The Promise Part 57

"Who are you?" he blurted, and the words rasped hollow and dry.

Bill turned to the men.

"Do _you_ know?" he asked. "An old Indian woman--did he bring her to this camp?"

The men stared blankly from the speaker to Moncrossen and into each other's faces. Suddenly, one stepped forward.

"Look in the storeroom!" he cried. "A little while back--it was at night--I seen 'em drag somethin' in--him an' Larson of the van." At the words, Moncrossen sprang toward the speaker with an inarticulate growl of rage.

"You lie!" he screamed; but before he reached the man, who shrank back into the crowd, Bill stepped in front of him. He raised his arm and pointed toward the clearing.

"To the storehouse," he said in the same low voice. For a fleeting second Moncrossen glared into his eyes, and without a word, turned and led the way, closely followed by Bill and Jeanne, while the crowd of wondering lumber-jacks brought up the rear.

At the storehouse Moncrossen paused. "I'll fetch the key from the office," he leered; but Bill turned to a man who stood leaning upon his axe.

"Smash that door!" he commanded; and a half-dozen men sprang to the task. The next instant the door flew inward, and the men crowded into the building to return a few moments later bearing the old squaw, gagged, bound, and wrapped tightly in a blanket, but with the undimmed black eyes glaring upon them like a hawk's.

The cords were cut and the gag removed by willing hands. Someone held a bottle to her lips, and she drank greedily. Jeanne dropped to her knees by the old woman's side.

"He has come," she whispered. "M's'u' Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, has come to you." Wa-ha-ta-na-ta nodded her understanding, and her beady black eyes flashed.

"She must have water!" cried the girl; "and food!"

At the words a half-dozen men rushed toward the cook-shack, returning a few minutes later laden as to victual a regiment.

CHAPTER LI

THE PROMISE FULFILLED

Again the interest centered upon the two big men who faced each other on the trodden ground of the clearing. Other men came--the ones who had fled from the rollway, their curiosity conquering their fear at the sight of the dead man.

And now the greener was speaking, and the tone of his voice was gentle in its velvety softness. His lips smiled, and his gray eyes, narrowed to slits, shone cold--with a terrible, steely coldness, so that men looked once, and shuddered as they looked.

"And, now, Moncrossen," he was saying, "_we will fight_. It is a long score that you and I have to settle. It starts with your dirty schemes that Stromberg wouldn't touch.

"Then, the well-laid plan to have Creed b.u.mp me off that night at Melton's No. 9; and the incident of the river, when you broke the jam.

You thought you had me, then, Moncrossen. You thought I was done for good and all, when I disappeared under the water.

"There are other things, too--little acts of yours, that we will figure in as we go. The affair on Broken Knee, when you attacked this young girl; the shooting of Blood River Jack, from ambush; the second attack on the girl at the foot of the rapid--and the brutal starving of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta.

"Oh, yes; and the little matter of the bird's-eye. I have the logs, Moncrossen, all safely cached--the pile of ashes you found was a blind.

Quite a long score, take it first and last, isn't it, Moncrossen?"

The silence, save for the sound of the voice, was almost painful. Men strained to listen, looking from one to the other of the two big men, with white, tense faces.

At the words, the blood rushed to the boss's face. His little, swinish eyes fairly blazed in their sockets. He was speechless with fury. The cords knotted in his neck, and a great blue vein stood out upon his forehead. The breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the goading words fell in the voice of purring softness.

"But it has come to a show-down at last, between you and me," the greener went on as he slowly and methodically turned the sleeves of his shirt back from his mighty forearms. "They tell me you are a fighting man, Moncrossen. They tell me you have licked men--here in the woods--good men, too. And they tell me you have knocked down drunken men, and stamped on their faces with your steel-calked boots.

"Maybe--if you last well--I will save a couple of punches for those poor devils' account. I think you will last, Moncrossen. You are big, and strong, and you are mad enough, in your blind, bull-headed way.

"But I am not going to knock you out. I am going to make you _lie down_--to make you show your yellow, and quit cold; for this is going to be your last fight. When I am through, Moncrossen, you won't be worth licking--no ten-year-old boy will think it worth his while to step out of his way to slap your dirty face."

With a hoa.r.s.e bellow, Moncrossen launched himself at the speaker. And just at that moment--swarming over the bank at the rollways--came the men of the upper drive. The leaders paused, and sizing up the situation, came on at a run.

"A fight!" they yelled. "A fight! H-o-o-r-a-y!"

Then came Appleton and Sheridan with their wives, and beside them walked a slender, girlish figure, whose shoulders drooped wearily, and whose face was concealed by a heavy, dark-blue veil.

The two lumbermen guided the ladies hurriedly in the direction of the office, when suddenly the shrill voice of Charlie Manton broke upon their ears.

"Whoo-p-e-e! It's _Bill_! Go to it, Bill! Swing on him! Give him your left, Bill! Give him your left!"

They halted, and obeying some strange impulse, the girlish figure turned and made straight for the wildly yelling men, who stood in the form of a great circle in the center of which two men weaved and milled about each other in a blur of motion.

Old Daddy Dunnigan was the first to see her hovering uncertainly upon the edge of the crowd. Brandishing his crutch he howled into the ears of those nearest him:

"Give th' lady a chanst! Come on, miss! He's _her_ man, an' G.o.d be praised! she wants to see 'um foight!"

The men made a lane, and scarcely knowing what she did, Ethel found herself standing beside the old Irishman, who had wormed his way to the very front rank of the crowding circle. She stared in fascinated terror, throwing back her veil for a clearer view, regardless of the men who stared at _her_ in surprise and wondered at the whiteness of her face.

Bill Carmody met Moncrossen's first rush with a quick, short jab that reached the corner of his eye. With an almost imperceptible movement he leaned to one side, and the flail-like swing of the huge boss's arm pa.s.sed harmlessly within an inch of his ear.

Moncrossen lost no time. Pivoting, he swung a terrific body blow which glanced lightly against Bill's lowered shoulder, and the greener came back with two stiff raps to the ear.

Again and again Moncrossen rushed his antagonist, lashing out with both fists, but always the blows failed by a barely perceptible margin, and Bill--always smiling, and without appreciable effort--stung him with short, swift punches to the face.

And always he talked. Low and smooth his voice sounded between the thud of blows and the heavy breathing of the big boss.

"Poor business, Moncrossen--poor judgment--for a fighting man. Save your wind--take it easy, and you'll last longer--this is a _long_ fight, Moncrossen--take it slow--slow and steady."

The taunting voice was always in the boss's ears, goading him to blind fury. He paused for breath, with guard uplifted, and in that moment Bill Carmody saw for the first time the figure of his wife. For an instant their eyes met, and then Moncrossen was at him again. But Bill's low, taunting voice did not waver.

"That's better," he said, and moved his head to one side as a vicious blow pa.s.sed close. "And now, Moncrossen, I'm going to hit you on the nose--I haven't hit you yet--those others were just to feel you out."

With an incredibly swift movement he swung clear from the shoulder.

There was the wicked, smashing sound of living flesh hard struck. The big boss staggered backward, pawing the air, and the red blood spurted from his flattened nose.

"That one is for trying to get Stromberg to file a link." Bill ducked a lunging blow without raising his guard. "And now your ear, Moncrossen; I won't knock it off, but it will never be pretty again."

Another long swing landed with a glancing twist that split the ear in half. "That is for the Creed item--and this one is for the river."

The boss's head snapped backward to the impact of a smashing blow; again he staggered, and, turning, spat a mouthful of blood which seeped into the ground, leaving upon the surface several brownish, misshapen nuggets.