Scarlett of the Mounted Part 13

"Why, my daughter," he accosted the hostess, who, hearing sleigh-bells and scenting custom, had come forth, "does this indicate a happy change of heart and saving grace? You are taking thought to save your soul?"

"Save my skin," retorted the Gumbooted one, spitting with an accurate estimate of distances. "That blamed Scarlett was making things hot for me, so I jest wheeled the hull outfit acrost the boundary!" She pointed to an old Russian landmark, protruding like a tiny headstone from the snow, and followed by a line of rude pickets, the records of a surveying party, that straggled, single file, downhill, dividing the United States from British North America. "Lasky's a prohibition proposition, y'know."

"Whatever the motive, the action is most praiseworthy," Maclane commended her, "since your income must be greatly decreased by foregoing the sale of intoxicants."

"Now wouldn't thet jar yer!" demanded Gumboot Annie, humorously, of the landscape. "I ain't up here fer me health," she then reminded the minister. "Fines or license, it's all one ter me. And prohibition, or wide open, you betcherlife the boys has jest the same old thirst."

"H'm! Well, for the present I will waive the ethical aspect of the argument," replied Maclane, "and will beg you to sell me some stimulant for medicinal purposes. We have a lad here whom we found in trouble by the wayside; he is very low----"

"What's it a case of?" Gumboot Annie leaned across the counter to inspect the bundle on the sled, from which Jo was now unharnessing the dogs. "Drink or scurvy?"

"Neither," replied Maclane, raising the patient's head; "but, I fear, foul play."

"Now don't that pa'alyze yer!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHY, MY DAUGHTER, DOES THIS DENOTE A HAPPY CHANGE OF HEART AND SAVING GRACE? YOU ARE TAKING THOUGHT TO SAVE YOUR SOUL?"]

From a bottle she took from its hiding-place, Gumboot Annie poured out a generous dose. "Here, Ikey, take that ter the kid."

"Whiskey, two bits!" cried Ikey, from sheer force of habit, as he obeyed.

"Stop thet, yer little skin!" Leaning far over the counter, to the endangerment of her balance, his employer gave him a smart cuff. "I'm as close as they make 'em when I'm dealing with the healthy, but I've yet ter see myself take money from a dyin' man."

"He told me to meet him here to-day," gasped Walter Pierce, as Maclane bent over him with skilful ministry.

"Who, my son?"

"Hush! Wait--it is a secret! I have a confession to make."

When Gumboot Annie and her a.s.sistant had withdrawn, and the Indian had gone to a distance to feed the dogs, Walter tried to speak.

"It was the drink!"

"It generally is," commented the parson, mournfully.

"I had an errand for another man--one of the greatest importance. He trusted me. Some men suspected his secret and dogged my footsteps, entered into conversation with me--pretended to take a fancy to me--to show themselves my friends--good fellows. They made me drink with them.

Then I, in my turn, stood treat to keep my end up and show myself a good fellow."

"Alas!" whispered the minister, as Walter paused for breath, "how many lads have I seen go down to the lowest depths, under that banner bearing the devil's own device: To show one's self a good fellow!"

"Then, when they had got me where they wanted me, drunk," continued the sick man, "they robbed me. Oh, not of money--for though they made me play, they let me win--but of my honor----"

"Oh, no, my son! It was you who threw away your own honor."

"If only I had thought of that at the time! Now they have his secret--his samples. They'll know about his mine! Tell him----"

The minister worked over the fainting form with tender skill. At last, when a glimmer of consciousness returned, "Now, my son," he said, "you owe it to the man you have wronged to make rest.i.tution. Tell me who he is, and what I am to say to him."

Walter gathered his strength for a supreme effort. "Durant," at last he managed to gasp. "Tell his daughter----" He fell back in the stupor that precedes death.

"O Joseph! Chilkat Jo!" called Maclane. And when the Indian, obeying with alacrity, replied, "G.o.dam you, what you want?" he did not stay to reprove him, only bade him, "Run hot-foot to Lost Shoe Creek and fetch Miss Durant. Tell her I have a message from her father!"

When the trader had set off, the speed of his winged-footed race redoubled by good will, Maclane, having drawn the sled to a spot where a clump of evergreens would act as wind-brake, went to the Customs Office on the crest of the hill in search of remedies.

Seeing the coast clear, old Blenksoe, who for some time past had been hovering about the place, now came to the lunch counter, where he soon was joined by his arch-accomplice in villainy, Dandy Raish. "h.e.l.lo, old tortoise!" was the hitter's salutation as his partner sauntered up.

"I've been waiting for you this ever so long."

"Thet you hevn't," contradicted Blenksoe. "Not that it matters--but you allus were a fust-cla.s.s liar!"

"Some folks have not enough imagination to lie," retorted the Dandy, paring his nails. "But chuck all that and get to business!"

"Business! Hully gee! Anythin' doin'? Am I in it?"

"Sure--if you can deliver the goods! Order the drinks, won't you?"

"Say, you got a tocter's brescription for liquor?" queried Ikey, when old Blenksoe did as he was bidden.

"I'll sure hev an undertaker's stiff-ticket ef I don't get it," replied Blenksoe, as he carried the medicinal doses over to the bench where the Dandy had ensconced himself.

"Best stay out here where no one can hear us," explained the latter.

"That suits me all right," agreed Blenksoe, lighting a pipe and settling himself on the Canadian side. "Thar's a warrant out fer my arrest in 'Lasky."

"I thought you were _persona non grata_ in the Dominion also, since that hold-up of the stage near Lost Shoe Creek."

"Thet hold-up you put me up to, while you sneaked in the bushes. You'd orter be pinched yerself fer takin' a rake-off. Ain't the receiver as bad as the thief?"

"Piano, pianissimo," advised Raish. "One never knows who's within earshot." He glanced about him fearfully.

"Thet's so," admitted Blenksoe. "I declar, what between Kennedy on the one hand and Uncle Sam on t'other, and both a-gittin' so all-fired pertikeler, every day makes it harder for a crook ter make an honest livin'." He lighted an ill-smelling pipe. "Well, Dandy, fire away."

"Have you seen Durant lately?"

"Durant? Who th' h.e.l.l's Durant?"

"Your partner, Lucky. Durant is his outside name."

"You don't say! Oh, Lucky, he ain't no good no more. Lucky's off his nut. Went stark, ravin' mad the day his gal came inter camp. I've shuk Lucky."

"More fool you. He's found a mine!"

"I dessay. As usual, a pocket, or a pot of gold eagles at th' fut of a rainbow."

"Not a bit of it. A bona-fide mine. What d'you make of these samples?"

Through his prospector's gla.s.s, Blenksoe examined the small clods of earth Raish held out to him, then uttered the profanest expletive at his command.

"Free gold, a.s.sayin' sixty ter th' ton!"