King Spruce Part 41

Wade blurted the truth without pausing to weigh consequences. He bitterly needed an adviser. Old Christopher's calm confidence in his own theory p.r.i.c.ked him.

"Great G.o.d, man, it isn't the Skeet girl! It is John Barrett's daughter--his daughter Elva!"

For a moment Christopher gasped his amazement, without words.

"There have been strange things happening outside since we've been locked in here away from the news," the young man went on, excitedly.

"It is Elva Barrett, I tell you, Christopher, and she has been stolen."

"Then it's a part of the plot--somehow--someway," insisted the old man.

"Colin MacLeod, or some one interested for Colin MacLeod, saw that girl, and took her for the Skeet girl. I've never seen Elva Barrett, but you've told me that the Skeet girl is her spittin' image--or words to that effect," corrected the old guide.

"And she was dressed in Kate Arden's clothes!" groaned Wade, remembering Nina Ide's little scheme of deception.

"Then she's at Britt's camp--mistaken for the Skeet girl, as I said,"

declared Straight, with conviction.

"But hold on!" he cried, grasping Wade's arm as the young man was about to rush back into the camp, "that's no way to go after that girl--hammer and tongs, mob and ragtag. In the first place, Mr. Wade, those men in there are in no frame of mind to be led off into the night. I know woodsmen. They've been talkin' ha'nts till they're ready to jump ten feet high if you shove a finger at 'em. This is no time for an army--an army of that caliber. They know well enough now at Britt's camp that it isn't Kate Arden. And I'll bet they're pretty frightened, now that they know who they've got. It's a simple matter, Mr. Wade. I'll go to Britt's camp and get the young lady. I'll go now on snow-shoes and take the moose-sled, and I'll be back some time to-morrow all safe and happy."

"I'll go with you," declared Wade.

"It isn't best," protested the old man. "I've no quarrel with Colin MacLeod. It means trouble if you show in sight there without your men behind you."

"But I'm going," insisted Wade, with such positiveness that old Christopher merely sighed. "I'll let you go into the camp alone,"

allowed Wade, "for I am not fool enough to look for trouble just to find it; but I'll be waiting for you up the tote road with the moose-sled, and I'll haul her home here out of that h.e.l.l."

"I can't blame you for wantin' to play hoss for her," said the woodsman, with a little malice in his humor. "And if she is like most girls she'll be willin' to have you do it."

Ten minutes later the two were away down the tote road. They said nothing of their purpose except to Nina Ide, whom they left intrenched in the w.a.n.gan--a woods maiden who felt perfectly certain of the chivalry of the men of the woods about her.

The storm was over, but the heavens were still black. Wade dragged the moose-sled, walking behind old Christopher in the patch of radiance that the lantern flung upon the snow. Treading ever and ever on the same whiteness in that little circle of light, it seemed to Wade that he was making no progress, but that the big trees were silently crowding their way past like spectres, and that he, for all his pa.s.sion of fear and foreboding, simply lifted his feet to make idle tracks. The winds were still, and the only sounds were the rasping of legs and snow-shoes, and the soft thuddings of snow-chunks dropped from the limbs of overladen trees.

In the first gray of the morning, swinging off the tote road and down into the depths of Jerusalem valley, they at last came upon the scattered spruce-tops and fresh chips that marked the circle of Britt's winter operation.

The young man's good sense rebuked his rebelliousness when Christopher took the cord of the sled and bade him wait where he was.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way," said the old man, interpreting Wade's wordless mutterings; "but the easiest way is always the best. If she is there she will want to come with me, where Miss Ide is waiting for her, and the word of the young lady will be respected. I'm afraid your word wouldn't be--not with Colin MacLeod," he added, grimly.

And yet Dwight Wade watched the lantern-light flicker down the valley with a secret and shamed feeling that he was a coward not to be the first to hold out a hand of succor to the girl he loved. That he had to wait hidden there in the woods while another represented him chafed his spirits until he strode up and down and snarled at the reddening east.

At last the waiting became agony. The sun came up, its light quivering through the snow-shrouded spruces. Below him in the valley he heard teamsters yelping at floundering horses, the grunting "Hup ho!" of sled-tenders, and the chick-chock of axes. It was evident that the visit of Christopher Straight had not created enough of a sensation to divert Pulaski Britt's men from their daily toil. Wade's hurrying thoughts would not allow his common-sense to excuse the old man's continued absence. To go--to tear Elva Barrett from that hateful place--to rush back--what else was there for Straight to do? In the end the goads of apprehension were driving him down the trail towards the camp, regardless of consequences.

