The Trail Of The Axe Part 38

Every second it was withheld was something gained. He possessed a frantic hope that some guiding spirit might have induced the churchman to take up a position very much further on than he had suggested.

"Hallo!"

The call had come. Chepstow was at the edge of the trail. Mason's hopes dropped to zero. He abandoned himself to the inevitable, flung his weight on the reins, and brought his horses to a stand with a jolt.

"Where's Miss Betty?" he demanded. But his ears caught the sound of the men behind him, and he hurried on without waiting for a reply. "Quick, parson! The bags! fling 'em in, and jump for it! They're close behind!"

"Betty's gone back," cried Chepstow, flinging the sacks into the carryall. "I'm going back too. You go on alone. We've got the sick to see to. Tell Dave we're all right. So long! Drive on! Good luck! Eh?"

A horrified cry from Mason had caused the final e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

He was pointing at the off-side horse standing out at right angles to the pole.

"For G.o.d's sake, fix that trace," he cried. "Quick, man! It's unhooked!

Gee! What infern----"

Chepstow sprang to secure the loosened trace. He, too, could hear the pursuers close behind. He fumbled the iron links in his anxiety, and it took some moments to adjust.

"Right," he cried at last, after what seemed an interminable time.

Mason whipped up his horses, and they sprang to their traces. But as they did so there was a sudden rush from behind, and a figure leapt on to the carryall. The buckboard rocked and the driver, in the act of shouting at his horses, felt himself seized by the throat from behind.

Fortunately the churchman saw it all. His blood rushed to his brain. As the buckboard was sweeping past him he caught the iron rail and leapt.

In an instant he was on his feet and had closed with Mason's a.s.sailant.

He, too, went for the throat, with all the ferocity of a bulldog. The mantle of the church was cast to the winds. He was panting with the l.u.s.t for fight, and he crushed his fingers deep into the man's windpipe. They dropped together on the sacks.

Mason, released, dared not turn. He plied his whip furiously. He had the legs of his pursuers and he meant to add to his distance. He heard the struggle going on behind him. He heard the gasp of a choking man.

And, listening, he reveled in it as men of his stamp will revel in such things.

"Choke him, parson! Choke the swine!" he hurled viciously over his shoulder.

He got no answer. The struggle went on in silence, and presently Mason began to fear for the result. He slackened his horses down and glanced back. Tom Chepstow's working features looked up into his.

"I've got him," he said: then of a sudden he looked anxiously down at the man he was kneeling on. "He's--he's unconscious. I hope---- You'd better pull up."

"I wish you'd choke the life out of him," cried Mason furiously.

"I did my best, I'm afraid," the parson replied ruefully. "You'd better pull up."

But the lumberman kept on.

"Half a minute. Get these matches, and have a look at him. I'll slow down."

The churchman seized the matches, and, in his anxiety at what he had done, struck several before he got one burning long enough to see the unconscious man's face. Finally he succeeded, and an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of surprise broke from him.

"Heavens! It's Jim Truscott!" he cried.

He pressed his hand over the man's heart.

"Thank G.o.d! he's alive," he added.

Mason drew up sharply. A sudden change had come over his whole manner.

He sprang to the ground.

"Here, help me secure him," he said almost fiercely. "I'll take him down to Dave."

They lashed their prisoner by his hands and feet. Then Mason seized the churchman excitedly by the arm.

"Get back, parson!" he cried. "Get back to the dugout quick as h.e.l.l'll let you! There's Miss Betty!"

"G.o.d! I'd forgotten! And there's those--strikers!"

CHAPTER XXII

TERROR IN THE MOUNTAINS

Fear drove Chepstow headlong for the dugout. Mason's words, his tone and manner, had served to excite him to a pitch closely bordering upon absolute terror. What of Betty? Over and over again he asked himself what might not happen to her, left alone at the mercy of these savages?

What if, baulked of their prey, they turned to loot and wreck his hut?

It was more than possible. To his fear-stricken imagination it was inevitable. His gorge rose and he sickened at the thought, and he raced through the fog to the girl's help.

The self-torture he suffered in those weary minutes was exquisite. He railed at his own criminal folly in letting her leave his side. He reviled Mason and his wild schemes. Dave and his interests were banished from his mind. The well-being of Malkern, of the mills, of anybody in the world but the helpless girl, mattered not at all to him.

It was Betty--of Betty alone he thought.

An innocent girl in the hands of such ruthless brutes as these strikers--what could she do? It was a maddening thought. He prayed to Heaven as he went, that he might be in time, and his prayers rang with a fervor such as they never possessed in his vocation as a churchman.

And this mood alternated with another, which was its direct ant.i.thesis.

The vicious thoughts of a man roused to battle ran through his brain in a fiery torrent. His whole outlook upon life underwent a change. All the kindly impulses of his heart, all the teachings of his church, all his best Christian beliefs, fell from him, and left him the naked, pa.s.sionate man. Churchman, good Christian he undoubtedly was, but, before all things, he was a man; and just now a man in fighting mood.

It probably took him less than twenty minutes to make the return journey, yet it seemed to him hours--he certainly endured hours of mental anguish. But at last it ended with almost ludicrous abruptness.

In the obscurity of the fog he was brought to a halt by impact with the walls of the dugout.

He recovered himself and stood for a moment listening. There was no sound of any one within, nor was there any sign of the strikers. He moved round to the door; a beam of light shone beneath it. He breathed more freely. Then, to his dismay, at his first touch, the door swung open. His fears leapt again, he dreaded what that open door might disclose. Then, in the midst of his fears, a cry of relief and joy broke from him.

"Thank G.o.d, you're safe!" he exclaimed, as he rushed into the room.

Betty looked up from the work in her lap. She was seated beside the box-stove sewing. Her calmness was in flat contrast to her uncle's excited state. She smiled gently, and her soft eyes had in them a questioning humor that had a steadying effect upon the man.

"Safe? Why, dear, of course I'm safe," she said. "But--I was a little anxious about you. You were so long getting back. Did Bob Mason get safely away?"

Chepstow laughed.

"Yes, oh yes. _He_ got away safely."

"He?"

The work lay in Betty's lap, and her fingers had become idle.