Menotah Part 25

The Icelander s.h.i.+fted painfully, while his lips parted.

'Don't you know you're dying? You must go; no power can save you.'

Denton spoke in hollow tones, bending over the sick man, and shaking his cadaverous features impressively at each word.

The Icelander fastened two frightened eyes on the unpleasant face. 'No, no,' he said.

'But it's yes, yes,' continued Denton, now thoroughly happy. 'There wouldn't be any chance for a man not half so sick as you. I guess you'll live through this night. You may perhaps see the sun rise in the morning, though I tell you it's unlikely. By this time to-morrow you will be dead--likely enough under the ground. We shall plant you directly you turn up.'

'No, no,' came again from the patient.

'It's bad to think on, I know. Still, you've got to get accustomed to the idea. Mind you, the end is very near now. Its terrible to be like you, only having a few more hours to look for.'

'But Justin say--I live.'

'You didn't see him laugh at me when he did it. He thought he was doing you a kind turn telling you a lie; he knows you're dying fast. But it's my duty to tell you the truth; I'm a minister of the Gospel, and I must prepare you for the end. Do you understand?'

The Icelander lay back, with his mouth open and pale eyes staring.

'I reckon you've been a vile sinner,' resumed the weird voice. 'Now, you'll be wanting to know whether there's any chance of your being saved at the last moment. I'll just find out and let you know; but don't raise your hopes, for I'm getting afraid you're one of the poor lost brothers.

Now, listen to me.'

He sat more upright and upraised a dirty hand. Then he half closed his eyes and groaned fervently. 'Have you always regularly attended your chapel and prayer meeting? Have you steadily helped towards your minister's income?'

The other shook his flaxen head. 'On lake in summer; bush work, winter.

Not been near church.'

Denton's face lengthened in telescopic fas.h.i.+on. 'Have you ever joined with the immoral company of card players?'

Such a question aroused not unpleasant memories. 'Played poker nights at camp. Held a royal in diamonds one time. Diddled 'em all. 'Twas a jackpot, too. I won quite a bit that night.' He smiled, with more of the content of pride than sorrow of sinning.

'Perhaps you have even gone so far as to take part in lascivious dancing, or enter some h.e.l.l of a theatre?'

But the ex-minister had quite defeated his own ends. This probing of conscience brought nothing but a flood of joyful memories of the past.

In such a pleasurable review the Icelander quickly recovered from his fear, and replied, with an irreligious chuckle in his voice,--

'Had lots of good dances with the gals--best fun I've ever put in. When I was in Garry, would always take in the show when there was one. I'd like to see another, fine. Tell you, some of them gals could kick up!'

He leaned back with the smile of reprobation, and rubbed his hands weakly.

Denton was distinctly frustrated, but, not being sensitive, he inst.i.tuted a fresh attack. 'It is my duty to give such a wretched sinner as you every chance. Have you ever pa.s.sed your time--the time for which you must now give account--in saloons, drinking with those equally vile?'

This mystified the Icelander, who did not know which way to take it.

'Always drunk fair, it that's what you're driving at. I've never dropped off a gla.s.s behind, then tried to make out I was level up.'

Denton rocked to and fro with deep groans of fanatical horror. 'Poor brother!' he wailed; 'for, miserable sinner as you are, I must still call you brother. You must yourself see that your d.a.m.nation is a.s.sured.

Nothing could save you, even it you do now repent--'

'But I don't,' broke in the sinner cheerfully. 'There's no harm in those things. They're right enough.'

'They are the wiles of your master, Satan. Poor dying brother. How dreadful it is to look on you! I must tell you where you are going to, and so complete my duty.' He opened the Bible, moistened a finger, then whipped over the pages, leaving a dirty impression on each. 'Here it is!' he cried in solemn triumph. 'The lake that burneth with fire and brimstone. That's where you're going to. They'll dump you right in, and won't care how much you howl or jump. It'll frizzle you. You'll jerk around like a hot pea. A sulphur match up the nose will be nothing to it.'

