CHAPTER EIGHTKing Howden was at a loss to understand himself that night. Into a few short days had been crowded more emotion, more stirring experience than he had ever known before. The very fact that there had been nothing spectacular, nothing especially thrilling, in what had occurred only made the effects more far-reaching and real. A change had come over him that was the result of forces working so deeply within him that he knew life from this time forward was to mean something different, something more serious than it had ever meant to him.When he arrived at his cabin, after putting his horse away for the night and making a few final preparations for an early start in the morning, he found his bunk strangely uninviting. His mind, was unusually busy turning over and over a host of thoughts that crowded upon one another in a confusion that made sleep impossible. He went to the doorway of his shack, and sitting on the doorstep drew his dog down beside him and tried to think himself clear of the confusion. He recalled the night he had learned of his brother's death—it seemed as if a year had gone since that night, instead of a week. His imagination dwelt upon Cherry McBain as she looked that night when she rode beside him on the trail. His heart bounded again as he saw her standing before him on the little bridge over the White Pine—and he felt again, as he had felt a hundred times since, the ecstasy of that moment when Cherry had asked him for his help against a man he already hated. He smiled at the recollection of his meeting with McCartney in Cheney's place. Then his heart froze as he thought of what had happened only within the last hour.As he sat alone on the doorstep the night came down on the hills and the valley, but King had no thought of the passing hours. His mind was on the sudden appearance of Cherry McBain, like an apparition out of the dusk, and the coldly accusing note in her voice when she had spoken."She couldn't think—" he murmured to himself and then stopped.He wondered that he had not gone off to find her—to follow her and explain it all. And then it occurred to him that words—his words particularly—were helpless things after all. Even if he had gone and found her, and spoken to her, what would his words have done? And yet—he clung fiercely to a hope—the hope that had so lately been born in him."She can't think I'm wrong," he went on. "She can't—I couldn't stand that. I've been trying—I'm not right all through, but I'm not wrong like that. She's got to believe me."And then it came upon him—came with crystal clearness—that the heart of Cherry McBain could be won and held only by a man that was not afraid of himself, a man who had a task so great that it overshadowed petty problems and made them insignificant by comparison. And so King Howden renewed the covenant he had made with himself only a few days before, that his place in life was something more than the small circle drawn about his narrow existence, with its little weaknesses and discouragements and failures. Only this time the covenant was made sacred because a man's love for a woman had set its seal on it.By the first streak of dawn King was already well along the trail. He wanted to reach the top of the hills by sunrise, and with a climb of some five or six miles before him he urged his horse forward at a good pace. From the low-lying levels of the grassy plain and the deep meadows, to the first rolling uplands he mounted while the dawn was still gray, and from the uplands to the hills and down through the valleys that lay between. The old trail had not been used much during the latter part of the summer owing to the steadily decreasing distance that now lay between the new settlement and the end of the steel. On either side and in the centre of the trail where ran the narrow ridge between the two tracks, the grass was high and drenched the horse's legs with dew.And as he mounted higher, the coming of the new day broke upon him like a benediction, so that his very soul sang with the joy of the open sky and the rolling hills, the free trail and the throbbing pulse of youth. When he reached the top of the first upstanding hill he emerged from the fringe of trees that lined the crest just in time to see the sun pushing its way above the horizon. In the valley that lay before him the morning mist was stretched low and motionless. On the hillside opposite, where the sun's rays had not yet found their way, the trees were hidden in the half-dusk like ghosts waiting for some voice to waken them. The trail that led before him lost itself under cover of the white shroud, and over all was poured the rich glory of the rising sun. King took off his hat and looked long and silently. Then facing northward he dismounted and, taking the bridle rein in one hand, left the trail and plunged into the woods.Early that night he found a circle of tamaracs beside a little stream of cold water and decided to put up for the night. The day had been a long one, and had proven very heavy, but he had succeeded in his quest and was content with the results of his efforts. He was very tired, and after removing the saddle and pack from his horse he found a grassy plot not far away and tethered him for the night. Then he prepared a little smudge at the edge of the plot and returned to his camp. When he had eaten his supper he unstrapped his blankets and tossed them in a loose roll upon the soft ground where it was covered with brown needles and dry cones. Then he rolled himself a cigarette and smoked it in silence while he thought over the results of his day's cruising.The sun had already gone down when he got up and went again to make sure that his horse had received all the attention necessary for the night. When he had satisfied himself that everything was as it should be, and had partly smothered the smudge in order that its usefulness might last well through the night, he turned back up the hill again to roll in for the night. A passing mood caused him to circle about so that he came out on a small elevation, clear of trees, that stood back from his camp.When he had reached the top of the hill he could see clear away to the west over the broad valley where lay the town and his own little cabin that he had left early that morning. He thought he could make out the place, off to the north, where lay the right-of-way and Keith McBain's construction camp. Then as his eyes swept the intervening space something arrested his attention.Everywhere were the slow-forming mists of the early evening. But down there to the right—it couldn't be more than a mile away—there was something that was not mist, though it was difficult to make it out, even at so short a distance, with the shadows already beginning to deepen in the lower places. What he saw was a slowly rising thin column of smoke, and his heart beat faster as he began to realize slowly what it might mean. Someone was down there making a camp for the night. There was no reason in the world for anyone wandering through the hills at such a time—unless it was the same reason that had brought King Howden himself there. It was not easy to explain, but he was not slow in coming to a decision to act. Merely as a matter of self-defence he determined that he should at least guard against being discovered.He hurried down the hill, sliding, leaping, and running by turns, and came in a few seconds to the edge of the little meadow where his horse was standing in the comfortable protection of the cloud of smoke rising from the smudge."You poor old cuss," he said regretfully, "you'll have to use your tail to keep the mosquitoes off to-night. No more smoke, if they eat you alive."With that he kicked the smudge-pile vigorously, scattering it over the ground and leaving the embers smoking feebly where they lay in the grass. Then he went carefully from one spot to another and stamped out the last traces of the fire. Going back to the spot he had chosen for the night he left Sal on guard with a word of warning not to follow him, and set off again in the direction in which he had discovered the smoke. He had no intention of attempting to satisfy his curiosity by spying on strangers. He wanted to be reasonably sure that he himself was not being spied upon—that was all.And so he moved about cautiously and waited patiently for the first sound that would announce the approach of anyone. When it was very late and he had heard nothing to alarm him, he returned, confident that he would not be molested, and rolling himself in his blankets, pillowed his head on the saddle and went to sleep.The next morning he was awake at dawn, and without waiting to prepare breakfast, he clambered up the hill behind his camping place and sat down to watch for the first signs of life in the camp below. And as he sat and waited he worked out in his own mind, now fresh from the night's sound sleep under the open sky, what was at least a tentative explanation of the new circumstance that had so suddenly forced itself into his plans. He remembered now, with a new sense of its possible significance, the unexpected arrival in town of Cherry McBain late in the evening. Why had she come for her father? Then he recalled the fact that Keith McBain had not come to town alone. Was there any special significance in the presence of Tom Rickard in town at the same time? There was nothing in Keith McBain's silence that was unusual to one who knew him, but King felt that the old contractor had been more than ordinarily silent and perhaps a little ill-natured. He could not help thinking that something was brewing behind it all and, right or wrong, his conviction was that the camp down there a mile or so away had some connection with it all.Suddenly he was aware of a column of white smoke rising out of the trees. The traveller was apparently making ready for an early start. King sat watching the smoke for nearly an hour before anything happened to which he could attach any special importance. Then the figures of two men appeared suddenly in the open space beside the trees. They were leading a couple of horses. He got to his feet as he saw them and then squatted down suddenly and drew Sal towards him, lest she should catch a glimpse of the strangers and set up an alarm.The figures were headed southward, in the direction from which King had come the day before. For several minutes he watched them without moving from his place. Then as they disappeared from view behind the shoulder of a hill he scrambled down the slope to his camp and went about leisurely to prepare his breakfast. If the strangers were on a similar errand to his own he was well ahead of them. Before evening he would have completed his cruising in the hills and with ordinary good luck would reach the end of the steel by night-fall. When he had breakfasted he completed a few preparations necessary for the day's trip and was on his way again at sunrise.Late in the afternoon he emerged upon the trail about half-way between McBain's camp and the end of the steel. The air was heavy with a promise of rain in it. For the last mile or so he had followed a creek in which only a small stream of water trickled over the stones, and now, the wearisome part of the day's work done, he sat down upon a log at the side of the road and sized up the work he had done during the last two days in the hills. The timber was there for the purposes that Hurley and Keith McBain sought, the supply was more than their needs called for, and he had found an admirable site for a camp.It was with a feeling of great satisfaction, therefore, that he finally got into the saddle and started for the end-of-the-steel.Late that evening King strolled leisurely in the direction of the railway siding where stood a long line of cars that served as sleeping quarters for the men who were attached to the bridge gang. For a month or more they had been busy replacing the old temporary bridge by a more permanent structure. From a distance he had heard the voices of the men chatting and laughing among themselves. The two days spent alone in the hills had awakened in him afresh the desire to be with men and hear them talk.He came upon them at an interesting moment. Two men of the gang were matched in a wrestling bout, the others standing round watching the contest closely. King waited at some distance until the affair was over before he made his presence known. Then he stepped forward and entered the circle of men. Good nature pervaded the group, and King was the recipient of pleasant greetings from all sides. On the opposite side of the circle stood Larkin, Keith McBain's freighter."Hey, you outsiders—Larkin and Howden," called one of the men; "you fellows can't sit in on this game for nothin'. Give us a little action. Even money that Howden can put Larkin on his back in three minutes.""Any takers?" asked Larkin, during the pause that followed this outburst.Almost immediately came a dozen responses, whether from lack of confidence in King's ability or from sheer desire for sport.King felt himself pushed out into the centre of the circle, where he stood smiling and looking at Larkin."Get in, Larkin," cried a voice. "No time now for lettin' your blood freeze in your veins. I'm