The Homesteaders: A Novel of the Canadian West

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE FIGHT IN THE FOOTHILLS

  While Allan sat in the little cabin he gradually became oppressedwith a sense of great loneliness. From time to time he looked at theface of his sleeping father, and suddenly the knowledge struck himlike a knife that it was the face of an old man. He had never thoughtof him as an old man before, but as he lay on the rough floor,sleeping soundly after his long drive, there was something in theform that told of advancing years, and Allan could see plainly thedeepening furrows in his strong, still handsome face. As he looked avast tenderness mingled with his loneliness; he would have stoopedand caressed him had he not feared to disturb his slumbers. Allan'slove for his father was that of man to man rather than son to parent;it was the only deep passion of his young life, and it ran with afulness that could not be checked. Of his mother he thought withkindliness, tinged with regret that all had not of late been quite asit should be in their domestic circle; toward his sister he felt avague longing and uneasiness, and a new feeling which had taken rootthat afternoon that perhaps after all she was right in seeking tolive her life as she would; but it was to his father that his greatemotion turned. He looked upon the sleeping man now, with the wealthof a lifetime's labour at his side, and the bond of trust andconfidence between them seemed so tight it brought the moisture tohis eyes. He thought of the past years; of their labour on the farmtogether--hard labour, but always relieved by their comradeship andmutual ambitions. A hundred half-forgotten incidents came to mind, inall of which his father was companion and chum rather than parent andcorrector. And after all, hadn't it been worth while? Had not they,in their way, really given expression to their lives as best theycould in the black, earth-smelling furrows, in the scent of tallowy,straw-aromaed steam from their engine, or the wet night-perfume ofripening wheat? How those old smells beat up from the mysteriouschambers of memory and intoxicated his nostrils with fondness and agreat sense of having, in some few hallowed moments, dove-tailed hisown career into the greater purpose of creation! Allan did notanalyze these thoughts and memories, or try to fit them into words,but they brought to him a consciousness of having lived--of havingknown some experiences that were not altogether material andtemporal.

  And then his memory carried him still furthe back--back to the dayswhen he was a little child, and in the mirror of the darkness hecould see his own small figure trudging in the track of the ploughand hanging to the rein-ends that dropped from the knot on hisfather's ample back. Back to the old sod shanty, with its sweet smellof comfort when the snow beat against the little window and the windroared in the rattling stove-pipe, and his mother sat by the fire andplied her flying needles. What wonderful times they were, and whatwonderful dreams in the little, thoughtful child-mind just catchingthe first glimmerings of life! Could it be this old cabin, theserotting logs, this earthy floor, that were stirring memory cellsasleep for twenty years? He would not allow his mind to be drawn intospeculation--the thing was the remembrance, now, when it was offeredhim. Old lullabies stole into his brain; a deep peace compassed him,and consciousness faded thinner and thinner into the sea of theinfinite...

  Allan sat up in a sudden, cold chill of terror. Had he been asleep?What cold breath of dread had crossed his path? He was no coward; thesense of fear was almost unknown lo him, but now it enveloped him,stifled him, set his teeth chattering and his limbs quaking. He hadheard nothing, seen nothing. The gun was in his hands as it had lainwhen last he remembered it; his father slept by his side, and nearthe wall lay the precious satchel. And yet he shook in absolute,unreasoning, unfounded terror. His eyes wandered from the lantern tothe door--to the blanket hanging limply in the door; and there theystared and stayed as though held in the spell of a serpent.Subconsciously, certainly without any direction of will of his own,he raised the shot-gun to his shoulder and kept it trained on thesagging blanket...The blanket seemed to move! It swayed at first asthough a light breeze had touched it, and yet not as though a breezehad touched it. The impulse seemed too far up--about the height of aman's shoulder. The blood had gone from Allan's face; he was as onein a trance, obeying some iron law outside the realm of the will andthe reason. He cocked his gun and tightened his finger on thetrigger, and watched...And then, so plain that it must have beenreal, he saw stealthy fingers feeling their way about the blanket.

  Then Allan fired.

