The Trail Of The Axe Part 44

"Thanks, dear," he said gently. "You always take care of my inner man.

But I wish you hadn't bothered this way."

"It's no sort of trouble," she said, raising her eyes to his. Then she let them drop again. "Food don't need a lumberman's rough handling."

The smile on Dave's face was good to see. He nodded.

"I'd better tell you," he said. "You know, we've--stopped?"

His eyes lingered fondly on the aged figure. This woman was very precious to him.

"Yes, I know." There was the very slightest flash of anxiety in the old eyes. Then it was gone.

"I'm going up the river to find things out."

"That's what I understood. Betty is up there--too."

The quiet a.s.surance of his mother's remark brought a fresh light into the man's eyes, and the blood surged to his cheeks.

"Yes, ma. That's it--chiefly."

"I thought so. And--I'm glad. You'll bring her back with you?"

"Yes, ma."

"Good-bye, boy." His simple a.s.surance satisfied her. Her faith in him was the faith of a mother.

The man bent down and kissed the withered, upturned face.

She went out, and Dave turned to the things she had brought him. She had thought of everything. And the food--he smiled. She was his mother, and the food had the amplitude such as is characteristic of a mother when providing for a beloved son.

He must visit the barn to see about his horses. He went to the door.

Opening it, he paused. Standing there he became aware of the sound of approaching wheels. The absence of any noise from the mills had made the night intensely silent, so that the rattle of wheels upon the hard sand trail, though distant, sounded acutely on the night air. He stood listening, with one great hand grasping the door casing. Yes, they were wheels. And now, too, he could hear the sharp pattering of horses'

hoofs. The sound was uneven, yet regular, and he recognized the gait.

They were approaching at a gallop. Nearer they came, and of a sudden he understood they were practically racing for the mill.

He left the doorway and moved out into the yard. He thought it might be the team which Dawson had sent out returning, and perhaps bringing good news of the jam on the river. He walked toward the yard gates and stood listening intently. The night was dark, but clear and still, and as he listened he fancied in the rattle of the vehicle he recognized the peculiar creak of a buckboard.

Nearer and nearer it came, louder and louder the clatter of hoofs and the rattle of wheels. The gallop seemed labored, like the clumsy gait of weary horses, and the waiting man straining could plainly hear a voice urging them on.

Suddenly he thought of the gates, and promptly opened them. He hardly knew why he did so. It must have been the effect of the pace at which the horses were being driven. It must have been that the speed inspired him with an idea of emergency. Now he stood out in the road, and stooping, glanced along it till the faint light of the horizon revealed a dark object on the trail. He drew back and slowly returned to the office.

The man's voice urging his horses on required no effort to hear now. It was hoa.r.s.e with shouting, and the slas.h.i.+ng of his whip told the waiting man of the pace at which he had traveled. The vehicle entered the yard gates. The urging voice became silent, the weary horses clattered up to the office door and came to a standstill.

From the doorway Dave surveyed the outfit. He did not recognize it, but something about the man climbing out of the vehicle was familiar.

"That you, Mason?" he asked sharply.

"Yes--and another. Will you bear a hand to get him out?"

Dave went to his a.s.sistance, wondering. Mason was busy undoing some ropes. Dave's wonder increased. As he came up he saw that the ropes held a man captive in the carryall.

"Who is it?" he inquired.

"Jim Truscott--whoever he may be," responded Mason with a laugh, as he freed the last rope.

"Ah! Well, come right in--and bring him along too."

But Mason remembered the animals that had served him so well.

"What about the 'plugs'?" He was holding his captive, who stood silent at his side.

"You go inside. I'll see to them."

Dave watched Mason conduct his prisoner into the office, then he sprang into the buckboard and drove it across to the barn.

CHAPTER XXV

MASON'S PRISONER

In a few minutes Dave returned from the barn. He had chosen to attend to the horses himself, for his own reasons preferring not to rouse the man who looked after his horses.

His thoughts were busy while he was thus occupied. As yet he had no idea of what had actually occurred in the camps, but Mason's presence at such a time, the ident.i.ty of his prisoner, the horses' condition of exhaustion; these things warned him of the gravity of the situation, and something of the possibilities. By the time he reentered the office he was prepared for anything his "camp-boss" might have to tell him.

He noted the faces of the two men carefully. In Mason he saw the weariness of a long nervous strain. His broad face was drawn, his eyes were sunken and deeply shadowed. From head to foot he was powdered with the red dust of the trail. Dave was accustomed to being well served, but he felt that this man had been serving him to something very near the limits of his endurance. Jim Truscott's face afforded him the keenest interest. It was healthier looking than he had seen it since his first return to Malkern. The bloated puffiness, the hall-mark of his persistent debauches, had almost entirely gone. The health produced by open-air and spare feeding showed in the tan of his skin. His eyes were clear, and though he, too, looked worn out, there was less of exhaustion about him than his captor. On the other hand there was none of Mason's fearless honesty in his expression. There was a truculent defiance in his eyes, a furious scowl in the drawn brows. There was a nervousness in the loose, weak mouth. His wrists were lashed securely together by a rope which had been applied with scant mercy. Dave's eyes took all these things in, and he pointed to the latter as he addressed himself to his overseer.

"Better loose that," he said, in that even voice which gave away so little of his real feelings. "Guess you're both pretty near done in,"

he went on, as Mason unfastened the knots. "Got down here in a hurry?"

"Yes; got any whiskey?"

Mason had finished removing the prisoner's bonds when he spoke.

"Brandy."

"That'll do."

The overseer laughed as men will laugh when they are least inclined to.

Dave poured out long drinks and handed them to the two men. Mason drank his down at a gulp, but Truscott pushed his aside without a word.

"There's a deal to tell," said the overseer, as he set his gla.s.s down.

"There's some hours to daylight," Dave replied. "Go right ahead, and take your own time."

The other let his tired eyes rest on his prisoner for some moments and remained silent. He was considering how best to tell his story.