backin' you to win and by —— you've got to step lively."Larkin was smiling as he got up, but the smile gave place to a look of deadly earnestness as he leaped suddenly at King in an effort to overcome him at one rush. King was still smiling as he braced himself and received the full force of Larkin's rush without yielding more than half a step. Then as Larkin bent low to get a hold, King caught him quickly about the waist and, lifting him off his feet, held him for a moment while he kicked and lurched helplessly in an effort to free himself. In another second he had Larkin on the ground with his shoulders pinned down.The whole thing had not occupied a minute, and there was not a man in the group that did not express his surprise at the sudden and unexpected outcome of the encounter. King, on his part, felt a strange new thrill of pleasure as he got up and looked round at the men. At no time during his little set-to with Larkin had he doubted his ability to take care of himself, but the sharp action, though momentary, had exhilarated him and he was conscious of the renewed vigor that had come to him during the two days wandering in the hills.Back in the group of men stood one big fellow, a Spaniard of powerful build and hasty temper, whom no one in the gang had ever pretended to know. There was a look in his eyes now, however, that attracted and even amused King. Someone else apparently saw that look at the same moment."You, Spain," came a voice. "Feelin' pretty strong? Get in there and stack up. You and Howden mate up pretty close.""Go on—get in, Spain," came from another quarter, and at once the big Spaniard, serious and struggling to control his excitement, became the centre of interest. With a deal of urging, they finally got him to step out—not very reluctantly, it seemed, for he came towards King rather eagerly."I don't know, young fellow," he said seriously as he came forward. "By golly, I t'ink I lika try dat for once anyhow."He advanced warily and tried to get his huge arms about King's body. King, however, avoided him by moving back a step at a time about the enclosure until the look of seriousness in the Spaniard's face became one of impatience, and King knew that the moment had arrived when he must close with his antagonist and fight it out. His decision had barely been made, however, when the Spaniard made a quick movement towards him and King had to leap to one side quickly to avoid the powerful arms that came out to encircle him. The movement left him slightly in the rear and to one side of his opponent, and stepping in quickly he sent his arm forward and upward, and laying his hand on the back of the Spaniard's neck brought his head down with a snap. In another ten seconds he had doubled him up and thrown him on the ground.When the Spaniard got to his feet his black eyes were flashing angrily, and he was muttering incoherently as he looked at King. The latter, however, was smiling with such genuine good nature that at last the fire died in the black eyes and the big fellow began to smile at his own defeat."By golly, young fellow," he said, "I lika know dat little treek, jus' once."King found a place for himself in the circle of men and moved quietly to the outside where he would be less in evidence. The centre of the circle was taken almost immediately by a couple of men who had come out to prove their prowess at "squaw-wrestling."While the interest in the match was at its height, King felt someone touch his arm, and looking round, found himself face to face with Lush Currie, who, with one finger on his lips as a signal for silence, was beckoning King to come out of the crowd and follow him. King withdrew at once without attracting any attention, and followed Currie until he came up with him just a few yards off on the roadway.When King had joined him he walked along in silence for a short distance, expecting Currie to speak."I just came from up the line," said Currie at last. "I didn't know you were here—where'd you come from?"King hesitated a moment before he replied. The glimpses he had caught early that morning of the two men in the hills set him thinking during the day, and he was determined to be careful."I came from town," he said in reply to Currie's question."Yes—but—but when?""To-day. Got here in time for supper.""Got here to-night? You didn't come from McBain's camp to-day?"King's reply was ready. "No—I took another way this time. But what—""I think you'd better put back," Currie broke in. "McCartney's got somethin' movin'. Old Silent's in town—been there for three days now—probably livin' at Cheney's. The girl went up but came back this morning without him. I don't know what's doin', but Gabe says Bill's got some of Cheney's firewater an' there's goin' to be trouble. Gabe was wishin' to-day you'd come along. He expected you back when the girl came and when you didn't turn up he was worried. He says the girl's worried too."They walked some distance before King made any comment. At last he turned off in the direction of the corral where he had put his horse for the night."I guess I'll be gettin' along back," he said quietly.Lush Currie stood and watched him until he had vanished in the darkness. And even as he stood there, the rain that had been threatening all day began to fall slowly.CHAPTER NINECherry McBain stood in the open doorway of the cabin and looked out at the heavy grey skies and the gathering darkness. The air carried a chill reminder that summer was coming very rapidly to a close. All day long there had been a cold wind and scudding clouds that drifted low about the hill tops, and hurried before a fitful eastern breeze that carried dashes of mist and thin rain with it.Now that evening had come the wind had gone down, but the drizzling rain was falling steadily and monotonously, as it does when it sets in for a long downpour. Though it was still early evening it was almost dusk, especially among the heavy-limbed tamaracs where the cabin stood. Cherry had lighted the lamp very early in an effort to bring some little cheer to the place, for the heavy unbroken gloom of the skies, now growing dark with the coming night, had filled her with a sense of loneliness from which she could not free herself.It was not merely the fact that she was twenty-one and that the day had been a dull one, though perhaps a girl of Cherry McBain's temperament needs no other excuse for being melancholy. She was lonely, more indescribably lonely than she had ever been in her life before. The distance from happiness to despair is often a very short one indeed, and Cherry had gone from one to the other in what, to her, was an incredibly short time. The latter weeks of the summer just coming to a close had been the most supremely happy time of her life. But the last two or three days had been like long dreary months to her. It seemed as if she had been given but one short glimpse of bright hope only to be plunged again into deepest darkness. At first it was wounded pride that gave her pain. She loved King Howden—what hurt her most was the fact that she loved him still in spite of herself. Now that she recalled the way she had spoken to King, and then recalled what she had seen when she came unexpectedly upon Anne and King standing together in the deeper dusk of the doorway—she bit her lip and clenched her hands in anger at herself that she should have allowed herself to be such a fool.It was this wounded pride of hers that had unsettled her so that she was unable to play her wonted part when she had finally tried to make her father come back to her. He had met her suggestion with a stormy outburst—worse than any he had ever brought upon her before—and she had broken miserably before it, and had left him and ridden back to the camp alone. What did it matter that she had walked up and down the crooked street of The Town for two days with as firm a step and as erect a bearing as ever? What did it matter that she had tossed her head proudly and passed Anne without so much as a word of recognition whenever the two met? What did it matter that she had ridden into camp with the same air of indifference that she had always carried? Others might not know—and she vowed they would not know—but she knew that she had suffered a double defeat, and it hurt.But Cherry McBain was not one to forget her duty even in the hour of keenest disappointment. Her sense of defeat had been partly relieved during the day in the time-honored way that women have of relieving their feelings. Now as she stood in the doorway of her cabin and looked out at the grey world, she was the victim of a feeling that she had never really experienced before. She was afraid.During the day she had spoken with old Gabe Smith, who had come to get news from her of her father. A change had come over the camp during the past few days, the nature of which had made Gabe very anxious to have Keith McBain back again and asserting his old control. He did not have to tell Cherry that Bill McCartney was the cause of all the unrest he had reported to her. She knew the meaning of it better than Gabe. Cherry longed for her father's return. She even upbraided herself for having left town without him.But even as she prayed for his coming, strange doubts arose in her mind concerning her father's power to combat the hostile forces of which McCartney was not only the director but the creator as well. She knew, in short, as others doubtless knew, that Keith McBain was a broken man. His power to break a man's will by a look or a word was almost gone, and none knew it so well as his own daughter.And yet she wanted him back. After all, she had always relied upon him in critical moments in the past; it had come to be a habit with her. Besides, there was no one else to whom she could turn. Old Gabe Smith was kind and good, and would always help to the extent of his ability, but after all he was of no more use than any other camp follower when a crisis had to be met.While she stood wondering what best to do she saw Gabe himself coming down the pathway towards her. All at once her mind was made up. With a word or two to Gabe she went back into the cabin and dressed herself preparatory to going out. In a few minutes she was back again in the doorway waiting for Gabe, who reappeared presently in the pathway leading Cherry's horse behind him, saddled and bridled, ready for the road. She allowed Gabe to help her into the saddle, and then, leaving him to blow out the light and close the door, she set off to the trail and headed for The Town. This time she was determined that her father's will should be no match for her own. She would have her way with him, no matter what he said, and he would return to camp with her and give commands.No one saw her as she rode through the camp, no one, at least, spoke to her, and in a couple of minutes she was safely through with nothing before her but a long stretch of winding trail already wet from the rain. She went forward with great caution though she knew every foot of the trail she was traversing, and urged her horse only in the higher stretches where the road was sandy and still dry. The footing was very uncertain in spots, and on account of the increasing intensity of the darkness she was forced to rely almost wholly upon the instincts of her horse to guide her. Fortunately there was but one trail, and that one was flanked on either side by bushes and trees and fallen logs that made an effective barrier against her wandering from the beaten way.One thing that caused her some concern as she rode along was the fact that the little creeks she had crossed countless times before, had crossed scarcely twelve hours since, as a matter of fact, had swollen considerably during the day. Every time she attempted a fording she did so with an increasing sense of surprise at the swirling of the water about her horse's legs. She knew it had been raining in the hills during the day, and she had expected some little change in the size of the streams, but nothing so formidable as the turbulent rushing of these little creeks had presented itself to her imagination. They were actually vicious, she thought to herself, and once when the water reached her foot and her horse stopped a moment and leaned against the current before he went on, she was more than a little anxious for the outcome of her mission. She experienced a strange thrill of something like fear, too, as she looked down at the water beneath her, black under the darkness of the night, and swirling and rushing crazily onward in headlong haste.She had been on the way for nearly three hours when she came at last to the little ridge overlooking White Pine river. It was the prospect of having to make this crossing that gave her most concern. From the top of the ridge she could see nothing in the pitchy blackness of the night. Cautiously she urged her horse down the gentle slope of the ridge towards the river. She began to wonder whether the little bridge of poles had been swept out by the current. If the water had not risen above the level of the bridge there was no reason why a perfectly safe crossing could not be made. With the instinct born of long contact with the world out-of-doors she strove to measure the distance