The Triumph of John Kars Part 51

"Yes."

Bill sat on the boulder Charley had used as a mooring. He had had his sleep, but a certain weariness still remained.

"You'd stake a roll on Charley," he said, with an upward glance of amus.e.m.e.nt that was lost in the darkness.

"Sure." Kars gave a short laugh. "He's a mascot. It's always been that way since I grabbed him when he quit the penitentiary for splitting another neche's head open in a sc.r.a.p over a Breed gal.

Charley's got all the brains of his race, and none of its virtues. But he's got virtues of a diff'rent sort. They're sometimes found in white folk."

"You mean he's loyal."

"That's it. Every pocket he's got is stuffed full of it. He'll find a trail or break his fool neck--because I'm needing one. He's the sort of boy, if I needed him to shoot up a feller, it wouldn't be sufficient acting the way I said. He'd shoot up his whole darn family, too, and thieve their blankets, even if he didn't need 'em. He's quite a boy--when you got him where you need him. I----"

Kars broke off listening acutely. He turned his head with that instinct of avoiding the night breeze. Bill, too, was listening, his watchful eyes turned northward.

The moments grew. The splutter of rifle fire still haunted the night.

But, for all its breaking of the stillness, the m.u.f.fled sound of a paddle grew out of the distance. Kars sighed a relief he would not have admitted.

"Back to--schedule," he said. "Guess it needs a half hour of dawn."

There was no m.u.f.fle to the sound of the paddle now, and the waiting men understood. The Indian was up against the full strength of the heavy stream, and, light as was his craft, it was no easy task to breast it.

For some minutes the rhythmic beat went on. Then the little vessel grated directly opposite them, with an exactness of judgment in the darkness that stirred admiration. A moment later Peigan Charley was giving the results of his expedition in the language of his boss, of which he considered himself a perfect master.

"Charley, him find him," he said with deep satisfaction. "Him mak'

plenty trail. Much climb. Much ev'rything. So."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LAP OF THE G.o.dS

He looked like a disreputable image carved in mahogany, and arrayed in the sittings of a rag-picker's store. He was seated on the earthen door-sill of the hut where Kars was sleeping. He was contemplating with a pair of black, expressionless eyes the shadows growing in the crevices of the far side of the gorge. The occasional whistle of a bullet pa.s.sing harmlessly overhead failed to disturb him in the smallest degree. Why should he be disturbed? They were only fired by "d.a.m.n-fool neche."

He sat quite still in that curious haunch-set fashion so truly Indian.

It was one of the many racial characteristics he could not shake off--for all his boasted white habits--just as his native patience was part of his being. Nothing at that moment seemed to concern him like the watching of those growing shadows of night, and the steady darkening of the evening sky.

The defences were alive with watchful eyes. The movement of men was incessant. The smell of cooking hung upon the evening air blending with the smoke of the cook-house fire. Only the sluices stood up still and deserted, and the dumps of pay dirt. But, for the moment, none of these things were any concern of his. He had been detached from the work of the camp. His belly was full to the brim of rough food, and he was awaiting the psychological moment when the orders of his boss must be carried out. Peigan Charley was nothing if not thorough in all he undertook.

It mattered very little to him if he were asked to cut an Indian's throat, or if he were told by Kars to attend Sunday-school. He would do as his "boss" said. The throat would be cut from ear to ear, if he had to spend the rest of his days in the penitentiary. As for the Sunday-school he would sing the hymns with the best, or die in the attempt.

Half an hour pa.s.sed under this straining vigil. He had stirred slightly to ease his lean, stiffening muscles. The rough buildings of the camp slowly faded under the growing darkness. The activity of the camp became swallowed up, and only his keen ears told him of it. The pack ponies at their picketings, under the sheer walls beyond the cook-house, abandoned their restless movements over their evening meal of grain. The moment was approaching.

At last he stirred. He rose alertly and peered within the darkened doorway. Then his moccasined feet carried him swiftly and silently to the side of the bunk on which his "boss" was sleeping.

Kars awoke with a start. He was sitting up with his blankets flung back. The touch of a brown hand upon his shoulder had banished completely the last of his deep slumber.

"Boss come. Him dark--good."

The Indian had said all he felt to be necessary. He stood gazing down at the great shadowy figure sitting up on the bunk.

"You're an infernal nuisance," Kars protested. But he swung himself round and stood up. "Everything ready?" he went on, strapping a revolver belt about his waist. "Boss Bill? He ready?" He picked up his heavy automatic lying on the table at the head of his bunk, and examined it with his fingers to ascertain if the clip of cartridges was full. He reached under the bunk for some spare clips. Then he drew on his pea-jacket and b.u.t.toned it up.

"Boss Bill all ready. Him by hospital."

"Good. Then come right on. Go tell Boss Bill. I go to the river."

