her so well, too. I guess you've had some bad nights yourself, Bennett, with that always on your mind—"
"I swore I'd have you—"
"—and so you put her blood on my head, and made me an outlaw." After an instant: "Why did you tell me this, anyhow?"
"It's our last talk, and I wanted you to know how well my hate worked."
"Well, I guess that's all," said Gale. So far they had watched each other with unwavering, unblinking eyes, straining at the leash and taut in every nerve. Now, however, the trader's fingers tightened on the knife-handle, and his knuckles whitened with the grip, at which Stark's right hand swept to his waist, and simultaneously Gale lunged across the table. His blade nickered in the light, and a gun spoke, once—twice—again and again. A cry arose outside the cabin, then some heavy thing crashed in through the door, bringing light with it, for with his first leap Gale had carried the lamp and the table with him, and the two had clenched in the dark.
Burrell had waited an instant too long, for the men's voices had held so steady, their words had been so vital, that the finish found him unprepared, but, thrusting the lantern into Poleon's hand, he had backed off a pace and hurled himself at the door. He had learned the knack of bunching his weight in football days, and the barrier burst and splintered before him. He fell to his knees inside, and an instant later found himself wrestling for his life between two raging beasts. The Lieutenant knew Doret must have entered too, though he could not see him, for the lantern shed a sickly gloom over the chaos. He was locked desperately with John Gale, who flung him about and handled him like a child, fighting like an old gray wolf, hoary with years and terrible in his rage. Burrell had never been so battered and harried and torn; only for the lantern's light Gale would doubtless have sheathed his weapon in his new assailant, but the more fiercely the trader struggled, the more tenaciously the soldier clung. As it was, Gale carried the Lieutenant with him and struck over his head at Stark.
Poleon had leaped into the room at Burrell's heels, to receive the impact of a heavy body hurled backward into his arms as if by some irresistible force. He seized it and tore it away from the thing that pressed after and bore down upon it with the ferocity of a wild beast. He saw Gale reach over the Lieutenant's head and swing his arm, saw the knife-blade bury itself in what he held, then saw it rip away, and felt a hot stream spurt into his face. So closely was the Canadian entangled with Stark that he fancied for an instant the weapon had wounded both of them for the trader had aimed at his enemy's neck where it joined the shoulder, but, hampered by the soldier, his blow went astray about four inches. Doret glimpsed Burrell rising from his knees, his arms about the trader's waist, and the next instant the combatants were dragged apart.
The Lieutenant wrenched the dripping blade from Gale's hand; it no longer gleamed, but was warm and slippery in his fingers. Poleon held Stark's gun, which was empty and smoking.
The fight had not lasted a minute, and yet what terrible havoc had been wrought! The gambler was drenched with his own blood, which gushed from him, black in the yellow flicker, and so plentifully that the Frenchman was befouled with it, while Gale, too, was horribly stained, but whether from his own or his enemy's veins it was hard to tell. The trader paid no heed to himself nor to the intruders, allowing Burrell to push him back against the wall, the breath wheezing in and out of his lungs, his eyes fastened on Stark.
"I got you, Bennett!" he cried, hoarsely. "Your magic is no good." His teeth showed through his grizzled muzzle like the fangs of some wild animal.
Bennett, or Stark, as the others knew him, lunged about with his captor, trying to get at his enemy, and crying curses on them all, but he was like a child in Poleon's arms. Gradually he weakened, and suddenly resistance died out of him.
"Come away from here," the Lieutenant ordered Gale.
But the old man did not hear, and gathered himself as if to resume the battle with his bare hands, whereupon the soldier, finding himself shaking like a frightened child, and growing physically weak at what he saw, doubted his ability to prevent the encounter, and repeated his command.
"Come away!" he shouted, but the words sounded foolishly flat and inane.
Then Stark spoke intelligibly for the first time.
"Arrest him! You've got to believe what I told you now, Burrell." He poured forth a stream of unspeakable profanity, smitten by the bitter knowledge of his first and only defeat. "You'll hang, Gaylord! I'll see your neck stretched, damn your heart!" To Poleon he panted, excitedly: "I followed him for fifteen years, Doret. He killed my wife."
"Dat's damn lie!" said the Frenchman.
"No, it isn't. He's under indictment for it back in California. He shot her down in cold blood, then ran off with my kid. That's her he calls Necia. She's mine. Ain't I right, Lieutenant?"
At this final desperate effort to fix the crime upon his rival, Burrell turned on him with loathing.
"It's no use, Stark. We heard you say she killed herself. We were standing outside the door, both of us, and got it from your own lips."