she had gone since she left the ridge crest. The bridge was some distance off yet, probably fifteen or twenty yards, when all at once she thought she heard the sound of water running about her horse's fore-feet. She urged him forward a little, and found herself standing some ten yards or so from the bridge with the water rushing just beneath her. Dimly in the darkness she could make out the form of the bridge. It was still in its place with the water rushing past at either end, though it had not gone over it as yet.For a moment she stopped and faced the situation, and the new problems it presented to her. She had no doubt that she could cross the bridge quite safely and finish her trip successfully. But if it continued to rain during the night, there would be no getting back again. With the camp cut off from them, she and her father would simply have to wait until the rain ceased and the rivers went down sufficiently to allow a safe passage before they could think of returning. But that was like enlisting Providence on the side of the devil, for she knew it would be simply playing into the hands of McCartney to leave the camp in his charge, perhaps for days, while the wet weather made it impossible for the men to work on the grade. Though she did not know what she could do if she were alone at the camp, she felt intuitively that while her father was away her duty was to fill the place he had left, if she could do nothing but stand as a sort of symbol of the leadership which her father had embodied.She decided to abandon the trip to The Town and to return to camp, there to match her wits against those of McCartney, and hope for the best. The decision quickly made was suddenly shaken by the fear that her father might even now be on the road. As she thought of him attempting to cross the White Pine alone with only his team to take care of him, she shrank with fear. She recalled the nights during the summer when his team had brought him safely home, though he himself had never known anything about it until he awoke the next morning. But good fortune cannot bring a man through everything, and Cherry knew her father could never cross the White Pine in its present condition and under the heavy darkness that hid everything within a few feet.Turning her horse's head back she rode again up the slope of the ridge and dismounted when she was about half way to the crest. Here she found a fallen log in the shelter of a closely grown clump of trees and sat down. She was far enough from the river to hear quite easily other sounds than the rushing of the water. Above her the trees brushed back and forth in the wind, with boughs rustling and creaking and moaning in the darkness. The sound from the river was like the low, steady washing of a distant surf. Cherry sat and strained her ears for the least noise from the other side of the bridge. Time after time she started up at what she thought was the striking of a hoof or the scraping of a wheel upon a stone. Once she got to her feet suddenly, her heart thumping with expectancy. She was sure she had heard her father's voice in a gruff word of command to his team. But although she stood with breath held and ears strained for the slightest sound, none came, and she sat down again, feeling that she might have been dreaming.When she at last arose to take the trail back to the camp it was past midnight. Nothing had come of her long wait and she felt it would be useless to remain longer. No one would have allowed even Keith McBain to leave town on such a night and at an hour that would make the trip to camp doubly hazardous.But as she went over the top of the ridge and rode along the trail she had come over earlier in the night she began to estimate the difficulty of the problem that awaited her if her fears concerning McCartney's designs had any foundation in fact.She knew the hour must come sooner or later when McCartney would give up his policy of quiet waiting. She knew something of his determination and recklessness of consequences. She knew he would strike when he thought the moment most opportune. And she was not blind to the fact that the moment was perhaps at hand. He would carry out his threat some time—why should he not do so to-night?Cherry McBain had never been afraid of Bill McCartney; she had usually managed to meet him when the other men were around, or when her father was near, and she had successfully avoided anything but the most casual passages between them. Her chief security had lain in the fact that she had always been on the best of terms with the men of her father's camp. She liked them and she knew they liked her. But she did not fail to recognize that McCartney's chief concern during the last few weeks had been to win for himself the regard of the men and make them his followers. That he had won a small group through the fear he had inspired by his display of brute strength Cherry well knew. Just how far he had been successful among the more independent men of the camp she did not know. Gabe Smith had often spoken to her about it, and had assured her of the loyalty of the great majority of them, but she knew that Gabe's judgment on such things was not always to be relied upon. It was this uncertainty that made her afraid. She was actually afraid for herself. Without the active support of the men in her father's camp she would be powerless against a man of McCartney's temper, to say nothing of his size, and she dreaded the moment when he would step up and demand that she should do her part to make good her father's bargain.She knew at any rate what the future held for her if the worst came to the worst. She would fight as long as she had strength left in her body and wit in her mind. If she failed at last it would be for her father's sake, at least, and she would harbour no regrets and cherish no grudge. Suddenly, as she rode along in deep thought, she was awakened from her dreaming by the sight of a red flare in the clouded night-sky. It appeared directly ahead of her, a large spot of ruby light glowing against the low clouds. She knew what it meant only too well, but the fear of what its full meaning might be sent a chill to her heart as she looked at it. Then she gave her horse a sharp cut with her quirt and he was off at a mad gallop along the muddy trail.The caution she had exercised in picking her way along through the darkness was suddenly forgotten. The horse would have to do the best it could to find a footing and keep the trail. One thought only occupied her mind. The camp was on fire and she must save it, if she could cover the distance in time.About half an hour of the maddest riding she had ever done brought her to the edge of the camp where the trail left the grade and emerged from the bushes beside the corral. In the middle of the camp the men were dancing about the flaming remnants of what had been the cook camp. It had been nothing but a frame of logs and canvas, and had gone up like so much dry kindling in a few minutes. What she saw was nothing more than a heap of burning debris, about which the men were running and shouting like beings half-crazed.At first Cherry stood at a distance, scarcely knowing what to do. Three workless days had produced the kind of results that she had long since learned to expect in construction camps. With McCartney on the ground she knew the results were inevitable. The men were nearly all drunk and many of them scarcely seemed to know what they were doing.All at once she saw the swaggering form of McCartney in the light from the fire. The sight maddened her and with a flash of her quirt she sent her horse flying into the crowd, pulling him back suddenly almost upon his haunches at the very edge of the fire.Her sudden appearance like an apparition out of the night struck surprise into the hearts of the men. They fell back, some of them with terror on their faces as she struck, first on one side, then on the other, at a couple who approached her in threatening attitude."Get to your bunks, you!" she cried in a voice that all could hear and in a tone that none could mistake.Moving quickly about, she called to a half dozen men whom she knew best and liked, among them Gabe Smith."Stay here for a little while," she said after she had got them together. "Look round at the store and the corral and the bunkhouse to make sure there is no more danger of fire. Gabe, you take charge for to-night, and get these men to help. Make the others go to bed."In half an hour the camp was in a state of comparative quiet. Nothing was left of the cook-camp but a heap of embers smouldering in the rain which was still falling steadily. Cherry found Gabe in the bunkhouse patiently arguing with three or four of the men who had ill-temperedly protested against going to bed at the command of anyone, much less that of a woman. She called him out to her."Let them sit up if they like, Gabe," she said with a smile. "The less trouble the better. Two or three of you had better stay round till daylight anyhow. I'm going to the cabin. I'll take my horse along and tether him under the tamaracs. If anything happens let me know. I'll lie down. The lamp will be lit, and I'll be ready to come out at once if you need me. Some one must go to town in the morning."Gabe came up to her as she was about to leave."There's one thing, my girl," he said. "You'd better not leave your door unlocked. I can knock—""Don't be silly, Gabe," she interrupted quickly. "I'm not afraid.""Well, take this," he said, drawing a revolver from his pocket and holding it towards her."Why, Gabe," she exclaimed, laughing at him, "what in the world are you going to do with that?""Nothing, I hope," he replied a little sheepishly. "Lush Currie left it with me as a kind of remembrance and I've been keeping it by me.""But you'd never use it, Gabe?""No," he replied with a slow smile as he slipped it back again into his pocket, "but it does give a man a comfortable feeling to have it on him, in case."She bade him good-night cheerfully and rode off towards the cabin. Although she had been amused at what she thought was an unnecessary precaution for Gabe Smith to take, she could not help admitting to herself that she shared somewhat in the feeling of comfort which the old fellow protested was his chief reason for carrying the weapon. She regretted, moreover, that she had not asked him concerning the whereabouts of McCartney. He had disappeared suddenly when she had come upon the scene. The first glimpse she had had of him was the last, and she felt a little uneasiness at not knowing where he had gone. It had come to her mind frequently during her conversation with Gabe that she should ask him to find McCartney and keep an eye on him, but she did not wish the old man to know what was in her mind. As she rode into the tamaracs, however, and tethered her horse in a sheltered spot, she wished with all her heart that she had given at least a hint of her fears to Gabe. But perhaps he had already guessed at them for himself—there was a little comfort in the hope that he had done so; and with this thought in her mind she entered the cabin.When she had lighted her lamp she looked about her to assure herself that everything was just as she had left it. Then she smiled to herself as she remembered that she had probably never done such a thing before. She was actually nervous and the discovery really amused her.Quickly she removed her wet garments, and having dressed again in warm, dry clothing, she lowered the light and, drawing a heavy cover about her, lay down on the couch and dropped to sleep almost instantly.CHAPTER TENCherry awoke with a start and sat up quickly, blinking her eyes in the dim light and struggling to regain control of her senses. Something had frightened her out of a heavy sleep. Now that she was awake she thought she remembered a sensation of a cold breath of air on her cheek. Suddenly her eyes fell upon a shadowy form standing beside the door. At first she was not sure but that she had been dreaming. Gradually her mind cleared, however, and she sprang to her feet as she recognized the face of Bill McCartney looking at her from where he stood with his hand still upon the door-latch.At the first sight of the intruder her heart seemed to stop beating and she faced him for a moment in silence. Then she stepped swiftly to the table and turned up the light. As she did so McCartney took his hand from the latch and turning his back to the door looked at her steadily, smiling and folding his arms."What do you want here?" Cherry asked in a voice that betrayed her nervousness in spite of her efforts to control herself.McCartney remained silent, answering her only with a smile."What have you come here for at this time of night?" she asked again. Her voice was more steady now and she straightened up defiantly as she spoke. "Get out of here, or I'll have a dozen men——"He took a step towards her and raised his hand for silence."Cherry," he said, "there ain't any use of you an' me disagreein'. You know that just as well as me. I come here now because I want to tell you something you ought to know for your own good. You don't let me talk to you like some others. I've got to take my own way of doin' things or I won't