Connie Morgan in Alaska
CHAPTER XX
THE DESERTER
Connie Morgan opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. Then, instantly hebecame wide awake, with a strange, indescribable feeling that all wasnot well. Waseche Bill stirred uneasily in his sleep and through thecracks about the edges of the blanket-hung window and beneath the door adull grey light showed. The boy frowned as he tossed back his robes anddrew on his _mukluks_. This was the day they were to hit the trail andO'Brien should have had the fire going and called him early. Suddenlythe boy paused and stared hard at the cold stove, and then at the floorbeside the stove--at the spot where O'Brien's blankets and robes shouldhave shown an untidy heap in the dull light of morning. Lightning-like,his glance flew to the place at the base of the wall where the Irishmankept his gold--but the blankets and robes were gone, and the gold wasgone, and O'Brien--? Swiftly the boy flew to the door--the big sled wasmissing, the harness, and McDougall's dogs were gone, and O'Brien wasnowhere to be seen!
For a long, long time the boy stood staring out over the dim trail ofthe river and then with clenched fists he stepped again into the room. Ahurried inspection of the pack showed that the man had taken most of theremaining fish and considerable of the food, also Waseche Bill's riflewas missing from its place in the far corner. With tight-pressed lips,Connie laid the fire in the little stove and watched dumbly as the tinyyellow sparks shot upward past the holes in the rusty pipe. Vainly themind of the boy strove to grasp the situation, but his lips formed onlythe words which he repeated over and over again, as if seeking theirimport:
"He's gone--he's gone--O'Brien's gone." He could not understand it.Among the dwellers in the great white land the boy had known only menwhose creed was to stick together until the end. From the hour he firstset foot upon the dock at Anvik, to this very moment, with the singleexception of the little rat-faced man at Ten Bow, the boy had learned tolove the big men of the North--men whose vices were ruggedvices--flaunting and unashamed and brutish, perhaps--but men, any one ofwhom would face privation, want, and toil--death itself--with a laugh inhis teeth for the privilege of helping a friend--and who would fight todivide his last ounce of bacon with his enemy. For not by rule oflife--but life itself men live upon the edges of the world, where littlelikes and hates are forgotten, and all stand shoulder to shoulderagainst their common enemy--the North! These were the men the boy hadknown. And now, for the first time, he was confronted by another kind ofman--a man so yellow that, rather than face the perils and hardships ofthe trail, he had deserted those who had rescued him from a band ofsavages--and not only deserted, but had taken with him the only meansby which the others could hope to reach civilization, and had left awounded man and a little boy to die in the wilderness--bushed!
The dull soul-hurt of the boy flashed into swift anger and, flingingopen the door, he shook a small fist toward the south.
"My dad followed British Kronk eight hundred milesthrough the snow before he caught him--and then--you just wait."]
"You cur!" he shouted. "You dirty cur! You _piker_! You think you'vefixed us--but you wait! They say my dad followed British Kronk eighthundred miles through the snow before he caught him--and then--_you justwait!_ You tried to starve Waseche!"
"Heah! Heah! What's all this?" asked the man, who had raised himself tohis elbow upon the bunk. The boy faced him:
"He's beat it!" he choked. "He swiped Mac's dogs and breezed!" for amoment the man stared uncomprehendingly:
"Yo' mean O'Brien--he's _gone_?"
"Yes, he's gone! And so are the dogs, and the sled, and your rifle, andhis robes, and his gold!"
"How about the grub?" asked Waseche. "Did he take that, too?"
"Only about a third of it--he's travelling light." For a fleetinginstant the boy caught the gleam of Waseche's eyes, and then the gleamwas gone and the man's lips smiled.
"Sho', now," he drawled. "Sho', now." The drawl was studied, and thevoice was low and very steady--too low and steady, thought the boy--andshivered.
"Neveh yo' mind, son. We-all ah all right. Jest yo' keep on a huntin'an' a fetchin' in rabbits an' ptarmigan, an' such like, an' now thesnow's hahdened, me'be yo'll get a crack at a moose oah a caribou. Theheahd ort to pass somewhehs neah heah soon. We'll jest lay up heah an'wait fo' the break-up, an' then we'll build us a raft an' go akitin'down to the Yukon--an' then--" The voice suddenly hardened, and againthe gleam was in the grey eyes, but the man ceased speaking abruptly.
"And then--what?" asked Connie, as he studied his partner's face. Theman laughed.
