Pardners Part 23

"Keep up your courage, old man. I'll be back in twelve days."

Captain said it with decision, though his heart sank as he felt the uncertainties before him.

George looked squarely into his eyes.

"G.o.d bless ye, boy," he said. "I've cabined with many a man, but never one like you. I'm a hard old nut, an' I ain't worth what you're goin' to suffer, but mebbe you can save these other idiots.

That's what we're put here for, to help them as is too ornery to help theirselves." He smiled at Captain, and the young man left him blindly. He seldom smiled, and to see it now made his partner's breast heave achingly.

"Good old George!" he murmured as they pulled out upon the river.

"Good old George!" As they pa.s.sed from the settlement an Indian came to the door of the last hovel.

"h.e.l.lo. There's a Siwash in your cabin," said Captain. "What is he doing there ?"

"That's all right," rejoined Klusky. "I told him to stay and vatch t'ings."

"Rather strange," thought the other. "I wonder what there is to watch. There's never been any stealing around here."

To the unversed, a march by sled would seem simplicity. In reality there is no more discouraging test than to hit the trail, dogless and by strength of back. The human biped cannot drag across the snow for any distance more than its own weight; hence equipment is of the simplest. At that, the sledge rope galls one's neck with a continual, endless, yielding drag, resulting in back pains peculiar to itself. It is this eternal maddening pull, with the pitiful crawling gait that tells; horse's labour and a snail's pace. The toil begets a perspiration which the cold solidifies midway through the garments. At every pause the clammy clothes grow chill, forcing one forward, onward, with sweating body and freezing face. In extreme cold, snow pulverizes dryly till steel runners drag as though slid through sand. Occasional overflows bar the stream from bank to bank, resulting in wet feet and quick changes by hasty fires to save numb toes. Now the air is dead under a smother of falling flakes that fluff up ankle deep, knee deep, till the sled plunges along behind, half buried, while the men wallow and invent ingenious oaths.

Again the wind whirls it by in grotesque goblin shapes; wonderful storm beings, writhing, whipping, biting as they pa.s.s; erasing bank and mountain. Yet always there is that aching, steady tug of the shoulder-rope, stopping circulation till the arms depend numbly; and always the weary effort of trail breaking.

Captain felt that he had never worked with a more unsatisfying team mate. Not that Klusky did not pull, he evidently did his best, but he never spoke, while the other grew ever conscious of the beady, glittering eyes boring into his back. At camp, the Jew watched him furtively, sullenly, till he grew to feel oppressed, as with a sense of treachery, or some fell design hidden far back. Every morning he secured the ropes next the sled, thus forcing Captain to walk ahead.

He did not object to the added task of breaking trail, for he had expected the brunt of the work, but the feeling of suspicion increased till it was only by conscious effort that he drove himself to turn his back upon the other and take up the journey.

It was this oppression that warned him on the third day. Leaning as he did against the sled ropes he became aware of an added burden, as though the man behind had eased to shift his harness. When it did not cease he glanced over his shoulder. Keyed up as he was this nervous agility saved him.

Klusky held a revolver close up to his back, and, though he had unconsciously failed to pull, he mechanically stepped in the other's tracks. The courage to shoot had failed him momentarily, but as Captain turned, it came, and he pulled the trigger.

Frozen gun oil has caused grave errors in calculation. The hammer curled back wickedly and stuck. Waiting his chance he had carried the weapon in an outer pocket where the frost had stiffened the grease. Had it been warmed next his body, the fatal check would not have occurred. Even so, he pulled again and it exploded sharp and deafening in the rarefied morning air. In that instant's pause, however, Captain had whirled so that the bullet tore through the loose fur beneath his arm. He struck, simultaneously with the report, and the gun flew outward, disappearing in the snow.

They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope, Klusky fighting with rat-like fury, whining odd, broken curses. The larger man crushed him in silence, beating him into the snow, bent on killing him with his hands.

[Ill.u.s.tration: They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope.]

As the other's struggles diminished, he came to himself, however, and desisted.

"I can't kill him," he thought in panic. "I can't go on alone."

"Get up!" He kicked the bleeding figure till it arose lamely. "Why did you do that?" His desire to strangle the life from him was over-powering.