get them done at all, see? You go back there an' sit down. I'm goin' to talk an' I want you to listen."He waited for Cherry to go back to the couch again, but she stood motionless by the table and looked at him for some time before she spoke. She knew she could gain nothing by rousing his anger. From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice it was quite clear that he had been drinking. If she vexed him he might resort to ugly tactics in which she would be no match for him. Her only course was the one she had followed for weeks. She must fight for time in the hope that something might occur before she would have to admit defeat."I shall not sit down till you do," she said, pointing to a chair beside the door.He looked behind him and then looked at her. What he saw in her face was enough to convince him that she was in earnest, at any rate, and he turned slowly, and going to the chair, sat down, taking his hat off as he did so and putting it on the floor beside him."Now, then," he said, as he looked up at her.For reply Cherry moved the lamp to one side in order that it might not obstruct her view of McCartney from where she intended to sit, and going to the couch from which she had risen only a few minutes before, sat down and waited for him to speak."You ask me what brings me here so late," he began. "Don't you think that's a strange question to ask me? You an' me ain't talked much together lately, but when we had our last long talk together I thought you understood it clear enough. An' I don't think you're the kind that forgets easy, either."Cherry gave a little shrug of impatience and looked away from him, letting her eyes rest upon the floor at her feet."You asked me what I want—what I came here for," he went on. "Well, what's the use of mixin' words? You know—an' I ain't goin' to tell you unless you've forgot. But listen to me, Cherry." He lowered his voice as he spoke. "Bill McCartney is the best friend you've got. An' he's the best friend Keith McBain's got. Your father's an old man, but he's a wise man an' he knows some things his daughter can't understand. You ain't got a better friend than me, an' the sooner you get that straight the better off you'll be."He paused as Cherry looked at him with more impatience than before."You don't need to tell me all this," she said. "I've thought it all over a hundred times. I want to know what you have come here for to-night. The rest can wait for some other time."The smile left his face as she spoke, and he seemed on the point of getting up from his chair. "Well," he began, in a voice that was pitched much higher than before, "I'm here to tell you this for one thing. There's a kind of arrangement between you an' me. You know all about that. There's goin' to be trouble for anyone who tries to spoil that arrangement. You understand?"Cherry professed ignorance of the significance of his words."Don't tell me you don't know," he protested quickly. "I've got eyes to see with, an' if I hadn't there's lot's more that has, an' it ain't hard to find out what's goin' on. There's someone breakin' into my game an' he's got to get out an' stay out.""Who?" Cherry asked in a voice that was almost coquettish."Who?" he blustered. "For God's sake—who?""Yes," she insisted, "who?""Howden—that's who."She did not show the slightest disturbance, but laughed a little to herself as she looked again at the floor."No," she said, "you're wrong. King Howden and I are not even good friends any more."He looked at her in surprise. "That ain't true," he said.She raised her eyes quickly. "You have never known me to lie over anything," she replied. "You wouldn't expect me to lie over this."He grunted to himself and regarded her strangely. "Then I'm goin' ahead with that in mind," he said. "Am I doin' right?""I can only speak for myself," she replied. "I don't know what's in King Howden's mind.""I don't give a—" He checked himself in an effort, apparently, to be polite. "I don't worry about what's in his mind," he said. "I'll look after him, an' I'm goin' to settle with him myself."He paused for some time and Cherry took advantage of the pause to draw about her shoulders the cover that lay on the couch where it had fallen when she had first got up."And is that all?" she asked."That's all on that—just now," he said. "There's just one more thing I want to say—just a little warnin' I want to give you. I don't want you interferin' with things in the camp. That's no place for you. You jumped in to-night where you wasn't wanted an' you got away with it—but it ain't goin' to happen again.""But my father is away and—""That's just the point, now," he broke in. "If you just let things go along in their natural way nothin' will happen. Everybody knows Keith McBain ain't goin' to last for another year's contractin'. Nobody's goin' to take his place but the one that has a right to take it. That's me—all on account of our understandin'."Cherry got to her feet, her arms rigid, her finger-nails biting into her palms."Keith McBain is still boss of this camp," she said, "and if you want to know it, his daughter, Cherry McBain, is still mistress of her own heart. It's time you knew that you can't frighten either of us."She was fully aware of the hazardous game she was playing. So long as his conversation turned upon her alone she had been capable of keeping her impatience well under control. After all, he might tire of a game in which he was no match for a wary opponent. But when he mentioned her father's name she could stand it no longer. The blood of Old Silent was hot in her veins, and the fire that had flashed from his eyes was leaping now in her own. She recalled the numberless times when she had seen her father reduced to a pitiful meekness before a word from Bill McCartney. She had wept bitterly for the old man, broken in body and will by a man whose only title to recognition was brute force and the possession of a life secret. All the injustice of it came upon her like a flood. She would do no more weeping. She would cringe no more. She would fight, whatever the consequences, and bring her father to fight as well.McCartney got up and looked at her with his customary sneer. "You talk that way because you don't know," he said slowly, "because he ain't here to stop you. But I ain't goin' to be foolish about it. When Keith McBain wants to fight Bill McCartney he's welcome. But he won't fight—because he can't fight. He's wanted bad an' he knows the right hunch to play. An' you ain't goin' to fight Bill McCartney neither, for Bill McCartney ain't goin' to fight you. He's goin' to love you!"He left his place beside the chair and lurched unsteadily towards her. Leaving the couch quickly, Cherry moved till she got the table between herself and McCartney and then looked at him steadily. For some reason her fear, her nervousness was gone. She felt equal to any emergency, and quite capable of matching any move he should make. She made up her mind that if she could reach the door she would make a dash for the outside and call Gabe. But McCartney, dazed though he was from drinking, was sufficiently alert to anticipate any such move on her part, and was careful to keep possession of the side of the table nearest the door. After a couple of futile attempts on McCartney's part to reach Cherry, he stood for a moment and looked at her, leaning forward with both hands on the table."There ain't a bit o' use in this—an' you know it!" he declared, and for the first time since he had entered the cabin his look was sinister and threatening. "Do you want me to go out o' here?""I do—get out!" Cherry replied."If I get out, Keith McBain 'll pay. He knows that, if you don't.""You can't frighten me—and you can't frighten him. Get out, I tell you!""If you mean that—" he straightened up as he spoke, as if he were about to leave."Get out, I tell you!"Suddenly his manner changed. A smile of contempt curled one corner of his mouth."You damn little fool!" he sneered.Seizing the lamp quickly he placed it on the chair behind him, and with one movement of his powerful arms he swept the table to one side and lurched clumsily towards her. Realizing that she could not escape, Cherry set herself to meet his rush. As he put out his arms to seize her she closed her hand and swung with all the weight of her body at his face. The blow went straight and quick, so quick that McCartney recoiled a little in surprise, and paused a moment to look at her. One moment was enough for Cherry. Before he could clearly understand what had happened she had darted for the door. Her hand was on the latch before he came to himself, and in another second she would have been out and away. But McCartney's heavy hands clutched her shoulders as she was on the point of opening the door, and she felt herself lifted bodily from the floor.Setting her upon her feet at a safe distance from the door he turned her round, and raising her face, looked at her with a smile."Ain't you the little fool! I thought you had sense."He stopped suddenly and his hold upon Cherry relaxed.There was a sound of footsteps on the pathway outside. Cherry listened with indrawn breath—the footsteps were familiar. When they stopped before the door she turned quickly."Gabe! Gabe!" she called.The door opened quickly and old Gabe stood in the doorway and blinked wonderingly as he looked into the cabin."Put this man out, Gabe!" Cherry said, quickly, breaking away from McCartney, whose whole attention was now on the old man who had come to take a hand in an affair that he had thought peculiarly his own.Gabe continued to blink uncertainly, and seemed to have difficulty in finding anything to say. But the next moment the old man showed a surprising quickness of movement. If he had not moved quickly McCartney would have been upon him. Stepping back suddenly through the open doorway into the darkness outside he avoided the kick that the big foreman aimed at him. But before McCartney could recover himself to close the door, Gabe had leaped back into the light again, only this time he was prepared to take the aggressive.In his right hand he held Lush Currie's "remembrance," the light from the lamp glinting on the polished steel. Gabe's hand shook so perceptibly that, in spite of the critical situation all three were facing, Cherry had all she could do to keep from laughing. But if Gabe's hand shook, his eyes were steady and it was Gabe's eye that McCartney watched."Now, Bill," he said in a voice that expressed grim determination even if it was a little thin, "you git out—an' move damn quick!"Cherry watched the men closely for a moment while McCartney stood as if rooted to the spot from sheer surprise at the old man's nerve. That moment was like an hour to Cherry. She did not think Gabe would actually carry out what he threatened if his commands were not obeyed to the last syllable, but there was a note in his voice that was new to her. It meant simply that Gabe Smith would stand for no trifling.The next moment, however, brought relief. McCartney moved round towards the door and Gabe circled away from it very cautiously. By the time McCartney had reached the doorway Cherry was ready to laugh at the whole performance. When he turned sulkily and stepped quickly out, followed by Gabe, who waited a moment in the doorway before he came back into the cabin and closed the door again behind him, she did laugh.Gabe stood and looked at her in silence and surprise until she was through laughing, and then sat down."Gabe, you dear old silly!" she said, going over to him. "You might have hit me—or even yourself if you had put that thing off!"Gabe made no reply. He was too serious, too much occupied, perhaps, with the importance of the thing he had done and the things it would probably lead to in the very near future.The new day had already begun to dawn when Gabe finally stole quietly out of the cabin and took his way down the path. He had left Cherry sleeping soundly and was himself very weary after his night's vigil. But he knew a full day awaited him, and he was determined to face it with as much courage as his old heart could muster.Countless times that night he had prayed inwardly for help from somewhere. Even now, as he plodded wearily from the cabin to the trail, he was muttering something to himself that might have passed for a petition to the Heavenly Powers.And as if in answer to his prayerful mutterings, there came trudging heavily towards him round the bend in the trail just where it left the trees and entered the camp, a man leading a horse by the bridle rein and followed by a tired-looked dog."King, boy!" cried Gabe, and could say no more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
King Howden was at a loss to understand himself that night. Into a few short days had been crowded more emotion, more stirring experience than he had ever known before. The very fact that there had been nothing spectacular, nothing especially thrilling, in what had occurred only made the effects more far-reaching and real. A change had come over him that was the result of forces working so deeply within him that he knew life from this time forward was to mean something different, something more serious than it had ever meant to him.