"Why, then--then we-all c'n go back to Ten Bow--to _home_! But, comenow, le's eat breakfast. We-all got to go light on the grub. Come on outof that, yo' li'l ol' _tillicum_, standin' theah in the do' shakin' yo'fist! Puts me in mind of a show I seen onct down to Skagway, in theopery house: Julia See's Ah, I rec'lect was the name of it, an' they wasa lot of fist shakin' an' fancy speeches by the men, which they wasGreasers oah Dagoes that woah sheets wropped around 'em, 'stead of pantsan' shirts. They was one fellow, See's Ah, his name was--it was him theshow was about. Neah as we-all c'd figgeh, he was a mighty good soht ofa pahty, a king oah pres'dent, oah somethin', an' he had a friend, nameof Brutish, that he'd done a heap fo', an' helped along, an' thought aheap of; an' anotheh friend name of Mahk Antony. Well, seems like thisheah Brutish got soah at See's Ah, I didn't rightly get what fo'--but itdon't make no dif'ence--anyhow, he got a fellow name of Cashus, an' acouple mo' scoundrels an' they snuck up on See's Ah when he worn'tlookin' an' stabbed him in the back. It sho' made us mad, an' we-allyelled at See's Ah to look out, 'cause we seen 'em fingehin' theahknives in undeh theah sheets--but he didn't get what we was drivin' at,an' when he did look it was too late. We waited a spell while the showwent on, to see what Mahk Antony, See's Ah's otheh friend, w'd do toBrutish an' his gang--but he jest hung around makin' fancy speeches an'such-like until we-all got plumb disgusted." Waseche Bill paused untilConnie, who had been listening eagerly, grew impatient.
"Well, what _did_ he do?"
"Nawthin'," replied the man. "We done it fo' him. Cou'se, it was only ashow, an' they didn't really kill See's Ah, but we-all didn't like theidee, an' so when we seen Mahk didn't aim to do nawthin' but orate,we-all let a yell out of us an' run up the aisle an' clim' onto thestage an' grabbed Brutish an' Cashus an' Mahk Antony, too, an' run 'emdown an' chucked 'em into the Lynn Canal. It was winteh, an' the watehwas cold, an' we soused 'em good an' propeh, an' when they got out theysnuck onto theah boat an' we-all went back to the opery house an' gotSee's Ah, an' tuck him oveh to the _ho_tel an' give him a rousin' bigsuppeh an' told him how we was all fo' him an' he c'd count on a squeahdeal in Skagway every time. An' Grub Stake John Billin's give him asix-shooteh an' showed him how he c'd hide it in undeh his sheet an' layfo' 'em next time they snuck up on him that-a-way. See's Ah thanked usall an' we walked down to the boat with him in case Brutish an' his gangaimed to waylay him. An' then he made us a fine speech an' went on upthe gangway laughin' an' chucklin' fit to kill at the way he'd suhprisethem theah assinatehs next time they ondehtook to stick him in theback." Waseche Bill finished, and after a long pause Connie asked:
"And O'Brien reminds you of Brutish?"
"Yes, son. An' I was jest a wondehin' what the boys'll do to him down inEagle when they see Mac's dawgs, an' ask him how come he to have 'em,an' wheah yo' an' me is at. Yo' see, son, Big Jim Sontag an' Joe an'Fiddle Face, an' a lot mo' of the boys was down to Skagway that night."
In the little cabin on the Kandik the days dragged slowly by. Waseche'sleg mended slowly, and despite the boy's most careful attention,remained swollen and discoloured. Connie hunted during every minute ofdaylight that could be spared from his camp duties, but game was scarce,and although the boy tramped miles and miles each day, his bag waspitifully small. A snowbird or a ptarmigan now and then fell to hisrifle and he found that it required the utmost care to keep from blowinghis game to atoms with the high-power rifle. How he longed for a shotgunor a twenty-two calibre rifle as he dragged himself wearily over theha
rd crust of the snow. The cold weather had driven the ground squirrelsinto their holes and even the rabbits stuck close to cover. The boy setsnares made from an old piece of fishline, but the night-prowlingwolverines robbed them, as the line was too rotten for jerk snares.
The partners were reduced to one meal a day, now, and that a very scantyone. Day after day the boy circled into the woods, and day by day thecircle shortened. He was growing weak, and was forced often to rest, andthe buckle tongue of his belt rested in a knife slit far beyond the lasthole.
Tears stood in Waseche Bill's eyes as each day he noted that the littleface was thinner and whiter than upon the preceding day, and that thelittle shoulders drooped lower as the boy returned from his hunt andsat wearily down upon the floor to pluck the feathers from a smallsnowbird.
