Partners of the Out-Trail Part 11

"Yes," said Jim, whose face got hard, "that's what I want. If I'm on the right track, the thing must be fixed without the boys knowing."

Carrie hesitated and then made a sign of acquiescence. "I don't like it, Jim, but reckon you can't be moved. Anyhow, you'll be cautious."

Jim promised he would not be rash and went off, half amused, to get some water. Carrie was very staunch, but he did not want her to be disturbed about him. He was sorry she had heard him steal out of camp.

In the evening Jake came for a gun he kept in the tent. The game laws that limit the time for shooting are seldom enforced against bush ranchers and prospectors who kill deer and grouse for food.

"I'd better oil the barrels to keep off the damp," he said. "It's a pretty good gun."

Carrie watched him push across the top lever and open the breech.

"Is that where you put the cartridges?" she asked.

"You push the sh.e.l.ls forward with your thumb, and then shut the gun--like this!"

"Then all you have to do is to pull the trigger?"

"Not with this type of gun. You see, the hammers have rebounded half way, but you must pull them farther back before it will go off."

"Suppose you miss and want to shoot again?"

"You push the lever sideways, the barrels swing down, and the empty sh.e.l.ls jump out. That's all!"

"It looks easy," Carrie remarked. "I've sometimes wondered how one used a gun. There's nothing more to shooting than there is to making bread."

"Maybe not," Jake agreed with a grin. "I reckon a bad cook is as dangerous as a bad shot. If you miss with a gun, you have done no harm, but I've eaten bannocks that get you every time."

When he had finished he hung the gun to the tent pole and went off, but Carrie took it down, and carefully opened and shut the breech. After doing so once or twice, she was satisfied and put back the gun. Then she went to a little bark store where their food was kept, and picking up a bag of flour that had been opened, weighed it in her hand. It was lighter than it ought to be, and this had happened before. Next she examined a piece of salt pork and imagined that some had gone, while when she carefully looked about she noted a few tea leaves on the floor.

Carrie did not think she had spilt the tea, and knitted her brows.

Somebody had been stealing food, but the man had not taken much and had tried to do so in a way that would prevent its being missed. For example, he had gone to the flour bag twice and had cut the pork from both sides of the slab. Carrie thought this significant, but resolved to say nothing.

CHAPTER VIII

JIM KEEPS WATCH

The night was not cold and Jim had some trouble to keep awake as he sat with his back against a tree a short distance above the mended line.

He had dug out a track and built a new wall to hold up the stones, and in the morning the camp would be moved. Now he was very tired, but he meant to watch for another night.

There was a half moon and puzzling lights and shadows checkered the hill. In some places the trees rose like scattered spires; in others they rolled down the slope in blurred dark ma.s.ses. Behind the woods snowy mountains cut against the sky. The dim landscape was desolate and savagely grand. It had the strange half-finished look one notes in Canada.

In order to banish his drowsiness, Jim gave himself up to wandering memories. He knew the North, where he had risked and endured much. He had seen the tangled pines snap under their load of snow and go down in rows before the Arctic gales; he had watched the ice break up and the liberated floods hurl the floes into the forest. He had crossed the barren tundra where only moss can live and the shallow bog that steams in summer rests on frozen soil.

Raging blizzards, snowslides, creva.s.sed glaciers and rotten ice were things he knew; there were scars on his body he had got in stubborn fights. So far he had conquered; but he owned that he had had enough, and tried to picture the Old Country his father talked about. Its woods were not primitive jungles, wrecked by gales and scorched by fires; men planted and tended them and the trees had room to grow.

White farmsteads with gardens and orchards dotted the valleys; the narrow fields were rich with gra.s.s and corn. Then there were wonderful old houses, stored with treasures of art.

Well, he meant to see England some day and he began to think about the girl he had met at Montreal. She seemed to stand for all that was best in the Old Country; its refinement, its serenity, and ancient charm.

One did not find girls like that in Canada; they were the product of long cultivation and sprang from a stock whose roots went deep into the past. Jim wondered with a strange longing whether he would see her again.

Perhaps it was the contrast that presently fixed his thoughts on Carrie. Carrie was a type that throve in virgin soil; she was virile, frank, and unafraid. Her emotions were not hid by inherited reserve.

One could imagine her fighting like a wildcat for the man she loved.

Yet she had a fresh beauty and a vein of tenderness. Jim was fond of Carrie but not in love with her. He wondered whether he might have loved her had he not met the English girl, but pulled himself up. This kind of speculation led to nothing, and he began to look about.

The shadows of the pines had got shorter and blacker as the moon rose; the hill was checkered by their dark bars. He could not see far down the valley, because it was full of mist. The great hollow looked like a caldron in which the river boiled. Its hoa.r.s.e roar echoed among the rocks and made a harmonious background for smaller and sharper notes.

A faint breeze sighed in the pine-tops and now and then there was a tinkle of falling stones.