When he arrived at his cabin, after putting his horse away for the night and making a few final preparations for an early start in the morning, he found his bunk strangely uninviting. His mind, was unusually busy turning over and over a host of thoughts that crowded upon one another in a confusion that made sleep impossible. He went to the doorway of his shack, and sitting on the doorstep drew his dog down beside him and tried to think himself clear of the confusion. He recalled the night he had learned of his brother's death—it seemed as if a year had gone since that night, instead of a week. His imagination dwelt upon Cherry McBain as she looked that night when she rode beside him on the trail. His heart bounded again as he saw her standing before him on the little bridge over the White Pine—and he felt again, as he had felt a hundred times since, the ecstasy of that moment when Cherry had asked him for his help against a man he already hated. He smiled at the recollection of his meeting with McCartney in Cheney's place. Then his heart froze as he thought of what had happened only within the last hour.
As he sat alone on the doorstep the night came down on the hills and the valley, but King had no thought of the passing hours. His mind was on the sudden appearance of Cherry McBain, like an apparition out of the dusk, and the coldly accusing note in her voice when she had spoken.
"She couldn't think—" he murmured to himself and then stopped.
He wondered that he had not gone off to find her—to follow her and explain it all. And then it occurred to him that words—his words particularly—were helpless things after all. Even if he had gone and found her, and spoken to her, what would his words have done? And yet—he clung fiercely to a hope—the hope that had so lately been born in him.
"She can't think I'm wrong," he went on. "She can't—I couldn't stand that. I've been trying—I'm not right all through, but I'm not wrong like that. She's got to believe me."
And then it came upon him—came with crystal clearness—that the heart of Cherry McBain could be won and held only by a man that was not afraid of himself, a man who had a task so great that it overshadowed petty problems and made them insignificant by comparison. And so King Howden renewed the covenant he had made with himself only a few days before, that his place in life was something more than the small circle drawn about his narrow existence, with its little weaknesses and discouragements and failures. Only this time the covenant was made sacred because a man's love for a woman had set its seal on it.
By the first streak of dawn King was already well along the trail. He wanted to reach the top of the hills by sunrise, and with a climb of some five or six miles before him he urged his horse forward at a good pace. From the low-lying levels of the grassy plain and the deep meadows, to the first rolling uplands he mounted while the dawn was still gray, and from the uplands to the hills and down through the valleys that lay between. The old trail had not been used much during the latter part of the summer owing to the steadily decreasing distance that now lay between the new settlement and the end of the steel. On either side and in the centre of the trail where ran the narrow ridge between the two tracks, the grass was high and drenched the horse's legs with dew.
And as he mounted higher, the coming of the new day broke upon him like a benediction, so that his very soul sang with the joy of the open sky and the rolling hills, the free trail and the throbbing pulse of youth. When he reached the top of the first upstanding hill he emerged from the fringe of trees that lined the crest just in time to see the sun pushing its way above the horizon. In the valley that lay before him the morning mist was stretched low and motionless. On the hillside opposite, where the sun's rays had not yet found their way, the trees were hidden in the half-dusk like ghosts waiting for some voice to waken them. The trail that led before him lost itself under cover of the white shroud, and over all was poured the rich glory of the rising sun. King took off his hat and looked long and silently. Then facing northward he dismounted and, taking the bridle rein in one hand, left the trail and plunged into the woods.
Early that night he found a circle of tamaracs beside a little stream of cold water and decided to put up for the night. The day had been a long one, and had proven very heavy, but he had succeeded in his quest and was content with the results of his efforts. He was very tired, and after removing the saddle and pack from his horse he found a grassy plot not far away and tethered him for the night. Then he prepared a little smudge at the edge of the plot and returned to his camp. When he had eaten his supper he unstrapped his blankets and tossed them in a loose roll upon the soft ground where it was covered with brown needles and dry cones. Then he rolled himself a cigarette and smoked it in silence while he thought over the results of his day's cruising.
The sun had already gone down when he got up and went again to make sure that his horse had received all the attention necessary for the night. When he had satisfied himself that everything was as it should be, and had partly smothered the smudge in order that its usefulness might last well through the night, he turned back up the hill again to roll in for the night. A passing mood caused him to circle about so that he came out on a small elevation, clear of trees, that stood back from his camp.
When he had reached the top of the hill he could see clear away to the west over the broad valley where lay the town and his own little cabin that he had left early that morning. He thought he could make out the place, off to the north, where lay the right-of-way and Keith McBain's construction camp. Then as his eyes swept the intervening space something arrested his attention.
Everywhere were the slow-forming mists of the early evening. But down there to the right—it couldn't be more than a mile away—there was something that was not mist, though it was difficult to make it out, even at so short a distance, with the shadows already beginning to deepen in the lower places. What he saw was a slowly rising thin column of smoke, and his heart beat faster as he began to realize slowly what it might mean. Someone was down there making a camp for the night. There was no reason in the world for anyone wandering through the hills at such a time—unless it was the same reason that had brought King Howden himself there. It was not easy to explain, but he was not slow in coming to a decision to act. Merely as a matter of self-defence he determined that he should at least guard against being discovered.
He hurried down the hill, sliding, leaping, and running by turns, and came in a few seconds to the edge of the little meadow where his horse was standing in the comfortable protection of the cloud of smoke rising from the smudge.
"You poor old cuss," he said regretfully, "you'll have to use your tail to keep the mosquitoes off to-night. No more smoke, if they eat you alive."
With that he kicked the smudge-pile vigorously, scattering it over the ground and leaving the embers smoking feebly where they lay in the grass. Then he went carefully from one spot to another and stamped out the last traces of the fire. Going back to the spot he had chosen for the night he left Sal on guard with a word of warning not to follow him, and set off again in the direction in which he had discovered the smoke. He had no intention of attempting to satisfy his curiosity by spying on strangers. He wanted to be reasonably sure that he himself was not being spied upon—that was all.
And so he moved about cautiously and waited patiently for the first sound that would announce the approach of anyone. When it was very late and he had heard nothing to alarm him, he returned, confident that he would not be molested, and rolling himself in his blankets, pillowed his head on the saddle and went to sleep.
The next morning he was awake at dawn, and without waiting to prepare breakfast, he clambered up the hill behind his camping place and sat down to watch for the first signs of life in the camp below. And as he sat and waited he worked out in his own mind, now fresh from the night's sound sleep under the open sky, what was at least a tentative explanation of the new circumstance that had so suddenly forced itself into his plans. He remembered now, with a new sense of its possible significance, the unexpected arrival in town of Cherry McBain late in the evening. Why had she come for her father? Then he recalled the fact that Keith McBain had not come to town alone. Was there any special significance in the presence of Tom Rickard in town at the same time? There was nothing in Keith McBain's silence that was unusual to one who knew him, but King felt that the old contractor had been more than ordinarily silent and perhaps a little ill-natured. He could not help thinking that something was brewing behind it all and, right or wrong, his conviction was that the camp down there a mile or so away had some connection with it all.
Suddenly he was aware of a column of white smoke rising out of the trees. The traveller was apparently making ready for an early start. King sat watching the smoke for nearly an hour before anything happened to which he could attach any special importance. Then the figures of two men appeared suddenly in the open space beside the trees. They were leading a couple of horses. He got to his feet as he saw them and then squatted down suddenly and drew Sal towards him, lest she should catch a glimpse of the strangers and set up an alarm.
The figures were headed southward, in the direction from which King had come the day before. For several minutes he watched them without moving from his place. Then as they disappeared from view behind the shoulder of a hill he scrambled down the slope to his camp and went about leisurely to prepare his breakfast. If the strangers were on a similar errand to his own he was well ahead of them. Before evening he would have completed his cruising in the hills and with ordinary good luck would reach the end of the steel by night-fall. When he had breakfasted he completed a few preparations necessary for the day's trip and was on his way again at sunrise.
Late in the afternoon he emerged upon the trail about half-way between McBain's camp and the end of the steel. The air was heavy with a promise of rain in it. For the last mile or so he had followed a creek in which only a small stream of water trickled over the stones, and now, the wearisome part of the day's work done, he sat down upon a log at the side of the road and sized up the work he had done during the last two days in the hills. The timber was there for the purposes that Hurley and Keith McBain sought, the supply was more than their needs called for, and he had found an admirable site for a camp.
It was with a feeling of great satisfaction, therefore, that he finally got into the saddle and started for the end-of-the-steel.
Late that evening King strolled leisurely in the direction of the railway siding where stood a long line of cars that served as sleeping quarters for the men who were attached to the bridge gang. For a month or more they had been busy replacing the old temporary bridge by a more permanent structure. From a distance he had heard the voices of the men chatting and laughing among themselves. The two days spent alone in the hills had awakened in him afresh the desire to be with men and hear them talk.
He came upon them at an interesting moment. Two men of the gang were matched in a wrestling bout, the others standing round watching the contest closely. King waited at some distance until the affair was over before he made his presence known. Then he stepped forward and entered the circle of men. Good nature pervaded the group, and King was the recipient of pleasant greetings from all sides. On the opposite side of the circle stood Larkin, Keith McBain's freighter.
"Hey, you outsiders—Larkin and Howden," called one of the men; "you fellows can't sit in on this game for nothin'. Give us a little action. Even money that Howden can put Larkin on his back in three minutes."
"Any takers?" asked Larkin, during the pause that followed this outburst.
Almost immediately came a dozen responses, whether from lack of confidence in King's ability or from sheer desire for sport.
King felt himself pushed out into the centre of the circle, where he stood smiling and looking at Larkin.
"Get in, Larkin," cried a voice. "No time now for lettin' your blood freeze in your veins. I'm backin' you to win and by —— you've got to step lively."
Larkin was smiling as he got up, but the smile gave place to a look of deadly earnestness as he leaped suddenly at King in an effort to overcome him at one rush. King was still smiling as he braced himself and received the full force of Larkin's rush without yielding more than half a step. Then as Larkin bent low to get a hold, King caught him quickly about the waist and, lifting him off his feet, held him for a moment while he kicked and lurched helplessly in an effort to free himself. In another second he had Larkin on the ground with his shoulders pinned down.
