The Triumph of John Kars Part 45

Murray found what was left of him down below, way down the river.

Maybe he held this till his stores got low. Then he made a dash for it, and--found it. It makes me sick thinking. Let's get out."

He turned away to the door and Kars followed him.

Kars had nothing to add. The picture of that hopeless fight left him without desire to investigate further. It was almost the last fight of the man who had made the happiness he now contemplated possible. His heart bled for the girl who he knew had well-nigh worshiped her "daddy."

But Bill did not pa.s.s the doorway. At that moment the sharp crack of a rifle split the air, and set the echoes of the gorge screaming. A second later there was the vicious "spat" of a bullet on the sorely tried logs of the shack. He stepped back under cover. But not before a second shot rang out, and another bullet struck, and ricochetted, hurtling through the air to lose itself in the pine woods above him.

"The play's started," was his undisturbed comment.

Kars nodded and his eyes lit. The emotions of the moment before had fallen from him.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "Now for Mister Louis Creal."

Bill turned, and his twinkling eyes were thoughtful as they regarded his friend.

"Ye-es."

But Kars was paying small attention. His eyes were shining with a light such as is only seen in those who contemplate the things their heart is set upon. In his mind there was no doubt, only conviction.

"We're not fighting those poor, darn-fool neches who fired those shots," he cried in a sudden break from his usual reticence. "Maybe they're the force but they aren't the brain. The brain behind this play is Mister Louis Creal. Say, this thing's bigger than we guessed.

This Louis Creal runs these workings. Guess he's been running them since the beginning. He's been running them in some sort of partnership with the men at the Fort. He was Allan's partner, if I'm wise to anything. He was Allan's partner and Murray's. And Allan was murdered right here. He was murdered by these poor darn neches. And the brain behind them was Louis Creal's. Do you get it now? Oh, it's easy. That half-breed's turned, as they always turn when it suits them. He's turned on his partners. And Murray knows it. That's why Murray's got in his arms. It's clear as daylight. There's a three-cornered sc.r.a.p coming. Murray's going to clean out this outfit, or lose his grip on the gold lying on this river for the picking up.

And Murray don't figger to lose a thing without a mighty big kick--and not gold anyway. This feller, Creal, located us, and figgers to wipe us off his slate. See? Say, Bill, I guessed long ago Bell River was going to hand us some secrets. I guessed it would tell us how Allan Mowbray died. Well, Louis Creal's going to pay. He's going to pay good. Murray's wise. Gee, I can't but admire. Another feller would have shouted. Another feller would have told the womenfolk all he discovered when he found Allan Mowbray murdered. Can't you get his play? He was Allan's friend. He kind of hoped to marry Jessie--some day. He worked the whole thing out. He guessed he'd scare Mrs.

Mowbray and Jessie to death if he told them all that had happened. He didn't want them scared, or they might quit the place. So he just blamed the neches, and let if go at that. He handled the proposition himself. There was Alec. He didn't guess it would be good Alec b.u.t.ting in. Alec, for all he's Jessie's brother, wasn't bright. He might get killed even. He'd be in the way--anyway. So he got him clear of the Fort. Then he got a free hand. He shipped in an a.r.s.enal of weapons, and he's going to outfit a big force. He's coming along up here later, and it'll be him and Creal to the death. And it's odds on Murray. Then the folk at the Fort can help themselves all they need, and the world won't be any the wiser. It's a great play. But Alec's death has queered it some. Do you get it--all? It's clear--clear as daylight."

"Ye-es." Again came that hesitating affirmative. But then Bill was older, and perhaps less impressionable.

Again Kars missed the hesitation.

"Good," he said. "Now we'll get busy. Maybe we'll save Murray a deal of trouble. He'd got me worried. I was half guessing----" He broke off and sighed as though in relief. "But I've got it clear enough now.

And Louis Creal'll have to reckon with me first. We'll make back to camp."

Bill offered no comment. He watched the great figure of his companion move towards the door. Nor was the nerve of the man without deep effect upon him. Kars pa.s.sed out on to the open plateau and instantly a rain of bullets spat their vicious purpose all about him. Even as Bill stepped out after him his feelings were absorbed in his admiration of the other.

The shots continued. They all came from the same direction, from the woods across the river, somewhere just above their camp. It was Indian firing. Its character was unmistakable. It was erratic, and many of the shots failed hopelessly to reach the plateau at all.

The movements of the two men were rapid without haste, and, as they left the plateau, the firing ceased.

An hour later they were walking up the foresh.o.r.e to their camp, and the canoe was hauled up out of the water. The sluices were in full work under the watchful eye of Abe Dodds. The thirsty Saunders was driving his gang at the placers, from which was being drawn a stream of pay dirt that never ceased from daylight to dark. They had heard the firing, as had the whole camp, and they had wondered. But for the present their responsibility remained with their labors. The safe return of Kars and his companion nevertheless afforded keen satisfaction.

Bill smiled as they moved up towards their quarters. Curiously enough the recent events seemed to have lightened his mood. Perhaps it was the pa.s.sing of a period of doubt. Perhaps the reconstruction of Murray's doings, which Kars had set out so clearly, had had its effect.

It was impossible to say, for his shrewd eyes rarely told more than he intended them to.

"Makes you feel good when the other feller starts right in to play his 'hand,'" he said.

Kars looked into the smiling face. He recognized in this man, whose profession should have robbed him of all the elemental attributes, and whose years should have suggested a desire for the ease of a successful life, a real fighter of the long trail, and his heart warmed.