On the morning of the tenth day, Connie bravely shouldered his rifle andwith a cheery "Good-bye, pardner" carefully closed the door behind him.Old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher had managed to eke out a scant living byrunning rabbits at night, but they were little more than skin and bones,at best, and during the day lay huddled together in the sunshine nearthe cabin. As the boy passed out into the cold, clear air he noticedthat the dogs were gone from their accustomed place.
"That's funny," he thought. "I wonder if they pulled out, too?" Andthen, as if ashamed of the thought, he jerked his shoulders erect. "Notby a long shot! Those dogs will stick with us till the end! They are nopikers! They're _tillicums_!"
Suddenly, from far down the river, came a clear, bell-like howl,followed by a chorus of frantic yelps and savage growls.
"My dogs!" cried the boy and, gripping his rifle, made his way down thesteep bank and out upon the hard crust of the river. On and on he ran,in the direction of the sounds that came from beyond a sharp, woodedbend. The ice was slippery but uneven, and studded with sharp points offrozen snow that cut cruelly into his feet through the holes of his worn_mukluks_. In his weakened condition the effort was a serious drain uponthe boy's strength, but he kept on running, stumbling, slipping--and inmore places than one his footsteps were marked by dark patches of red.Around the wooded bend he tore and there, upon the smooth ice of abackwater pool, stood a huge bull moose, which, with lowered antlers andbristling mane, fought off the savage attacks of the three dogs. Againand again the dogs charged the great animal, whose hoofs slippedclumsily upon the ice with each movement of the huge body. Round andround they circled, seeking a chance to dash in past those broadantlers, but with blazing eyes the moose faced them, turning swiftlybut awkwardly, as upon an uncentred pivot, while the breath whistledthrough his distended nostrils and spread into frozen plumes. So intentwas the great beast upon the attack of the dogs that he gave no heed tothe small boy who gazed spellbound upon this battle of the wilds. For along time Connie stood, entirely forgetful of the rifle that remainedfirmly clutched in his hands, and as he watched, a wave of admirationand sympathy swept over him for this huge monarch of the barren landsthat, in his own fastnesses, stood at bay against the gleaming whitefangs of his tormentors. Then into his brain leaped anotherthought--here was meat! Half a ton of good red meat that meant life tohis starving partner, to himself, and to his three beloved dogs. Slowlyand deliberately the boy dropped to his knee and raised his rifle. Thesights wavered to the trembling of his hands and, summoning all thepower that was in him, he concentrated upon the steadying of his aim.
_Bang!_ The sound of the shot rang sharp and clear through the coldair, and the moose, with a loud snort, reared upward, whirled, and fellcrashing upon his side, while his powerful legs, with their sharp hoofs,thrashed and clawed at the ice. Instantly Slasher was at his throat, andold Boris and Mutt rushed blindly in, snapping and biting at the great,hairy body. Hastily jamming a fresh cartridge into his barrel, Conniesprang forward, and with muzzle held close, placed a finishing shot lowdown behind the point of the shoulder. But the strain upon his poorlynourished body had been too great for the boy to stand. The long rundown the river and the excitement of the kill had taxed his endurance tothe limit. A strange weakness seemed dragging at his limbs, pulling himdown, down, down into some vast, intangible depth. Mechanically he drewthe knife from its sheath and dragged himself to the body of the moose,and then, suddenly, the world went dark, and he seemed to be whirling,easily and slowly, into a place of profound silence. And almost at thesame moment, around another bend of the river, from the direction ofthe Yukon, dashed a long, tawny dog team, and another, and another, andwith a wild yell of joy, O'Brien, red whiskers ablaze in the sunlight,leaped from the foremost sled and gathered the unconscious form of theboy into his arms; while beside him, all talking at once and hamperingeach other's movements in their frantic efforts to revive the boy, wereFiddle Face, and Joe, and Big Jim Sontag, and others of the men ofEagle.
"Mechanically he drew the knife from its sheath anddragged himself to the body of the moose."]
Slowly Connie Morgan opened his eyes and gazed, puzzled, into thebearded faces of the men of the North. His glance rested upon the faceof O'Brien peering anxiously into his own, and strayed to the dogs ofthe leading team--McDougall's dogs--and to the sleds loaded withprovisions, and then, with the tears streaming from his eyes, the boystruggled to his feet and a small hand shot out and grasped the rough,hairy hand of O'Brien--_the deserter who came back!_