The whole thing had not occupied a minute, and there was not a man in the group that did not express his surprise at the sudden and unexpected outcome of the encounter. King, on his part, felt a strange new thrill of pleasure as he got up and looked round at the men. At no time during his little set-to with Larkin had he doubted his ability to take care of himself, but the sharp action, though momentary, had exhilarated him and he was conscious of the renewed vigor that had come to him during the two days wandering in the hills.
Back in the group of men stood one big fellow, a Spaniard of powerful build and hasty temper, whom no one in the gang had ever pretended to know. There was a look in his eyes now, however, that attracted and even amused King. Someone else apparently saw that look at the same moment.
"You, Spain," came a voice. "Feelin' pretty strong? Get in there and stack up. You and Howden mate up pretty close."
"Go on—get in, Spain," came from another quarter, and at once the big Spaniard, serious and struggling to control his excitement, became the centre of interest. With a deal of urging, they finally got him to step out—not very reluctantly, it seemed, for he came towards King rather eagerly.
"I don't know, young fellow," he said seriously as he came forward. "By golly, I t'ink I lika try dat for once anyhow."
He advanced warily and tried to get his huge arms about King's body. King, however, avoided him by moving back a step at a time about the enclosure until the look of seriousness in the Spaniard's face became one of impatience, and King knew that the moment had arrived when he must close with his antagonist and fight it out. His decision had barely been made, however, when the Spaniard made a quick movement towards him and King had to leap to one side quickly to avoid the powerful arms that came out to encircle him. The movement left him slightly in the rear and to one side of his opponent, and stepping in quickly he sent his arm forward and upward, and laying his hand on the back of the Spaniard's neck brought his head down with a snap. In another ten seconds he had doubled him up and thrown him on the ground.
When the Spaniard got to his feet his black eyes were flashing angrily, and he was muttering incoherently as he looked at King. The latter, however, was smiling with such genuine good nature that at last the fire died in the black eyes and the big fellow began to smile at his own defeat.
"By golly, young fellow," he said, "I lika know dat little treek, jus' once."
King found a place for himself in the circle of men and moved quietly to the outside where he would be less in evidence. The centre of the circle was taken almost immediately by a couple of men who had come out to prove their prowess at "squaw-wrestling."
While the interest in the match was at its height, King felt someone touch his arm, and looking round, found himself face to face with Lush Currie, who, with one finger on his lips as a signal for silence, was beckoning King to come out of the crowd and follow him. King withdrew at once without attracting any attention, and followed Currie until he came up with him just a few yards off on the roadway.
When King had joined him he walked along in silence for a short distance, expecting Currie to speak.
"I just came from up the line," said Currie at last. "I didn't know you were here—where'd you come from?"
King hesitated a moment before he replied. The glimpses he had caught early that morning of the two men in the hills set him thinking during the day, and he was determined to be careful.
"I came from town," he said in reply to Currie's question.
"Yes—but—but when?"
"To-day. Got here in time for supper."
"Got here to-night? You didn't come from McBain's camp to-day?"
King's reply was ready. "No—I took another way this time. But what—"
"I think you'd better put back," Currie broke in. "McCartney's got somethin' movin'. Old Silent's in town—been there for three days now—probably livin' at Cheney's. The girl went up but came back this morning without him. I don't know what's doin', but Gabe says Bill's got some of Cheney's firewater an' there's goin' to be trouble. Gabe was wishin' to-day you'd come along. He expected you back when the girl came and when you didn't turn up he was worried. He says the girl's worried too."
They walked some distance before King made any comment. At last he turned off in the direction of the corral where he had put his horse for the night.
"I guess I'll be gettin' along back," he said quietly.
Lush Currie stood and watched him until he had vanished in the darkness. And even as he stood there, the rain that had been threatening all day began to fall slowly.
CHAPTER NINE
Cherry McBain stood in the open doorway of the cabin and looked out at the heavy grey skies and the gathering darkness. The air carried a chill reminder that summer was coming very rapidly to a close. All day long there had been a cold wind and scudding clouds that drifted low about the hill tops, and hurried before a fitful eastern breeze that carried dashes of mist and thin rain with it.
Now that evening had come the wind had gone down, but the drizzling rain was falling steadily and monotonously, as it does when it sets in for a long downpour. Though it was still early evening it was almost dusk, especially among the heavy-limbed tamaracs where the cabin stood. Cherry had lighted the lamp very early in an effort to bring some little cheer to the place, for the heavy unbroken gloom of the skies, now growing dark with the coming night, had filled her with a sense of loneliness from which she could not free herself.
It was not merely the fact that she was twenty-one and that the day had been a dull one, though perhaps a girl of Cherry McBain's temperament needs no other excuse for being melancholy. She was lonely, more indescribably lonely than she had ever been in her life before. The distance from happiness to despair is often a very short one indeed, and Cherry had gone from one to the other in what, to her, was an incredibly short time. The latter weeks of the summer just coming to a close had been the most supremely happy time of her life. But the last two or three days had been like long dreary months to her. It seemed as if she had been given but one short glimpse of bright hope only to be plunged again into deepest darkness. At first it was wounded pride that gave her pain. She loved King Howden—what hurt her most was the fact that she loved him still in spite of herself. Now that she recalled the way she had spoken to King, and then recalled what she had seen when she came unexpectedly upon Anne and King standing together in the deeper dusk of the doorway—she bit her lip and clenched her hands in anger at herself that she should have allowed herself to be such a fool.
It was this wounded pride of hers that had unsettled her so that she was unable to play her wonted part when she had finally tried to make her father come back to her. He had met her suggestion with a stormy outburst—worse than any he had ever brought upon her before—and she had broken miserably before it, and had left him and ridden back to the camp alone. What did it matter that she had walked up and down the crooked street of The Town for two days with as firm a step and as erect a bearing as ever? What did it matter that she had tossed her head proudly and passed Anne without so much as a word of recognition whenever the two met? What did it matter that she had ridden into camp with the same air of indifference that she had always carried? Others might not know—and she vowed they would not know—but she knew that she had suffered a double defeat, and it hurt.
But Cherry McBain was not one to forget her duty even in the hour of keenest disappointment. Her sense of defeat had been partly relieved during the day in the time-honored way that women have of relieving their feelings. Now as she stood in the doorway of her cabin and looked out at the grey world, she was the victim of a feeling that she had never really experienced before. She was afraid.
During the day she had spoken with old Gabe Smith, who had come to get news from her of her father. A change had come over the camp during the past few days, the nature of which had made Gabe very anxious to have Keith McBain back again and asserting his old control. He did not have to tell Cherry that Bill McCartney was the cause of all the unrest he had reported to her. She knew the meaning of it better than Gabe. Cherry longed for her father's return. She even upbraided herself for having left town without him.
But even as she prayed for his coming, strange doubts arose in her mind concerning her father's power to combat the hostile forces of which McCartney was not only the director but the creator as well. She knew, in short, as others doubtless knew, that Keith McBain was a broken man. His power to break a man's will by a look or a word was almost gone, and none knew it so well as his own daughter.
And yet she wanted him back. After all, she had always relied upon him in critical moments in the past; it had come to be a habit with her. Besides, there was no one else to whom she could turn. Old Gabe Smith was kind and good, and would always help to the extent of his ability, but after all he was of no more use than any other camp follower when a crisis had to be met.
While she stood wondering what best to do she saw Gabe himself coming down the pathway towards her. All at once her mind was made up. With a word or two to Gabe she went back into the cabin and dressed herself preparatory to going out. In a few minutes she was back again in the doorway waiting for Gabe, who reappeared presently in the pathway leading Cherry's horse behind him, saddled and bridled, ready for the road. She allowed Gabe to help her into the saddle, and then, leaving him to blow out the light and close the door, she set off to the trail and headed for The Town. This time she was determined that her father's will should be no match for her own. She would have her way with him, no matter what he said, and he would return to camp with her and give commands.
No one saw her as she rode through the camp, no one, at least, spoke to her, and in a couple of minutes she was safely through with nothing before her but a long stretch of winding trail already wet from the rain. She went forward with great caution though she knew every foot of the trail she was traversing, and urged her horse only in the higher stretches where the road was sandy and still dry. The footing was very uncertain in spots, and on account of the increasing intensity of the darkness she was forced to rely almost wholly upon the instincts of her horse to guide her. Fortunately there was but one trail, and that one was flanked on either side by bushes and trees and fallen logs that made an effective barrier against her wandering from the beaten way.
One thing that caused her some concern as she rode along was the fact that the little creeks she had crossed countless times before, had crossed scarcely twelve hours since, as a matter of fact, had swollen considerably during the day. Every time she attempted a fording she did so with an increasing sense of surprise at the swirling of the water about her horse's legs. She knew it had been raining in the hills during the day, and she had expected some little change in the size of the streams, but nothing so formidable as the turbulent rushing of these little creeks had presented itself to her imagination. They were actually vicious, she thought to herself, and once when the water reached her foot and her horse stopped a moment and leaned against the current before he went on, she was more than a little anxious for the outcome of her mission. She experienced a strange thrill of something like fear, too, as she looked down at the water beneath her, black under the darkness of the night, and swirling and rushing crazily onward in headlong haste.
She had been on the way for nearly three hours when she came at last to the little ridge overlooking White Pine river. It was the prospect of having to make this crossing that gave her most concern. From the top of the ridge she could see nothing in the pitchy blackness of the night. Cautiously she urged her horse down the gentle slope of the ridge towards the river. She began to wonder whether the little bridge of poles had been swept out by the current. If the water had not risen above the level of the bridge there was no reason why a perfectly safe crossing could not be made. With the instinct born of long contact with the world out-of-doors she strove to measure the distance she had gone since she left the ridge crest. The bridge was some distance off yet, probably fifteen or twenty yards, when all at once she thought she heard the sound of water running about her horse's fore-feet. She urged him forward a little, and found herself standing some ten yards or so from the bridge with the water rushing just beneath her. Dimly in the darkness she could make out the form of the bridge. It was still in its place with the water rushing past at either end, though it had not gone over it as yet.