Jim saw some stones roll down and stop at the wall he had built. This ran in a gentle curve across the slope and shone like silver in the moonlight. In places, it was broken by shadows that seemed to tremble and melt. Jim knew he was getting sleepy and tried to rouse himself.

It was something of an effort, because he had not slept much for a week, but by and by the strain slackened and he got suddenly alert.

An indistinct object moved where a shadow fell across the wall, and Jim knew it was a man. He was conscious of a grim satisfaction; he had watched for the fellow when brain and body needed rest, and now he had come. Moreover, his object was plain. The wall was underpinned, supported by timbers, and if a log that bore much weight were cut, the stones would fall and bring down the rest. One could not hear an ax at the camp, the falling wall would sweep away the chips, and the fellow, stealing back, would join the men the noise brought out. Jim thought he could get near him by using the rocks and trees to cover his advance, but the other could hide among them if he were alarmed, and it might be prudent to let him get to work. The stealthy figure avoided the moonlight.

The thud of the ax echoed across the woods, and Jim, taking care that he had a dark background, went cautiously down hill. He did not carry a pistol. On the whole, he thought one was safer without a gun, but he had brought a thick wooden bar with an iron point that they used for rolling logs. Getting behind a tree, he stopped near the wall. The regular strokes of the ax indicated that the other was not disturbed, and Jim, looking down from higher ground, could see the upper part of his body as he swung the tool. The sharp blows implied that he was chopping hard.

After measuring the distance, Jim sank down and crawled to the top of the wall. Since the other had an ax, surprise would be a useful, and perhaps necessary, advantage in the attack. Jim meant to attack; there was no use in talking before the fellow was in his power. As he crept forward a few stones rolled down the hill. He wondered what had disturbed them, but thought it imprudent to turn round, and lay quiet for a few moments, when the chopping stopped. He could not see the man now, because he was hidden by the top of the wall.

The chopping began again, and Jim, crawling a few feet, seized the stones on the edge and threw himself over just after the ax came down.

He fell upon the man and tried to seize him, but although both were shaken by the collision, the other avoided his grasp and staggered back. Jim followed and, swinging his bar, struck with all his strength. The other caught the blow on the curved shaft of the ax, and Jim's hands were badly jarred. The vibration of the hard wood numbed his muscles, his fingers lost their grip. It looked as if he had been clumsy and rash, for the advantage was now with his antagonist, because the ax was longer than the bar. Moreover, the Canadian bushman is highly skilled in the use of the dangerous tool. For all that, Jim had begun the fight and meant to win. The fellow had taken a bribe to ruin him.

He lifted the bar, struck hard, and missed as his antagonist stepped back. Then the latter swung his ax and Jim bent from the waist as the s.h.i.+ning blade swept past. They were now in the moonlight and he saw the other's face; it was the man who had gone fis.h.i.+ng with Davies, and he gave way to a fury that banished caution. The fellow had a longer reach and looked cool; indeed, he seemed to be studying Jim with ironical humor. While the latter, breathing hard, watched for an opening, he lowered his ax.

"Suppose we quit fooling and talk about the thing?" he said.

"I'm not fooling," Jim rejoined.

"Anyhow, you'd better quit. I could get you with the ax, if I wanted, but I've not much use for that. I'd sooner you stopped here while I light out."

"You'd starve before you made the settlement."

"I guess not. There's enough flour and pork in a cache to see me through."

"The trouble is, you can't make the cache," said Jim. "I've watched for you since the first wall broke and you earned the money Davies promised. Put down the ax and start for camp."

"Davies?" said the other. "Do you mean the guy who came along with the Indian packers?"

"Are you pretending you don't know the man?"

"It doesn't matter, anyhow," the other rejoined. "I'm not going back to camp, and there's something coming to you if you try to take me."

Jim meant to take him and wondered how far he could trust to bluff. If he could get near enough, he might knock out the fellow with the bar and yet not do him a serious injury. The ax was dangerous, but it was possible the other would hesitate about using it. In Canada, crimes of violence are generally punished, and even in the wilds offenders seldom long escape the Northwest Police. Yet there was a risk.

"You are coming with me," he said, and advanced with lifted bar.

The other cut at him and he narrowly missed the blow. He tried to run in before the fellow could recover from his swing, but was not quick enough. The ax went up and he met the blade with the bar. The keen steel beat down the wood and went through when it met the ground, and Jim was left with a foot or two of the handle. Stepping back, he hurled it at his antagonist and heard it strike with a heavy thud. The fellow staggered, but did not fall and, getting his balance, advanced on Jim. The blow had roused him to fury and he saw that caution was useless. They must fight until one was disabled.

Jim gave ground, breathing hard and watching for a chance to grapple while he kept out of reach. The sweat ran down his face, he was savage but cool. The worst was, he must move backwards and could not see the holes in the uneven slope. When he had gone a few yards he heard a shout and his antagonist looked round.