The Triumph of John Kars Part 15

"My nerves aren't as steady as yours. I'm going to look," he announced.

He moved off, and presently his voice came back to the man by the fire.

"Ho, John! A visitor," he cried.

The man at the fire replied cordially.

"Bring him right along. Pleased to see him."

But Kars had not moved from his seat. As he flung his reply back, he glanced swiftly at the place where his own and Bill's rifles stood leaning against the pale green foliage of a bush within reach of his hand. Then, with elaborate nonchalance, he spread his hands out over the smoldering ashes of the fire.

A moment or two later he was gazing up smilingly into the face of a man who was obviously a half-breed.

The man was dressed in a beaded buckskin shirt under a pea-jacket of doubtful age. It was worn and stained, as were the man's moleskin trousers, which were tucked into long knee-boots which had once been black. But the face held the white man's interest. It was of an olive hue, and the eyes which looked out from beneath almost hairless brows were coal black, and fierce, and narrow. A great scar split the skin of his forehead almost completely across it. And beneath the attenuated moustache another scar stretched from the corner of his mouth half-way across his right cheek. Then, too, his Indian-like black hair was unable to conceal the fact that half an ear was missing.

Nor did it take Kars a second to realize that the latter mutilation was due to chewing by some adversary in a "rough and tumble" fight.

The man's greeting came in the white man's tongue. Nor was it tinged with the "pigeon" method of the Indian. It smacked of the gold city which knows little enough of refinement amongst even its best cla.s.ses.

"Say, you boys are takin' all kinds of chances," he said, in a voice that had little pleasantness of intonation. "I had some scare when I see you come over the hills ther'. The darn neches bin out the way you come, burnin', an' ma.s.sacrin'. How you missed 'em beats me to death.

But I guess you did miss 'em?" he added significantly. "And I'm glad."

Kars was only concerned with the information of the Indians' movements.

"They're out?" he said.

"Sure they're out." The man laughed. "They're out most all the time.

Gee, it's livin' with a cyclone playin' around you on this G.o.d-forgotten river. But, say, you boys need to beat it, an' beat it quick, if you want to git out with your hair on. They're crazy for guns an' things. If they git their noses on your trail they'll git you sure as death."

The warning received less attention than it seemed to demand.

Kars looked the half-breed squarely in the eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded. Abrupt as was the challenge the tone of it had no roughness.

"Louis Creal."

"Belong here?"

Kars' steady eyes were compelling.

A flush of anger surged in the half-breed's mutilated cheeks. His eyes snapped viciously.

"This ain't a catechism, is it?" he cried hotly. Then in a moment he moderated his tone. "Fellers on the 'inside' don't figger to hand around their pedigrees--usual. Howsum, I allow I come right along to pa.s.s you a friendly warning, which kind o' makes it reasonable to tell you the things folk don't usually inquire north of 'sixty.' Yep. I live around this river, an' hand the neches a b.u.m sort o' trade fer their wares. Guess I scratch a livin', if you can call it that way, up here. But it don't figger any. My ma come of this tribe. I guess my paw belonged to yours."

"Where d'you get your goods for trade?"

The sparkle of hasty temper grew again in the black depths of the half-breed's eyes. The man's retort came roughly enough now.

"What in----!" he cried. Then again he checked his fiery impulse.

"Say, that ain't no darn bizness of any one but me. Get me? It's a fool question anyway. Ther's a dozen posts I could haul from. My bizness ain't your bizness. I stand pat fer why I traipsed nigh two miles to reach your darn fool camp. I handed you the trouble waitin'

around if you ain't wise. I guess you're wise now, an' if you don't act quick it's up to you. If you've the savvee of a buck louse you'll beat it good an' quick. You'll beat it as if the devil was chasin' you plenty."