For a moment she stopped and faced the situation, and the new problems it presented to her. She had no doubt that she could cross the bridge quite safely and finish her trip successfully. But if it continued to rain during the night, there would be no getting back again. With the camp cut off from them, she and her father would simply have to wait until the rain ceased and the rivers went down sufficiently to allow a safe passage before they could think of returning. But that was like enlisting Providence on the side of the devil, for she knew it would be simply playing into the hands of McCartney to leave the camp in his charge, perhaps for days, while the wet weather made it impossible for the men to work on the grade. Though she did not know what she could do if she were alone at the camp, she felt intuitively that while her father was away her duty was to fill the place he had left, if she could do nothing but stand as a sort of symbol of the leadership which her father had embodied.
She decided to abandon the trip to The Town and to return to camp, there to match her wits against those of McCartney, and hope for the best. The decision quickly made was suddenly shaken by the fear that her father might even now be on the road. As she thought of him attempting to cross the White Pine alone with only his team to take care of him, she shrank with fear. She recalled the nights during the summer when his team had brought him safely home, though he himself had never known anything about it until he awoke the next morning. But good fortune cannot bring a man through everything, and Cherry knew her father could never cross the White Pine in its present condition and under the heavy darkness that hid everything within a few feet.
Turning her horse's head back she rode again up the slope of the ridge and dismounted when she was about half way to the crest. Here she found a fallen log in the shelter of a closely grown clump of trees and sat down. She was far enough from the river to hear quite easily other sounds than the rushing of the water. Above her the trees brushed back and forth in the wind, with boughs rustling and creaking and moaning in the darkness. The sound from the river was like the low, steady washing of a distant surf. Cherry sat and strained her ears for the least noise from the other side of the bridge. Time after time she started up at what she thought was the striking of a hoof or the scraping of a wheel upon a stone. Once she got to her feet suddenly, her heart thumping with expectancy. She was sure she had heard her father's voice in a gruff word of command to his team. But although she stood with breath held and ears strained for the slightest sound, none came, and she sat down again, feeling that she might have been dreaming.
When she at last arose to take the trail back to the camp it was past midnight. Nothing had come of her long wait and she felt it would be useless to remain longer. No one would have allowed even Keith McBain to leave town on such a night and at an hour that would make the trip to camp doubly hazardous.
But as she went over the top of the ridge and rode along the trail she had come over earlier in the night she began to estimate the difficulty of the problem that awaited her if her fears concerning McCartney's designs had any foundation in fact.
She knew the hour must come sooner or later when McCartney would give up his policy of quiet waiting. She knew something of his determination and recklessness of consequences. She knew he would strike when he thought the moment most opportune. And she was not blind to the fact that the moment was perhaps at hand. He would carry out his threat some time—why should he not do so to-night?
Cherry McBain had never been afraid of Bill McCartney; she had usually managed to meet him when the other men were around, or when her father was near, and she had successfully avoided anything but the most casual passages between them. Her chief security had lain in the fact that she had always been on the best of terms with the men of her father's camp. She liked them and she knew they liked her. But she did not fail to recognize that McCartney's chief concern during the last few weeks had been to win for himself the regard of the men and make them his followers. That he had won a small group through the fear he had inspired by his display of brute strength Cherry well knew. Just how far he had been successful among the more independent men of the camp she did not know. Gabe Smith had often spoken to her about it, and had assured her of the loyalty of the great majority of them, but she knew that Gabe's judgment on such things was not always to be relied upon. It was this uncertainty that made her afraid. She was actually afraid for herself. Without the active support of the men in her father's camp she would be powerless against a man of McCartney's temper, to say nothing of his size, and she dreaded the moment when he would step up and demand that she should do her part to make good her father's bargain.
She knew at any rate what the future held for her if the worst came to the worst. She would fight as long as she had strength left in her body and wit in her mind. If she failed at last it would be for her father's sake, at least, and she would harbour no regrets and cherish no grudge. Suddenly, as she rode along in deep thought, she was awakened from her dreaming by the sight of a red flare in the clouded night-sky. It appeared directly ahead of her, a large spot of ruby light glowing against the low clouds. She knew what it meant only too well, but the fear of what its full meaning might be sent a chill to her heart as she looked at it. Then she gave her horse a sharp cut with her quirt and he was off at a mad gallop along the muddy trail.
The caution she had exercised in picking her way along through the darkness was suddenly forgotten. The horse would have to do the best it could to find a footing and keep the trail. One thought only occupied her mind. The camp was on fire and she must save it, if she could cover the distance in time.
About half an hour of the maddest riding she had ever done brought her to the edge of the camp where the trail left the grade and emerged from the bushes beside the corral. In the middle of the camp the men were dancing about the flaming remnants of what had been the cook camp. It had been nothing but a frame of logs and canvas, and had gone up like so much dry kindling in a few minutes. What she saw was nothing more than a heap of burning debris, about which the men were running and shouting like beings half-crazed.
At first Cherry stood at a distance, scarcely knowing what to do. Three workless days had produced the kind of results that she had long since learned to expect in construction camps. With McCartney on the ground she knew the results were inevitable. The men were nearly all drunk and many of them scarcely seemed to know what they were doing.
All at once she saw the swaggering form of McCartney in the light from the fire. The sight maddened her and with a flash of her quirt she sent her horse flying into the crowd, pulling him back suddenly almost upon his haunches at the very edge of the fire.
Her sudden appearance like an apparition out of the night struck surprise into the hearts of the men. They fell back, some of them with terror on their faces as she struck, first on one side, then on the other, at a couple who approached her in threatening attitude.
"Get to your bunks, you!" she cried in a voice that all could hear and in a tone that none could mistake.
Moving quickly about, she called to a half dozen men whom she knew best and liked, among them Gabe Smith.
"Stay here for a little while," she said after she had got them together. "Look round at the store and the corral and the bunkhouse to make sure there is no more danger of fire. Gabe, you take charge for to-night, and get these men to help. Make the others go to bed."
In half an hour the camp was in a state of comparative quiet. Nothing was left of the cook-camp but a heap of embers smouldering in the rain which was still falling steadily. Cherry found Gabe in the bunkhouse patiently arguing with three or four of the men who had ill-temperedly protested against going to bed at the command of anyone, much less that of a woman. She called him out to her.
"Let them sit up if they like, Gabe," she said with a smile. "The less trouble the better. Two or three of you had better stay round till daylight anyhow. I'm going to the cabin. I'll take my horse along and tether him under the tamaracs. If anything happens let me know. I'll lie down. The lamp will be lit, and I'll be ready to come out at once if you need me. Some one must go to town in the morning."
Gabe came up to her as she was about to leave.
"There's one thing, my girl," he said. "You'd better not leave your door unlocked. I can knock—"
"Don't be silly, Gabe," she interrupted quickly. "I'm not afraid."
"Well, take this," he said, drawing a revolver from his pocket and holding it towards her.
"Why, Gabe," she exclaimed, laughing at him, "what in the world are you going to do with that?"
"Nothing, I hope," he replied a little sheepishly. "Lush Currie left it with me as a kind of remembrance and I've been keeping it by me."
"But you'd never use it, Gabe?"
"No," he replied with a slow smile as he slipped it back again into his pocket, "but it does give a man a comfortable feeling to have it on him, in case."
She bade him good-night cheerfully and rode off towards the cabin. Although she had been amused at what she thought was an unnecessary precaution for Gabe Smith to take, she could not help admitting to herself that she shared somewhat in the feeling of comfort which the old fellow protested was his chief reason for carrying the weapon. She regretted, moreover, that she had not asked him concerning the whereabouts of McCartney. He had disappeared suddenly when she had come upon the scene. The first glimpse she had had of him was the last, and she felt a little uneasiness at not knowing where he had gone. It had come to her mind frequently during her conversation with Gabe that she should ask him to find McCartney and keep an eye on him, but she did not wish the old man to know what was in her mind. As she rode into the tamaracs, however, and tethered her horse in a sheltered spot, she wished with all her heart that she had given at least a hint of her fears to Gabe. But perhaps he had already guessed at them for himself—there was a little comfort in the hope that he had done so; and with this thought in her mind she entered the cabin.
When she had lighted her lamp she looked about her to assure herself that everything was just as she had left it. Then she smiled to herself as she remembered that she had probably never done such a thing before. She was actually nervous and the discovery really amused her.
Quickly she removed her wet garments, and having dressed again in warm, dry clothing, she lowered the light and, drawing a heavy cover about her, lay down on the couch and dropped to sleep almost instantly.
CHAPTER TEN
Cherry awoke with a start and sat up quickly, blinking her eyes in the dim light and struggling to regain control of her senses. Something had frightened her out of a heavy sleep. Now that she was awake she thought she remembered a sensation of a cold breath of air on her cheek. Suddenly her eyes fell upon a shadowy form standing beside the door. At first she was not sure but that she had been dreaming. Gradually her mind cleared, however, and she sprang to her feet as she recognized the face of Bill McCartney looking at her from where he stood with his hand still upon the door-latch.
At the first sight of the intruder her heart seemed to stop beating and she faced him for a moment in silence. Then she stepped swiftly to the table and turned up the light. As she did so McCartney took his hand from the latch and turning his back to the door looked at her steadily, smiling and folding his arms.
"What do you want here?" Cherry asked in a voice that betrayed her nervousness in spite of her efforts to control herself.
McCartney remained silent, answering her only with a smile.
"What have you come here for at this time of night?" she asked again. Her voice was more steady now and she straightened up defiantly as she spoke. "Get out of here, or I'll have a dozen men——"
He took a step towards her and raised his hand for silence.
"Cherry," he said, "there ain't any use of you an' me disagreein'. You know that just as well as me. I come here now because I want to tell you something you ought to know for your own good. You don't let me talk to you like some others. I've got to take my own way of doin' things or I won't get them done at all, see? You go back there an' sit down. I'm goin' to talk an' I want you to listen."
