The Frontiersman Part 6

"We didn't know about it till this morning. You see, Dave was so tuckered out from cold and want of sleep that he had to warm up with a drink or two, and so forgot his business. He only woke a short time ago, and swore like a--a--trooper at Perdue and his whiskey. I guess he's swearing yet, for as soon as he'd coughed up his story I left to find you."

"I'll be off as soon as possible," said Keith, throwing a stick of wood into the stove, and reaching for the frying pan.

"Now, Yukon, old boy," he continued, when the man had gone, "there's stiff work ahead. But you've been there before, and know the way, so I want you to strike such a gait that it will make Don and Hector think there's a fox ahead for sure. Brisko we'll leave with Amos to get some flesh on his staring ribs."

The dog p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, wagged his tail, and gave a joyful bark.

"Very well, master," he seemed to say, "you can depend upon me. I've never failed you yet."

In less than an hour Keith stood girt for his long run. His face glowed with enthusiasm; his mission was one of mercy, and it thrilled his whole being. The dogs stood before the cabin shaking their bells, impatient to be away. A parting word to Amos, a crack of the whip in the frosty air, and the three n.o.ble brutes bounded forward out upon the trail, which wound through the village, past Perdue's store, and into the great lone beyond.

Pritchen was leaning over the bar when Keith sped by. "Bells!" he cried, rushing to the small window. "There he goes, boys; see him!"

Instantly a scramble ensued for a glance at the rapidly disappearing team, and then shouts of laughter shook the building.

"A drink to the fool's success!" shouted Pritchen in high glee. "Say, Sam, you're a corker. You've missed your calling. You should be on the stage."

"Did he bite quick?" chimed in Perdue.

"Ha, ha, he bit like a d-- sucker. But there's one thing I can't savvy."

"What's that?"

"He knew when Perkins arrived, and asked me why he didn't go to him at once."

"The devil!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Pritchen, setting down his half-drained cup.

"How in h-- did he know that?"

"Who shaid Perkins?" broke in a watery-eyed individual, staggering up to the group. "Here he-hic-ish. Watcher want, eh?"

"It's all right, Dave," laughed Pritchen. "Come and have a drink. You held the trump card this time without any doubt."

"Don't care'f I do," a.s.sented the man. "I-hic-alish holds trumps."

While the men laughed, drank, and swore in the saloon, Keith was speeding far out upon the long trail. The dogs were in excellent form, and enjoyed the exhilarating exercise with their beloved master. The moon was full, and only a short pause was made at night for rest and refreshment.

On the second day from Kla.s.san the weather changed. The air became milder, and a dull grey sky lowered overhead. In the afternoon the wind began to blow, and ere long man and dogs were flecked with particles of driving snow. The mountain tops were hidden from view, and the storm rolled along their sides like the smoke of a thousand cannon. It burst from the funnel-like pa.s.s to their left, swept across the valley, and struck the travellers full abeam.

Hector, the wheel dog, howled and nipped Don's heels, whose teeth gleamed white at the insult. But Yukon uttered never a sound. He gave one lightning glance at his master, straightened himself out in the harness, and nosed his way through the storm. For an hour they thus proceeded, the trail becoming more difficult all the time. At length it was entirely obliterated, and nothing remained to guide them in their onward march. The wind raved and tore round them; the snow curled and encircled their bodies like a huge winding sheet, half blinding them as they staggered on. No friendly forest was near to give them shelter. The region through which they were pa.s.sing was a vast, desolate tract of burnt land. The dead trees, stripped of every vestige of foliage, stood out gaunt and weird. The wind rushed howling through their naked branches, and the driving snow seemed like the packed lances of a million unseen hors.e.m.e.n in a mad charge.

At length the dogs stopped and, squatting in the snow, looked beseechingly into their master's face. The small sled dragged heavily, even with its light load of blankets and provisions.