"Makes you feel better when you know none of your 'suits' are weak," he replied.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE DEPUTATION

Kars was asleep. He was in the deep slumber of complete weariness in the shanty which had been erected for his quarters, and was shared by Bill. The bed was a mere pile of blankets spread out on a rough log trestle which sufficiently raised it from the ground.

It was a mean enough habitation. But it was substantial. Furthermore, it was weather-proof, which was all these men required. Then, too, it was set up in a position on the higher ground whence it overlooked the whole camp, with a full view of the sluices, and the operations going on about them. Adjacent were the stores, and the kitchens, all sheltered by projections of the rocky foresh.o.r.e, so that substantial cover against hostile attack was afforded them.

While Kars slept the defensive preparations he had designed were being carried out feverishly under the watchful eyes of Bill and Abe Dodds, with Joe Saunders a vigorous lieutenant. He had planned for every possible emergency. Embankments of pay dirt were erected and strengthened by green logs. Loopholes were arranged for concentrated defence in any one direction. The water supply was there open to them, direct from the river, which, in its turn, afforded them a safeguard from a purely frontal attack. The Bell River Indians were no great water men, so the chief defences were set up flanking along the sh.o.r.e.

Kars had spent a day and two nights in unceasing labor, and now, at last, the claims of nature would no longer be denied. He had fallen asleep literally at his work. So the watchful doctor had accepted the responsibility. And the great body was left to the repose which made so small a claim upon it.

There was no man who could fight harder than John Kars, there was no man who could fight more intelligently. Just as no man could fight fairer. He accepted all conditions as he found them, and met them as necessity demanded. But all that was rugged in him remained untainted through the years of his sojourn beyond the laws of civilization.

There were a hundred ways by which he could have hoped to survive. But only one suited his temperament. Then he had closed the doors of civilization behind him. He had metaphorically burnt his text-books, if he ever really possessed any. He viewed nothing through the pleasantly tinted gla.s.ses such as prevail where cities are swept and garnished daily, and bodily comfort is counted more to be desired than G.o.d-fear. He forgot that law and order must be paid for by a yearly toll in currency. But he never failed to remember that a temple had been raised in the human heart, erected firmly on the ashes of savagery.

"Now for Mister Louis Creal!"

It was the situation as he saw it. He by no means underrated the threat of the Indians. But he drove straight to the root of the matter. He believed the Indians had been bought body and soul by this b.a.s.t.a.r.d white for his own ends. And his own end was the gold of Bell River. It was his purpose to destroy all compet.i.tion. He had murdered one partner, or perhaps employer. He hoped, no doubt, to treat the other white man similarly. Now he meant a similar mischief by this new threat to his monopoly. Kars felt it was characteristic of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d races. Well, he was ready for the fight. He had sought it.

With that first enemy attempt on the plateau events moved rapidly.

But they so moved on Kars' initiative. It was not his way to sit down at the enemy's pleasure. His was the responsibility for the eighty men who had responded to his call. He accepted it. He knew it would demand every ounce of courage and energy he could put forth. His wits were to be pitted against wits no less. The fate of Allan Mowbray, a man far beyond the average in courage and capacity among men of the long trail, told him this. So he had worked, and would work, to the end.

"The play's started good, boys," he had said to his white companions on his return to the camp. "The gold can wait, I guess, till we've wiped out this half-breed outfit. It's a game I know good, an' I'm going to play it for a mighty big 'jack-pot.' It's up to you to hand me all I need. After that the gold's open to all."

Then he detailed the various preparations to be made at once, and allotted to each man his task. He spoke sharply but without urgency.

And the simplicity of his ideas saved the least confusion. It was only to Bill that his plans seemed hardly to fit with that cordial appreciation which he had given expression to on the plateau. "Now for Mister Louis Creal." So he had said. Yet all the plans were defensive rather than offensive.

Later this doubt found expression.

"What about Louis Creal?" Bill asked in his direct fashion.

And Kars' reply was a short, hard laugh.

"That feller's for me," he replied shortly.

That night a second trip was made across the river. This time with a canoe laden with a small party of armed men. It was Kars who led, while Bill remained behind in command of the camp.

This mission was one of remorseless purpose. It was perhaps the most difficult decision that Kars had had to force himself to. It hurt him.

It was a decision for the destruction of the things he loved. To him it was like an a.s.sault against the great ruling powers of the Creator, and the sin of it left him troubled in heart and conscience. Yet he knew the necessity of it. None better. So he executed it, as he would have executed any other operation necessary in loyalty to the men supporting him and his purpose.

It was midnight when the paddles dipped again for the return to the camp, and the return journey was made under a light which had no origin in any of the heavenly bodies, nor in the fantastic measure danced by the brilliant northern lights. It was the blaze of a forest fire which lit the gorge from end to end, and filled the air with a ruddy fog of smoke, which reeked in the nostrils and set throats choking.

It had been deliberately planned. The wind was favorable for safety and success. It was blowing gently from the west. The fire was started in six places, and the resinous pines which had withstood centuries of storms yielded to the devouring flames with an ardent willingness that was pitiful. The forests crowning the opposite walls of the gorge were a desperate threat to the camp. They had to be made useless to the enemy. They must be swept away, and to accomplish this fire was the only means.

Kars watched the dreadful devastation from the camp. His eyes were thoughtful, troubled. He was paying the price which his desire for achievement required.