  In an instant he was wide awake, and wondering terribly what hadhappened. The explosion blew out the lantern, and the building was inutter darkness. His father was clambering to his feet with "Allan,what is it? What is it, Allan?" The blanket had been torn from itshangings as by a heavy weight, and something was writhing in it inthe doorway. Allan sprang up and would have rushed upon it, but inthe darkness he collided with another man. His fingers found hisadversary's arm and ran up it to his throat, but before they couldfasten in a fatal grip there was another flash of light, and a hotpang stabbed him in the breast. There was a strange gurgling in hislungs, a choking in his throat, a spinning dizziness in his head, ashe staggered over the mass in the doorway and fell into the night.

  Gardiner had reached the window just in time to see Allan's guntrained on the doorway. For an instant he stood dumfounded; there wassomething uncanny in the sight of the young man sitting there insilent, absolute readiness for the attack. He drew back to warnRiles, but he was too late. At that moment the gun spoke; there wasthe sound of a heavy body falling, and stifled noises bore ampleevidence of the accuracy of Allan's aim. But even in that moment ofuncertainty Gardiner had not lost thought of their purpose, and hisquick eye took in the sleeping form of John Harris and the locationof the leather bag beside the wall. Without an instant's hesitationhe vaulted through the window and, revolver in hand, began to stealhis way softly toward the treasure.

  He had not taken three steps when Allan plunged full force into him.He staggered with the shock, but recovered himself only to find theyoung farmer's strong fingers clutching for his throat. It had beenno part of Gardiner's plan that there should be bloodshed in thecarrying out of the robbery, but he was a man of quick decision, whoaccepted conditions as he found them... A slight pressure on thetrigger, and Allan fell, coughing, through the door.

  Gardiner retained his sense of location, and slipped silently to thewall. Harris was rushing about the rotten floor in the darkness,crying, "What is it, Allan? For God's sake, what has happened? Areyou shot?" and for his own noise he could not hear Gardiner'sstealthy movements. Gardiner's hand fell on a log of the wall, andhis keen fingers traced their way along it. Five steps, he judged,and the bag would be at his feet. At the fifth step his toe touchedan object on the floor; he leaned over and raised the booty in hishand.

  By this time his eyes had responded to the intense darkness, and hecould discern a square of greyer gloom where the window admitted thenight. He moved rapidly and silently toward it, but almost with thelast step his foot slipped through a broken spot on the floor, and hestaggered and fell. The revolver was thrown from his grasp, but hewas able to pitch the bag through the window as he crashed to thefloor.

  The sound arrested Harris, and before Gardiner could extricatehimself the farmer was upon him. At first he seemed to think it wasAllan, and felt about in the darkness without attempting to defendhimself. This gave Gardiner an opportunity; he was able to clasp hisarms about Harris's shins, and, with a quick turn of the body, casthis adversary headlong to the floor. At the same moment he freedhimself from his entanglement and made another dash for the window.

  But Harris, still numbed from his heavy sleep, now realized that somekind of tragedy had occurred, and guessed enough to believe thatAllan was a victim. From his prostrate position, with one powerfulleg he interrupted Gardiner's flight, and the next moment the two menwere rolling on the floor in each other's arms. Harris was much thestronger man of the two, but Gardiner was active and had some skillin wrestling. Besides, Harris had been taken wholly by surprise, andhad no idea who his antagonist was, while Gardiner had full knowledgeof all the circumstances,
and the struggle was less uneven than mighthave been supposed. Inwardly cursing the luck that had thrown therevolver from his hand, Gardiner sought in the darkness for hisadversary's throat, nose, or eyes. Harris, seizing the younger man bythe waist, lifted him bodily from the floor and crashed him downagain upon it, but the next instant Gardiner had one of his hands inboth of his, and, bringing his knee down with great force on Harris'selbow, compelled him, at the risk of a broken arm, to turn facedownwards on the floor. Gardiner again wrenched violently to breakfree, but Harris's grip was too much for him, so with the quicknessand fury of a tiger he threw himself upon the farmer's back andwrapped his free arm about his throat. With his air partially cut offHarris released the grip of his other hand, and Gardiner instantlytook advantage of this move to bring both arms to bear on Harris'sthroat. Things began to go badly with the farmer; face downwards onthe floor, he was unable to shake his adversary off, and was losingstrength rapidly with his choking. Gardiner no longer sought anopportunity to break away; his blood was up and he was in the fightto the finish, ruled at last by his heart instead of his head. Had hebeen content merely to retain his present advantage, unconsciousnesswould soon have overcome his victim, but he tried to improve hisgrip, and the attempt proved disastrous. His thumb, seeking bettervantage, fell into Harris's gasping mouth. Harris was no moredepraved than most of mankind, but when fighting for life, andchoking to death in the hands of an unknown enemy, he was ready toseize any advantage, and with a great effort he brought his jawstogether upon the intruder.