The dusky Indian shadow melted away in the darkness. Kars watched it go. Then he filled up a brandy flask and thrust it into his pocket. A moment later he pa.s.sed down to the water's edge, only diverging to exchange a few parting words with Abe Dodds who was in charge of the defences.

Bill Brudenell sat in the middle of the canoe, a smallish, thickly coated figure with a beaver cap pressed low down on his iron gray head.

Kars and the Indian were at the paddles, kneeling and resting against the struts. Kars was in the bow. He was a skilled paddle, but just now the Indian claimed responsibility for their destination and the landing. Charley, in consequence, felt his importance. Besides, there was the praise for his skilful navigation yet to come.

The rhythmic pressure of the paddles was perfectly m.u.f.fled. The stream was with them. It was a swift and silent progress. For all his knowledge and experience Kars had difficulty in recognizing their course. Then there were possible submerged boulders and other "snags"

and their danger to the frail craft. But these things were quite undisturbing to the scout. His sight seemed to possess something of feline powers. His sense of locality, and of danger, were something almost uncanny on the water. He had made their present journey once before, and his sureness was characteristic of his native instincts.

The journey occupied perhaps a quarter of an hour. Then a low spoken order came from the Indian.

"Charley tak' him," was all he said, and Kars, obediently, shipped his paddle.

Then came an exhibition of canoeing which rewarded the white men for their faith in their disreputable henchman. Charley played with the light craft in the great volume of stream as a feather might yield to a gentle breeze. The canoe sidled in to the sh.o.r.e through a threatening shoal of rocky outcrop, and the first stage of the journey was completed.

The second stage began after the little craft had been lifted and placed high above the water's level. Scarcely a word was spoken as the various articles were taken out of it, and matters were adjusted.

There was nothing slipshod in the arrangements. Every precaution was taken. These men knew, only too well, the hazard of their undertaking, and the necessity for provision against emergency.

The profound darkness was their cover. It was also their danger.

There was no light anywhere under the clouded sky. The northern lights were hidden, and not even a star was visible. It was what they desired, what they needed. But the gaping jaws of the profound gorge might easily form a trap for their undoing.

Charley led the way over the rocks, and the murmur of cascading waters greeted the white men's ears. It was another of those draining waterways which scored the rock-bound river. The sound of the water grew as they approached its outlet. Then, in a moment, it seemed they were swallowed up by an inky blackness.

Charley came to a halt and uncoiled the rawhide rope which he had taken from the canoe. He paid it out, and pa.s.sed one end of it to his boss.

He fastened the other end about his waist. Half-way down its length Bill took possession of it. It was a guiding life-line so that those behind him should not lose the trail. Then the upward struggle began.

It was a fierce effort, as Charley's information had indicated. It was a blind climb surrounded by every pitfall conceivable. The white men had recollections of a climb of lesser degree, in full daylight, on the far sh.o.r.e of the river. It had taken something like an hour of tremendous effort. The difficulties and danger of it had been incomparable with their present task. Not once, but a dozen times the life-line was the saving clause for these men who had studied nature's book in the northern wilderness from end to end. And none realized better than they how much reliance they were placing in the hands of the untutored Indian who was guiding them.

Never for a moment was Charley at a loss. His movements were precise, definite. He threaded his way amongst tree-trunks and a tangle of undergrowth with a certainty that never faltered. He surmounted jutting, slippery crags as though broad daylight marked out for him the better course. There were moments when he stood on the brink of a black abyss into which heavy waters fell to a depth of thirty or forty feet. But always he held the life-line so that the course lay clear behind him for those who had to follow.

So the struggle went on. Higher and higher; up, up to what seemed immeasurable heights. Always was there the threat of the water at hand, a warning and a constant fear, as well as the main guide. There was not a moment when life and limb were not threatened. It was only the pliability of the moccasins, which each man was wearing, that made the journey possible. It gave them foothold at times where no foothold seemed possible. It was, as Charley had warned them, "much climb."

But the task had been contemplated by minds tuned to great purpose.

Nor was there anything in the nature of the northern world that could daunt that purpose. Bill might have found complaint to offer in the cool contemplation of his philosophic mind, but the nature of him defied all better sense, and drove him to a resolution as stubborn and invincible as that of Kars himself. And Kars had no other thought but of the objective to be gained. Only physical disaster could stop him.

So his whole strength was flung into the melting pot of achievement.

The Indian had no other feeling than the pride of a brief leadership.

The aboriginal in him was intensely stirred. Here he was in his native element. Here he could teach the great man who was, in his curiously warped mind, far above all others. Besides, was there not at the end to be a satisfaction of all the savage instincts in him? He knew the Bell River neches, whom he hated so cordially in common with all others of his race, were to be outwitted, defeated. And his share in that outwitting was to be a large one, and would only go to prove further what a contemptible thing the neche really was.

So he brought to his aid all those faculties which he owed to his forebears, and which had been practised in the purposes of his crooked youth. Nor had he the wit to understand that the "contemptible" Indian in him was serving him to the limit in this effort he was putting forth.