But the ex-minister, in his hypocritical zeal, had overshot the mark.

His intended victim merely laughed stupidly in his face, then remarked, 'You've made me tired; I'm off to sleep. So long.'

Denton banged the Bible upon his misshapen knees. 'It will be the sleep of death,' he cried tragically. 'You may never wake in this world, and yet you will not listen to a minister of the Word. You will be d.a.m.ned, poor brother. Do you hear that? You will be d.a.m.ned.'

'Go away. You're a dam' fool to talk such truck. You're a dirty, mean liar, sure.'

After which, the Icelander turned towards the log wall, pulled the ragged coverlet above his shoulders, and sank placidly again into slumber.

CHAPTER VII

AN INCIDENT

The sun had almost reached the tree line along the horizon, when the Factor, accompanied by Justin, left the fort and switched off to the trail which led to the bigamist Que-dane's shack. McAuliffe was in splendid spirits, for the prospect of a tough wrestling bout--the stalwart half-breed was unlikely to obey command without persuasion--suited him to the finger tips. He could use thews and muscles to good advantage, even though the eye and hand steadily refused to work together whenever there was any shooting to be done. By his side trotted Justin, dog-like, his jaws working as usual, and a secret satisfaction lurking at his heart. For, an hour or so earlier, he had forcibly ejected Peter Denton from the riverside hut. The Icelander's condition on his return had inspired suspicion, and upon questioning, he discovered who was the guilty cause of the man's prostration. Thereupon he had furnished himself with a cudgel and bestowed attention upon the ex-minister, who, with his unfailing discretion in time of danger, had promptly evacuated his former position, and wandered forth to seek other shelter.

Justin had sufficiently trespa.s.sed upon taciturnity to jerk forth this incident for the benefit of the Factor, who but expressed sorrow that Denton had escaped the 'pounding' he was legally ent.i.tled to. 'I'd have gone to work and kneaded him up if I'd been around,' he said, then inquired who was tending the sick man.

'Rosalie--she look after him.' This lady was wife to a friendly Indian, who could be trusted.

They proceeded for some time in silence. Strangely enough it was Justin who re-opened conversation with the question, 'You going to fight Que-dane?'

'Bet your life,' returned McAuliffe, promptly. 'Going to give him a first-cla.s.s hiding. You'll see some fun, boy.'

A feeble interest spread over the other's dusky countenance. A light crept into his small eyes. 'He great big man, and strong. No man beat him yet.'

The Factor laughed loudly. 'Don't trouble about that, boy. Tell you I shall knock the spots off him in short order. He's never had a fellow around him who could wrestle before.'

'What you beat him with?'

'Goldam. I never thought of that.' He stopped in the centre of the rough trail and scratched the thick hair at the back of his head for inspiration.

'Say, boy, who lives in the shack yonder?'

'Old wife--by herself.'

'That's good. Hustle over there; scare the old woman into lending you her axe. If she don't want, I'll forgive you if you steal it.'

The half-breed was very nearly astonished. 'Surely,' he exclaimed, 'you not going to kill the man with the axe?'

'My racket, boy. You hump along and fetch it.'

Justin obeyed, and presently returned with the implement, followed at a distance by the inquisitive old wife herself. He came upon his master standing in a thicket of young oaks, which had sprung up in a small fire clearing. The Factor grabbed at the axe and severed three saplings at the roots, then rapidly trimmed them down to a four foot length. This accomplished, he took each stick--they were about three inches in diameter--placed his big foot on the large end, and twisted violently, until they were like ropes. Then he grimly handed them to Justin, the two continued their journey, and later halted before the closed tent of Que-dane, bigamist and robber.

McAuliffe pulled aside the hanging flap, and immediately came upon his quarry within. Indeed, he had taken him red-handed, for the half-breed was seated on the ground in the centre, between his two wives, clothed in nothing more pretentious than a small breech-clout. He had just been oiling his body. The limbs shone like dull copper, emitting an odour evidently not displeasing to a waving cloud of mosquitoes, which hovered around and filled the hot tent with their thin note of defiance.