  With a yell of pain Gardiner sprang to his feet, jerking the farmerinto a half-sitting posture as he did so, and Harris, with a greatgasp for air, relinquished his sudden and unexpected advantage. ButGardiner's head was again in command; he rushed through the door,half falling over the obstruction as he went, and in an instant waslost in the gloom of the night.

  For some minutes Harris lay on the floor, recovering his breath. Asthe oxygen welled back into his lungs he began to realize that, savefor his choking, he was unhurt. With returning strength his thoughtreverted to Allan, and, calling the boy's name, he sprang to hisfeet. The first thing was to get a light. He found matches in hispocket, struck one, and peered eagerly into the gloom as itsflickering flame beat back the darkness. A blanket, rolled andstained, lay in the doorway, and within it was a figure that mightonce have been a man. Harris's heart almost stopped at the sight:"Allan," he gasped, "my boy, Allan!" He tiptoed across the crumblingfloor toward it, holding the match before him. A man's boot and partof a trouser leg protruded from the mass. He held the match downward,leaning over them. They were not Allan's.

  "Thank God," he murmured, swelling with a great hope, "thank God forthat."

  He struck another match and found the lantern. When he had lighted ithe surveyed the little building, and saw Allan's gun lying at the endfarthest from the door. Not until that moment did he think of themoney. Allan had been uppermost in his mind, and when he thought ofAllan money was no consideration. But now a great wave ofunderstanding rushed in upon him. Yes, the bag was gone. They hadbeen attacked by robbers. Knowledge of their expedition had in someway got to evil ears, and while he slept Allan had been set upon. Theboy had emptied his gun--the huddled mass in the doorway told thattale plainly enough--but other robbers had seized the cash and Allanhad pursued them empty-handed. They had fired at him as he rushedfrom the building--that was the flash he saw a few seconds after thefirst loud report. He was not quite clear as to his own share in thefight, but he saw the general plan of it plainly enough. He began towonder what had happened to Gardiner and Riles. Had they been shotdown as they wound through the woods? This was evidently the work ofa gang prepared to stop at nothing. Harris never for a momentsuspected his old neighbour of treachery. He was himself a hard,grasping, money-seeking man, but he had a code of honour none theless, and within its limitations none was more honourable than he. Tohave done what Riles had done would have been quite impossible forJohn Harris, and because it was impossible for him its possibilityfor Riles never suggested itself.

  Harris had not yet fully realized the loss of his money. It wasovershadowed by the more tragic events of which one evidence laybefore him. His anxiety for Allan loomed larger in his mind, althoughhe had little doubt the boy would take proper care of himself, and,even if unarmed, would come back with the money and perhaps with aprisoner. The fact that Allan had not taken his gun was reassuring;if there had been any great danger he would not have left it behind.But he must get out now and aid in the search.

  As he reached this decision his eye caught a gleam of somethingshining on the floor. He walked to it and found a revolver, fullyloaded except for one chamber, which had been discharged. "This isevidence," said he--"important evidence." Harris had all the OldOntario contempt for this kind of weapon, and knew comparativelylittle about it, but he concluded from its appearance that it wasalmost new. As he examined it his eye fell on the initials, "J. T.,"cut in the grip.

  "J. T.," he said to himself. "J. T. Those initials seem familiar.I'll just leave this thing where I found it, until the police seeit."

  Replacing the weapon on the floor, he stole out of the cabin,avoiding the silent obstruction in the doorway. Outside he stood fora moment undecided. The circle of light from his lantern might beaconAllan back to the shanty, but it would also prove a signal to therobbers, if they were still in the vicinity. The night was now verydark, clouds having obscured the stars, and an occasional big drop ofrain spat about him. The roar of water came up from the valleys, butabove or through that roar suddenly he fancied he heard a sound fromthe bushes near at hand. He held his breath and listened intently. Hehalf wished he had brought the revolver with him. Yes, there it wasagain--a human sound, beyond question, half groan, half gurgle. Heturned in the direction from which it came and stole quietly forward.Half-a-dozen yards from the building the light revealed, first ashadow, and then a figure lying on the ground. With some trepidationHarris approached. The man's arms had been extended when he fell, andhis coat was thrown over his head. Harris stooped and drew it downover the shoulders exposing the face.