But when, at the first turn of the road, he saw Christopher plodding towards him, he ran back in sudden tremor. He wanted to think a moment.

There was so much to say. The old man came into sight again, near at hand, before Wade had control of the tumult of his thoughts.

The sled was empty.

Christopher scuffed along slowly, munching a biscuit.

"They wouldn't let her go? I--I thought they had made you stay--you were so long!" gasped the young man, trying by words of his own to calm his fear.

"She isn't there, Mr. Wade," said the old man, finishing his biscuit, and speaking with an apparent calmness which maddened the young man.

This old man, placidly wagging his jaws, seemed a part of the stolid indifference of the woods.

"I brought you something to eat, Mr. Wade," Christopher went on. He fumbled at his breast-pocket. "We've got tough work ahead of us. You can't do it on an empty stomach."

"My G.o.d! what are you saying, Straight?" demanded the young man.

"They're lying to you. She is there. She must be. There's no one--"

"And I say she isn't there," insisted Christopher, with quiet firmness.

"I know what I'm talking about. You're only guessin'."

"They lied to you to save themselves."

"Mr. Wade, I know woodsmen better than you do. There are a good many things about Colin MacLeod that I don't like. But when it came to a matter of John Barrett's daughter Colin MacLeod would be as square as you or I."

"You told them it was John Barrett's daughter?"

"I did not," said the old man, stoutly. "There was no need to. If it had been John Barrett's daughter she would have been queening it in those camps when I got there. She hadn't been there. There has been no woman there. Colin MacLeod and his men didn't take Miss Barrett from that tote team. And I've made sure of that point because I knew my men well enough to make sure. She isn't there!"

"There is no one else in all these woods to trouble her," declared Wade, brokenly.

"No one knows just who and what are movin' about these woods," said Christopher, in solemn tones. "In forty years I've known things to happen here that no one ever explained. Hold on, Mr. Wade!" he cried, checking a bitter outburst. "I'm not talking like Tommy Eye, either! I'm not talking about ha'nts now. But, I say, strange things have happened in these woods--and a strange thing has happened this time. Barrett's daughter is gone. She's been taken. She didn't go by herself." He gazed helplessly about him, searching the avenues of the silent woods.

"North or east, west or south!" he muttered, "It's a big job for us, Mr.

Wade! I'm goin' to be honest with you. I don't see into it. You'd better eat."

The young man pushed the proffered food away.

"You eat, I say," commanded old Christopher, his gray eyes snapping.

"An empty gun and an empty man ain't either of 'em any good on a huntin'-trip."

He started away, dragging the sled, and Wade struggled along after him, choking down the food.

When they had retraced their steps as far as the Enchanted tote road, Christopher turned to the south and trudged towards Pogey Notch. The trail of the tote team was visible in hollows which the snow had nearly filled. The snow lay as it had fallen. The tops of the great trees on either side of the road sighed and lashed and moaned in the wind that had risen at dawn. But below in the forest aisles it was quiet.

Had not the wind been at their backs, whistling from the north, the pa.s.sage of Pogey Notch would have proved a savage encounter. The stunted growth offered no wind-break. The great defile roared like a chimney-draught. As the summer winds had howled up the Notch, lashing the leafy branches of the birches and beeches, so now the winter winds howled down, harpers that struck dismal notes from the bare trees. The snow drove horizontally in stinging clouds. The drifting snow even made the sun look wan. The quest for track, trail, or clew in that storm aftermath was waste of time. But the old man kept steadily on, peering to right and left, searching with his eyes nook and cross-defile, until at the southern mouth of the Notch they came to Durfy's hovel.

Christopher took refuge there, leaning against the log walls, and mused for a time without speaking. Then he bent his shrewd glance on Wade from under puckered lids.

"There's no telling what a lunatic will do next, is there?" he blurted, abruptly.

Wade, failing to understand, stared at his questioner.

"I was thinkin' about that as we came past that place where 'Ladder'

Lane trussed up John Barrett and left him, time of the big fire," the old man went on. "Comin' down the Notch sort of brought the thing up in my mind. It's quite a grudge that Lane has got against John Barrett and all that belongs to him."

Wade was well enough versed in Christopher Straight's subtle fashion of expressing his suspicions to understand him now.