He waited for Cherry to go back to the couch again, but she stood motionless by the table and looked at him for some time before she spoke. She knew she could gain nothing by rousing his anger. From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice it was quite clear that he had been drinking. If she vexed him he might resort to ugly tactics in which she would be no match for him. Her only course was the one she had followed for weeks. She must fight for time in the hope that something might occur before she would have to admit defeat.
"I shall not sit down till you do," she said, pointing to a chair beside the door.
He looked behind him and then looked at her. What he saw in her face was enough to convince him that she was in earnest, at any rate, and he turned slowly, and going to the chair, sat down, taking his hat off as he did so and putting it on the floor beside him.
"Now, then," he said, as he looked up at her.
For reply Cherry moved the lamp to one side in order that it might not obstruct her view of McCartney from where she intended to sit, and going to the couch from which she had risen only a few minutes before, sat down and waited for him to speak.
"You ask me what brings me here so late," he began. "Don't you think that's a strange question to ask me? You an' me ain't talked much together lately, but when we had our last long talk together I thought you understood it clear enough. An' I don't think you're the kind that forgets easy, either."
Cherry gave a little shrug of impatience and looked away from him, letting her eyes rest upon the floor at her feet.
"You asked me what I want—what I came here for," he went on. "Well, what's the use of mixin' words? You know—an' I ain't goin' to tell you unless you've forgot. But listen to me, Cherry." He lowered his voice as he spoke. "Bill McCartney is the best friend you've got. An' he's the best friend Keith McBain's got. Your father's an old man, but he's a wise man an' he knows some things his daughter can't understand. You ain't got a better friend than me, an' the sooner you get that straight the better off you'll be."
He paused as Cherry looked at him with more impatience than before.
"You don't need to tell me all this," she said. "I've thought it all over a hundred times. I want to know what you have come here for to-night. The rest can wait for some other time."
The smile left his face as she spoke, and he seemed on the point of getting up from his chair. "Well," he began, in a voice that was pitched much higher than before, "I'm here to tell you this for one thing. There's a kind of arrangement between you an' me. You know all about that. There's goin' to be trouble for anyone who tries to spoil that arrangement. You understand?"
Cherry professed ignorance of the significance of his words.
"Don't tell me you don't know," he protested quickly. "I've got eyes to see with, an' if I hadn't there's lot's more that has, an' it ain't hard to find out what's goin' on. There's someone breakin' into my game an' he's got to get out an' stay out."
"Who?" Cherry asked in a voice that was almost coquettish.
"Who?" he blustered. "For God's sake—who?"
"Yes," she insisted, "who?"
"Howden—that's who."
She did not show the slightest disturbance, but laughed a little to herself as she looked again at the floor.
"No," she said, "you're wrong. King Howden and I are not even good friends any more."
He looked at her in surprise. "That ain't true," he said.
She raised her eyes quickly. "You have never known me to lie over anything," she replied. "You wouldn't expect me to lie over this."
He grunted to himself and regarded her strangely. "Then I'm goin' ahead with that in mind," he said. "Am I doin' right?"
"I can only speak for myself," she replied. "I don't know what's in King Howden's mind."
"I don't give a—" He checked himself in an effort, apparently, to be polite. "I don't worry about what's in his mind," he said. "I'll look after him, an' I'm goin' to settle with him myself."
He paused for some time and Cherry took advantage of the pause to draw about her shoulders the cover that lay on the couch where it had fallen when she had first got up.
"And is that all?" she asked.
"That's all on that—just now," he said. "There's just one more thing I want to say—just a little warnin' I want to give you. I don't want you interferin' with things in the camp. That's no place for you. You jumped in to-night where you wasn't wanted an' you got away with it—but it ain't goin' to happen again."
"But my father is away and—"
"That's just the point, now," he broke in. "If you just let things go along in their natural way nothin' will happen. Everybody knows Keith McBain ain't goin' to last for another year's contractin'. Nobody's goin' to take his place but the one that has a right to take it. That's me—all on account of our understandin'."
Cherry got to her feet, her arms rigid, her finger-nails biting into her palms.
"Keith McBain is still boss of this camp," she said, "and if you want to know it, his daughter, Cherry McBain, is still mistress of her own heart. It's time you knew that you can't frighten either of us."
She was fully aware of the hazardous game she was playing. So long as his conversation turned upon her alone she had been capable of keeping her impatience well under control. After all, he might tire of a game in which he was no match for a wary opponent. But when he mentioned her father's name she could stand it no longer. The blood of Old Silent was hot in her veins, and the fire that had flashed from his eyes was leaping now in her own. She recalled the numberless times when she had seen her father reduced to a pitiful meekness before a word from Bill McCartney. She had wept bitterly for the old man, broken in body and will by a man whose only title to recognition was brute force and the possession of a life secret. All the injustice of it came upon her like a flood. She would do no more weeping. She would cringe no more. She would fight, whatever the consequences, and bring her father to fight as well.
McCartney got up and looked at her with his customary sneer. "You talk that way because you don't know," he said slowly, "because he ain't here to stop you. But I ain't goin' to be foolish about it. When Keith McBain wants to fight Bill McCartney he's welcome. But he won't fight—because he can't fight. He's wanted bad an' he knows the right hunch to play. An' you ain't goin' to fight Bill McCartney neither, for Bill McCartney ain't goin' to fight you. He's goin' to love you!"
He left his place beside the chair and lurched unsteadily towards her. Leaving the couch quickly, Cherry moved till she got the table between herself and McCartney and then looked at him steadily. For some reason her fear, her nervousness was gone. She felt equal to any emergency, and quite capable of matching any move he should make. She made up her mind that if she could reach the door she would make a dash for the outside and call Gabe. But McCartney, dazed though he was from drinking, was sufficiently alert to anticipate any such move on her part, and was careful to keep possession of the side of the table nearest the door. After a couple of futile attempts on McCartney's part to reach Cherry, he stood for a moment and looked at her, leaning forward with both hands on the table.
"There ain't a bit o' use in this—an' you know it!" he declared, and for the first time since he had entered the cabin his look was sinister and threatening. "Do you want me to go out o' here?"
"I do—get out!" Cherry replied.
"If I get out, Keith McBain 'll pay. He knows that, if you don't."
"You can't frighten me—and you can't frighten him. Get out, I tell you!"
"If you mean that—" he straightened up as he spoke, as if he were about to leave.
"Get out, I tell you!"
Suddenly his manner changed. A smile of contempt curled one corner of his mouth.
"You damn little fool!" he sneered.
Seizing the lamp quickly he placed it on the chair behind him, and with one movement of his powerful arms he swept the table to one side and lurched clumsily towards her. Realizing that she could not escape, Cherry set herself to meet his rush. As he put out his arms to seize her she closed her hand and swung with all the weight of her body at his face. The blow went straight and quick, so quick that McCartney recoiled a little in surprise, and paused a moment to look at her. One moment was enough for Cherry. Before he could clearly understand what had happened she had darted for the door. Her hand was on the latch before he came to himself, and in another second she would have been out and away. But McCartney's heavy hands clutched her shoulders as she was on the point of opening the door, and she felt herself lifted bodily from the floor.
Setting her upon her feet at a safe distance from the door he turned her round, and raising her face, looked at her with a smile.
"Ain't you the little fool! I thought you had sense."
He stopped suddenly and his hold upon Cherry relaxed.
There was a sound of footsteps on the pathway outside. Cherry listened with indrawn breath—the footsteps were familiar. When they stopped before the door she turned quickly.
"Gabe! Gabe!" she called.
The door opened quickly and old Gabe stood in the doorway and blinked wonderingly as he looked into the cabin.
"Put this man out, Gabe!" Cherry said, quickly, breaking away from McCartney, whose whole attention was now on the old man who had come to take a hand in an affair that he had thought peculiarly his own.
Gabe continued to blink uncertainly, and seemed to have difficulty in finding anything to say. But the next moment the old man showed a surprising quickness of movement. If he had not moved quickly McCartney would have been upon him. Stepping back suddenly through the open doorway into the darkness outside he avoided the kick that the big foreman aimed at him. But before McCartney could recover himself to close the door, Gabe had leaped back into the light again, only this time he was prepared to take the aggressive.
In his right hand he held Lush Currie's "remembrance," the light from the lamp glinting on the polished steel. Gabe's hand shook so perceptibly that, in spite of the critical situation all three were facing, Cherry had all she could do to keep from laughing. But if Gabe's hand shook, his eyes were steady and it was Gabe's eye that McCartney watched.
"Now, Bill," he said in a voice that expressed grim determination even if it was a little thin, "you git out—an' move damn quick!"
Cherry watched the men closely for a moment while McCartney stood as if rooted to the spot from sheer surprise at the old man's nerve. That moment was like an hour to Cherry. She did not think Gabe would actually carry out what he threatened if his commands were not obeyed to the last syllable, but there was a note in his voice that was new to her. It meant simply that Gabe Smith would stand for no trifling.
The next moment, however, brought relief. McCartney moved round towards the door and Gabe circled away from it very cautiously. By the time McCartney had reached the doorway Cherry was ready to laugh at the whole performance. When he turned sulkily and stepped quickly out, followed by Gabe, who waited a moment in the doorway before he came back into the cabin and closed the door again behind him, she did laugh.
Gabe stood and looked at her in silence and surprise until she was through laughing, and then sat down.
"Gabe, you dear old silly!" she said, going over to him. "You might have hit me—or even yourself if you had put that thing off!"
Gabe made no reply. He was too serious, too much occupied, perhaps, with the importance of the thing he had done and the things it would probably lead to in the very near future.
The new day had already begun to dawn when Gabe finally stole quietly out of the cabin and took his way down the path. He had left Cherry sleeping soundly and was himself very weary after his night's vigil. But he knew a full day awaited him, and he was determined to face it with as much courage as his old heart could muster.
Countless times that night he had prayed inwardly for help from somewhere. Even now, as he plodded wearily from the cabin to the trail, he was muttering something to himself that might have passed for a petition to the Heavenly Powers.
And as if in answer to his prayerful mutterings, there came trudging heavily towards him round the bend in the trail just where it left the trees and entered the camp, a man leading a horse by the bridle rein and followed by a tired-looked dog.
"King, boy!" cried Gabe, and could say no more.