Then it seemed as if urgency overcame his resentment, for he went on with a sort of desperate eagerness. "Say, I ain't got your names, I don't know a thing. I ain't no interest if you're alive, or hacked to small chunks. But if you got any value fer your lives, if you've got folks to worry fer you, why, git right out o' this just as fast as the devil'll let you. That's all."

"Thanks--we will." Kars had suddenly abandoned all his previous a.s.surance of manner. He seemed to be laboring under the influence of the warning. "Guess we're kind of obliged to you. More than I can say. Maybe you won't take amiss the things I asked. You see, finding a white man in this region seemed sort of queer since they murdered Allan Mowbray. I just had to ask." He turned to Bill, who was watching him curiously. "We'll strike camp right away. Guess we best get out west if the neches are southeast. Seems to me we're in a bad fix anyway." Then he turned again to the half-breed. "Maybe you'll stop around and take food? We'll eat before we strike."

Kars' changed att.i.tude seemed to please the half-breed. But he shook his head with a smile that only rendered his expression the more crafty.

"Nothin' doin' that way," he said decidedly. "Gee, no!" Then he added confidentially: "I come two miles to give you warnin'. That's straight across as the birds fly. I made nearer five gettin' here. Maybe you'll get that when I tell you these devils have eyes everywhere.

Since they shot up Allan Mowbray I'm scared. Scared to death. I've taken a big chance coming around. I ain't makin' it bigger stoppin' to feed. An' if you'll take white advice you won't neither. Jest get to it an' set all the darnation territory you ken find between you an'

Bell River before to-morrow. I quit. So long. I've handed you warning. It's right up to you."

He turned abruptly away and moved off. To the dullest it was obvious he was anxious to escape further interrogation. And these men were not dull.

Bill followed him a few steps and stood watching his slim, lithe figure vanish amongst the close-growing spruce. Kars, too, watched him go.

But he had not stirred out of his seat. They waited until the sound of his footsteps had died out. Then Kars bestirred himself. He pa.s.sed from the camp to where his Indians were sleeping. When he returned Bill was standing over the fire.

"I've set a boy to trail him to the edge of the woods," he said. Then he returned to his seat.

Bill nodded.

"Well?"

Kars laughed.

"An elegant outfit," he said with appreciation. "I guess he's more scared of us than the Bell River devils. We're not to get the bunch of neches I guessed."

"No. He's a crook and--a bad one. When do we pull out?"

Kars looked up. His eyes were steady and keen. His jaws were set aggressively.

"When I've nosed out the secret of this darned layout."

"But----"

"Say, Bill," Kars' manner became suddenly alive with enthusiasm, "we've chased a thousand miles and more this summer, nosing, and scratching, and worrying to find some of the secrets of this mighty big land.

We've sweated and cussed till even the flies and skitters must have been ashamed. I figger we've lit right on top of a big secret here, and--well, I don't fancy being bluffed out of it by any low-down b.u.m of a half-breed. That feller wants to be quit of us. He's bluffing.

We've hit the camp with the neches _out_. Do you get that? If they'd bin around we wouldn't have seen any Louis Creal. We'd have had all the lead poisoning the neches could have handed us. Wait till Charley gets back."

Peigan Charley was squatting on his haunches holding out the palms of his lean hands to the warming blaze of the fire.

Darkness had shut down upon the gloomy world about them. The air was chill. The fire was more than welcome. Kars was sitting adjacent to his faithful servant, and Bill was on the other side of him. The Indian was talking in a low voice, and in a deliberate fashion.

"I mak him," he said, in his quaint, broken way. "Neche all out. Only squaws, an' pappoose by the camp. Old men--yes. Him all by river.

Much squaws by river. Charley not come by river. No good. Charley him look by camp. Him see much teepee, much shack. Oh, yes, plenty.

One big--plenty big--shack. Squaws mak go by shack. Him store.

Charley know. Yes, Breed man run him store. Charley, him see Breed woman, too. All much plenty busy. So. Charley him come. Yes?"