The Promise Part 40

"Blood River Jack," the man replied.

"That's a funny kind of a name," puzzled the boy. "Why did they name you that?"

"Jacques--that is my name. Blood River--that is where I live. It is that my lodge is near the bank of the river and in the Blood River country I hunt and lay my trap lines, and in the waters of the river I fish. What is your name?"

"New York Charlie," unhesitatingly replied the boy and flushed deeply at the roar of laughter with which the others of the party greeted his answer. But the long-haired, dark-skinned guide, noting the angry flash of the wide, blue eyes, refrained from laughter.

"That is a good name," he said gravely. "In the land of the white man men are called by the name of their fathers. In the woods it is not often so, except when it be written upon papers. The best man in the North is one of whom men know only his first name. He is M's'u'

Bill--The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die."

"Why can't he die?" asked the youngster eagerly.

Jacques shook his head.

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta says 'all men die,'" he replied; "but--did not the _chechako_ come into the North in the time of a great snow, and without rackets mush forty miles in two days? Did he not kill with a knife Diablesse, the werwolf, whom all men feared, and with an axe chop in pieces the wolves of her pack?

"Did he not strike fear to the heart of the great Moncrossen with a look of his eye? And, with three blows of his fist, lay the mighty Stromberg upon the floor like a wet rag? Did he not come without hurt through the fire when Creed locked him in the burning shack? And did he not go down through the terrible Blood River rapids, riding upon a log, and live, when Moncrossen ordered the breaking out of the jam that he might be killed among the pounding logs? These are the things that kill men--yet the _chechako_ lives."

"Gee, Eth, think of that!" exclaimed the boy, turning toward his sister, who from her place by the side of her Aunt Margaret had been an interested listener. "He must be _some man_! Where does he live? Will we see him?"

Before the half-breed could reply Appleton broke in.

"He sure is _some man_!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "And you will see him about day after to-morrow night, if we have good luck. I don't know about all the adventures Blood River Jack mentioned, but I have heard of some of them, and I can add the story of the outwitting of a couple of card-sharps and a fight in the dark, in the cramped quarters of an overturned railway coach, in which he all but choked the life out of a human fiend who was robbing the dead and injured.

"And I might tell of another fight--the gamest fight of all--but, wait till you know him. He is foreman of the camp which will be our headquarters for the next two or three weeks."

"To hear them talk," said Mrs. Appleton to her niece, "one would imagine this man a huge, bloodthirsty ruffian; but he isn't. Hubert says that he is in every respect a gentleman."

"Yes," agreed her husband, "but one who is not afraid to get out and work with his two hands--and work hard--and who has never learned the meaning of fear. I took a chance on him, and he has made good."

The phrase fell upon the ears of the girl with a shock. They were the words _he_ had used, she remembered. Was _he_ making good--somewhere?

She felt her heart go out with a rush to this big man she had never seen, and she found herself eagerly looking forward to their meeting.

"Oh, he must be splendid!" she exclaimed impulsively, and her face glowed in the play of the firelight--a glow that faded almost to pallor at the words of the half-breed.

"He has come again into the woods?" he asked quickly. "It is well. For now Jeanne need have no fear. He promised her that he would return again into the North--and to her."

"What?" cried Appleton in surprise. "Who is this Jeanne? And why should he return to her?"

"She is my sister," Jacques replied simply. "Her skin is white like the skin of my father. She is beautiful, and she loves him. She helped Wa-ha-ta-na-ta to draw him from the river, and through all the long days and nights of his sickness she took care of him. When he went out of the woods she accompanied him for three days and three nights upon the trail to the land of the white man, and he promised her that he would come again into the woods and protect her from harm."

At a hurried glance from his wife Appleton changed the subject abruptly. "I wish to thunder it would snow!" he exclaimed. "Hunting deer without snow is like fishing without bait. You might accidentally hook one, but it's a long chance."

Blood River Jack sniffed the air and shrugged, glancing upward.

"Plenty of snow in a few days," he said. "Maybe too much."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

IN THE OFFICE

The setting sun shone weak and coppery above the pines as the big four-horse tote-team dashed with a flourish into the wide clearing of the new camp on upper Blood River. The men had not yet "knocked off,"

and from the impenetrable depths of the forest came the ring of axes and the roar of crashing trees.

In the little blacksmith-shop a grimy-faced, leather-ap.r.o.ned man bent over a piece of glowing iron which he held in long tongs, and the red sparks radiated in showers as the hammer thumped dully on the soft metal--thumps sharply punctuated by the clean ring of steel as the polished face of the tool bounced merrily upon the chilled surface of the anvil.

The feel of snow was in the air and over by the cook-shack men were hauling fire-wood on a pole-drag. The team brought up sharply before the door of the office which was located at one end of a long, low building of logs, the two other rooms of which contained stoves, chairs, and a few rough deal-tables.

Appleton leaped from the wagon and swung the ladies lightly to the ground, while the teamster and Blood River Jack, a.s.sisted by Charlie, proceeded to unload the outfit. The lumberman pushed open the door of the office and glanced within. It was empty. He called one of the men from the cook-shack and bade him build a fire in the little air-tight.

"Well, H. D., your man ain't an office foreman, anyhow," grinned Sheridan, with a nod of approval toward the cold stove.

Sheridan was a bluff man with a bristling red mustache--the kind that invariably chew upon their cigars as they talk.

Appleton turned to the ladies.

"Make yourselves at home," he said as the fire roared up the stove-pipe. "Ross and I will look over the works a bit. Where is the boss?" he asked of the man who was returning to the wood-pile.

"Out in the cuttin' somewheres; er me'be over to the rollways," replied the man, laughing. "Big Bill he's out among 'em _all_ the time."

"By Glory! H. D., we've all got to hand it to you when it comes to picking out men. I'd like to catch one of _my_ foremen out on the works some time--I wouldn't know whether to fire him or double his wages!"

Sheridan mouthed his cigar, and the two turned into a skidway.

Appleton smiled. He raised a finger and touched his eyelid.

"It's the eye," he said. "Look in a man's eye, Ross. I don't give a d.a.m.n what a man's record is--what he's done or what he hasn't done. Let me get a good look into his eye when he talks and in half a minute I'll know whether to hire him or pa.s.s him on to you fellows. Here he comes now."

Bill took keen delight in showing the two lumbermen about the camp.

"What's the idea of the ell on the bunk-house?" asked Appleton.

"Teamster's bunk-house," replied the foreman. "You see, I know how it feels to be waked up at four in the morning by the teamsters piling out of their bunks; so I built a separate bunk-house for them. The men work too hard to have their sleep broken into that way. And another thing--I built a couple of big rooms onto the office where the men can play cards and smoke in the evening. I ordered a phonograph, too. I expect it in on the tote-wagon."

Sheridan grinned skeptically and spat out part of his cigar. Appleton made no comment.

"Come over to the office, Bill," he said. "I want you to meet the ladies--my wife and niece and Mrs. Sheridan."

"I am afraid I am not very presentable," replied Bill dubiously as they crossed the clearing in the lengthening shadows; but he went with them without hesitation.

They were met at the door by a plump-faced lady of ample proportions who was evidently fighting a losing battle with a tendency toward _embonpoint_; and a slight, gray-haired one who stood poised upon the split puncheon that served as a door-step.

"Ladies, this is Bill, the foreman of this camp. Mrs. Sheridan, Bill, and my wife."