The man gave no answer, muttering only unintelligible jargon, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

"Tell me." He shook him by the throat but received no reply. Nor could he, try as he pleased; only a stubborn silence. At last, disgusted and baffled, he bade him resume the rope. It was necessary to use force for this, but eventually they took up the journey, differing now only in their order of precedence.

"If you make a move I'll knife you," he cautioned grimly. "That goes for the whole trip, too."

At evening he searched the grub kit, breaking knives and forks, and those articles which might be used as means of offence, throwing the pieces into the snow.

"Don't stir during the night, or I might kill you. I wake easy, and hereafter we'll sleep together." Placing the weapons within his shirt, he bound the other's wrists and rolled up beside him.

Along the coast, their going became difficult from the rough ice and soft snow, and with despair Captain felt the days going by. Klusky maintained his muteness and, moreover, to the anger of his captor, began to shirk. It became necessary to beat him. This Captain did relentlessly, deriving a certain satisfaction from it, yet marvelling the while at his own cruelty. The Jew feigned weariness, and began to limp as though foot-sore.

Captain halted him at last.

"Don't try that game," he said. "It don't go. I spared your life for a purpose. The minute you stop pulling, that minute I'll sink this into your ribs." He prodded him with his sheath knife. "Get along now, or I'll make you haul it alone." He kicked him into resentful motion again, for he had come to look upon him as an animal, and was heedless of his signs of torture--so thus they marched; master and slave. "He's putting it on," he thought, but abuse as he might, the other's efforts became weaker, and his agony more marked as the days pa.s.sed.

The morning came when he refused to arise.

"Get up!"

Klusky shook his head.

"Get up, I say!" Captain spoke fiercely, and s.n.a.t.c.hed him to foot, but with a groan the man sank back. Then, at last, he talked.

"I can't do it. I can't do it. My legs make like they von't vork.

You can kill me, but I can't valk."

As he ceased, Captain leaned down and pushed back his lips. The teeth were loose and the gums livid.

"Great Heavens, what have I done! _What have I done_!" he muttered.

Klusky had watched his face closely.

"Vat's the mattaire? Vy do you make like that, eh? Tell me." His voice was sharp.

"You've got it."

"I've got it? Oi! Oi! I've got it! Vat have I got?" He knew before the answer came, but raved and cursed in frenzied denial. His tongue started, language flowed from him freely.

"It ain't that. No! No! It is the rheumatissen. Yes, it shall be so. It makes like that from the hard vork always. It is the cold--the cold makes it like."

With despair Captain realized that he could neither go on, dragging the sick man and outfit, nor could he stay here in idleness to sacrifice the precious days that remained to his partner. Each one he lost might mean life or death.

Klusky broke in upon him.

"You von't leave me, Mistaire Captain? Please you von't go avay?"

Such frightened entreaty lay in his request that before thinking the other replied.

"No, I won't. I made you come and I'll do all I can for you. Maybe somebody will pa.s.s." He said it only to cheer, for no one travelled this miserable stretch save scattering, half-starved Indians, but the patient caught at it eagerly, hugging the hope to his breast during the ensuing days.

That vigil beside the dying creature lived long in Captain's memory.

The bleak, timberless sh.o.r.es of the bay; their tiny tent, crouched fearfully among the willow tops; the silent nights, when in the clear, cold air the stars stared at him close and big, like eyes of wolves beyond a camp fire; the days of endless gabblings from the sinking man, and the all pervading cold.

At last, knowledge dawned upon the invalid, and he called his companion to his side. Shivering there beneath the thin tent, Captain heard a story, rambling at first, filled with hatred and bitterness toward the men who had scoffed at him, yet at the last he listened eagerly, amazedly, and upon its conclusion rose suddenly, gazing at the dying man in horror.

"My G.o.d, Klusky! h.e.l.l isn't black enough for you. It can't be true, it can't be. You're raving! Do you mean to say that you let those poor devils die like rats while you had potatoes in your cabin, fresh ones? Man! Man! The juice of every potato was worth a life.

You're lying, Klusky."

"I ain't. No, I ain't. I hate them! I said they should crawl on their bellies to me. Yes, and I should wring the money out. A hundred dollars for von potato. I stole them all. Ha! ha! and I kept them varm. Oh, yes! Alvays varm by the fire, so they shall be good and fine for the day."