Until this moment the man had stood on his own feet, but now he began to sag, seeing which, Poleon supported him to the bed, where he sank weakly, collapsing in every joint and muscle.
"It's a job," he snarled. "You put this up, you three, and came here to gang me." An unnatural shudder convulsed him as his wounds bit at him, and then he flared up viciously. "But I'll beat you all. I've got the girl! I've got her!"
"Necia!" cried Burrell, suddenly remembering, for this affray had driven all else from his mind.
Stark crouched on the edge of his bunk—a ghastly, gray, grinning thing! One weapon still remained to him, and he used it.
"Yes, I've got my daughter!"
"Where is she?" demanded the trader, hoarsely. "Where's my girl?"
The gambler chuckled; an agony seized him till he hiccoughed and strangled; then, as the spell passed, he laughed again.
"She's got you in her head, like the mother had, but I'll drive it out; I'll treat her like I did her—"
Gale uttered a terrible cry and moved upon him, but Burrell shouldered the trader aside, himself possessed by a cold fury that intensified his strength tenfold.
"Stop it, Gale! Let me attend to this. I'll make him tell!"
"Oh, will you?" mocked the girl's father.
"Where is she?"
"None of your damned business." Again he was seized with a paroxysm that left him shivering and his lips colorless. The blankets were soaked and soggy with blood, and his feet rested in a red pool.
"Ben Stark," said the tortured lover, "you're a sick man, and you'll be gone in half an hour at this rate. Won't you do one decent thing before you die?"
"Bah! I'm all right."
"I'll get you a doctor if you'll tell us where she is. If you don't—I'll—let you die. For God's sake, man, speak up!"
The wounded man strove to rise, but could not, then considered for a moment before he said:
"I sent her away."
"Where?"
"Up-river, on that freighter that left last night. She'll go out by Skagway, and I'll join her later, where I can have her to myself. She's forty miles up-river now, and getting farther every minute—oh, you can't catch her!"
The three men stared at one another blankly.
"Why did she go?" said Gale, dully.
"Because I told her who she was, and who you are; because she thinks you killed her mother; because she was glad to get away." Now that he was grown too weak to inflict violent pain, the man lied malevolently, gloating over what he saw in the trader's face.
"Never mind, old man, I'll bring her back," said Burrell, and laid a comforting hand on Gale's shoulder, for the fact that she was safe, the fact of knowing something relieved him immensely; but Stark's next words plunged him into even blacker horror than the trader felt.
"You won't want her if you catch her. Runnion will see to that."
"Runnion!"
"Yes, I sent him with her."
The lover cried out in anguish, and hid his face in his hands.
"He's wanted her for a long time, so I told him to go ahead—"
None of them noticed Poleon Doret, who, upon this unnatural confession, alone seemed to retain sufficient control to doubt and to reason. He was thinking hard, straightening out certain facts, and trying to square this horrible statement with things he had seen and heard to-night. All of a sudden he uttered a great cry, and bolted out into the darkness unheeded by Gale and Burrell, who stood dazed and distraught with a fear greater than that which was growing in Stark at sight of his wounds.
The gambler looked down at his injuries, opened and closed the fingers of his hand as if to see whether he still maintained control of them, then cried out at the two helpless men:
"Well, are you going to let me bleed to death?"
It brought the soldier out of his trance.
"Why—no, no! We'll get a doctor."
But Gale touched him on the shoulder and said:
"He's too weak to get out. Lock him in, and let him die in the dark."
Stark cursed affrightedly, for it is a terrible thing to bleed to death in the dark, and in spite of himself the Lieutenant wavered.
"I can't do that. I promised."
"He told that lie to my girl. He gave her to that hound," said the trader, but Burrell shoved him through the door.
"No! I can't do that." And then to the wounded man he said, "I'll get a doctor, but God have mercy on your soul." He could not trust himself to talk further with this creature, nor be near him any longer, for though he had a slight knowledge of surgery, he would sooner have touched a loathsome serpent than the flesh of this monstrous man.
He pushed Gale ahead of him, and the old man went like a driven beast, for his violence had wasted itself, and he was like a person under the spell of a strong drug. At the doctor's door Burrell stopped.
"I never thought to ask you," he said, wearily; "but you must be hurt? He must have wounded you?"
"I reckon he did—I don't know." Then the man's listless voice throbbed out achingly, as he cried in despair: "She believed him, boy! She believed his lies! That's what hurts." Something like a sob caught in his throat, and he staggered away under the weight of his great bereavement.