"Come, Yukon, old boy, cheer up," encouraged Keith, going to the leader's side, and patting him affectionately on the head. "I'll give you a hand. We must get out of this."

Again they pushed forward, the man a.s.sisting the dogs by means of a small rope attached to the sled. But night--an awful night--now closed down, adding its horror to the situation. A sense of helplessness shot into Keith's heart, and stayed his steps. He dropped the rope, tore away the harness from the crouching brutes, and turned them loose.

Seizing the sled, he stood it on end in the snow, and taking with him only his small medicine case, began once more his hard fight. But he found it much harder now. His feet left the trail, and he sank deep into the snow. Back he scrambled, and groped onward like a blind man, searching with his feet for the hard bottom. Again and again he missed the track until at last he stopped in despair. What was he to do? Was he to perish miserably there in that blinding storm? The wind was piercing, chilling him to the bone, and he shivered.

Presently Yukon, who had been following close at his master's heels, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, sniffed the air, and, bounding forward, took the lead. This action aroused Keith. He believed a human habitation was near, and that the dog had scented the smoke afar off. Neither was he mistaken, for soon they reached green timber, which broke somewhat the violence of the storm.

Pushing their way through the trees for several hundred yards, a faint glimmer of light pierced the darkness straight ahead.

"Thank G.o.d!" murmured Keith, as he waded wearily up to the small log building, and rapped on the rude door. "This must be the place; the first on the trail, so I was told."

A noise of some one moving within fell upon his ear, followed by a fumbling sound as of a bar being removed. Then the door was cautiously opened, and a big grizzly head was thrust out. Keith started back at the wild appearance, and the terrible look in the man's eyes. He had seen such eyes before in mad-houses.

"Does Jim Blasco live here?" he stammered.

"Does he? Does he?" came the deep, jerky reply. "And what if he does?"

"H-h-ow is he?" Keith could not help it. An indescribable chill was creeping over him, and his teeth chattered.

"Doesn't he look well?" roared the giant, as he flung the door wide open. "Watch'er want of 'im?"

"They told me you were hurt; the gun burst, and tore away your arm."

"Who told you that?"

"The men at Kla.s.san."

"And who are you, anyway?"

"A medical man, and a missionary."

The man started, and his eyes, terrible before, now fairly blazed in their sockets. Torrents of oaths poured from his lips, and he sprang back into the cabin towards a rifle which was standing in a corner.

No longer did Keith hesitate. He realized his danger, and turning fled from the building out again into the night, whither he knew not, any place was better than near that raving demon with those terrible eyes.

Breathless and exhausted, he at length paused and listened, but nothing could he hear except the wind howling in the tree-tops overhead. The truth now flashed upon him. He had been deceived, tricked, the object of a huge joke. It hardly seemed possible that men with any spark of feeling would do such a thing. For an instant a fierce rage took possession of his soul. He clenched his mittened hands, his teeth ground together, and the blood surged tumultuously through his body.

"O G.o.d!" he cried, "punish them. Strike them down, or give me strength to do it!"

He paused. His lifted hand dropped to his side, and a change pa.s.sed over his face. What was that he saw standing there in the storm? A form, thorn-crowned, with bleeding hands, and pierced side. The lips moved. "Father, forgive them," he heard Him say, "they know not what they do."

The scene was so vivid, and the words so clear, that Keith fell upon his knees in the snow, unheeding the curious dogs squatting near.

"Father, forgive _me_!" he cried, lifting his hands to heaven.

"Forgive me, Thy amba.s.sador, for my wicked words. I was----"

What was that? Music, the strains of a violin. He listened intently.

He recognized the refrain.

"Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King, Peace on earth, and mercy mild, G.o.d and sinners reconciled."

Keith staggered to his feet, and peered through the darkness, but could see nothing. He followed the sound, and ere long a square building loomed up in the distance. Toward this he feebly made his way, tottering like a drunken man, and at times beating the air with his hands for support.