  It was Allan.

  The first shock of the revelation almost stopped the heart of the oldfarmer, and he sat back as one dazed, unable to accept the testimonyof his own eyes. Then came a panic of uncertainty, and he fell uponthe boy, groping wildly for his heart, and at last pressing upon itin an agony of fear...Yes, the beat was there, faint and uneven, butunmistakable. With a sudden surge of returning hope he brought hisear down to the open mouth, fringed with light red foam, and couldhear the air labouring in the ravaged lungs. Then came that humansound, half gurgle, half groan; but to Harris, in the reaction fromhis first paralyzing fear, it was as very music from heaven. His boystill lived, and still should live.

  Tenderly he turned the body to a more comfortable position, layinghis folded coat beneath the head for a pillow. He loosened the shirtabout the neck, and far down the heaving chest saw the sodden redthat marked his wound. Rain fell in scattered drops, and he broughtanother blanket from the cabin, caring little now for the silent formin the doorway in the sudden shadow of his greater tragedy. He spreadthe blanket over the wounded boy, and sat down by his side, caressinghis temples with his big fingers, and wondering what to do next.

  As he sat the helplessness of his position grew upon him. He was deepin the foothills, many miles, as far as he knew, from the home of anysettler. In daylight he could, no doubt, find his way back to town,but daylight might be too late. He did not know whether Allan wasdying on his hands at that moment. Certainly to attempt to move himin the buggy would be dangerous in the extreme.

  And as he sat he thought of the missing money, the fruit of hislife's labour, snatched from him in a moment in the darkness. Theloss did not hurt him as deeply as he might have thought; he wasnumbed by the greater blow that hung over him. If Allan would onlylive!...The boy had been his constant companion since babyhood. Allhis hopes, all his ambitions, which had found their expression in hisyears of feve
rish toil, had been wrapped about Allan. He had no oneelse...His better self revolted at that thought. "You have a wife anddaughter," it said, "ready to share your life as soon as you areready to share theirs." He forced his mind from that phase of hisposition, but it reverted to it again and again. He could not wanderin memory up the path of his boy's life without meeting his boy'smother. And all the pain and unhappiness of the later years--how itcut like an evil bank of fog across the once bright course of theircareer! But he had suffered for their sakes, holding fast to his owncourse because he knew it to be best...Best? And it had brought himto this?...The question would not down. Rather than relax an iotafrom his own purposes he had broken up his family; he had crushedthem under the wheels of his inflexible will, and now that same willhad driven his son to destruction and himself to ruin.

  It is not easy for a man who has laid out a career and followed itwith all the energy of a virile nature, recasting his gods from timeto time to conform with the evolution of his ideals, but recastingalways in the mould of his own will rather than any vessel of creedor persuasion--it is not easy for such a man to stop at fifty andsay, "I was wrong." It requires a break in his process of evolution,a shock sufficiently powerful to pulverize his gods before his face,to drive home the truth that they were not gods at all but merelyidols of his own creation. In Harris's later life two idols had grownup to the exclusion of all others; they were the wealth which he hadbuilded with his hands and the boy Allan about whom he wrapped allthe affection of his nature; and they had crumbled to dust even whilehe worshipped.

  He found a flask thrown from some camper's pack, and filled it withwater at the mountain stream that rushed by a few rods below thecabin. He placed the liquid to the boy's lips and fancied that somedrops found entrance. He had staunched the wound as best he couldwith fragments torn from the lining of his coat, and he sat downagain to watch. Until morning he could do nothing more. Then somecamper, lumberman, or surveyor might happen along the road. If not,he would have to move Allan at all risks.

  It took time for him to realize the utterness with which his planshad collapsed. As the night wore on he was able to weigh his disasterin a more balanced mind, but its magnitude grew in the weighing. Fromprosperous ambition he had been swept in an hour to penniless ruin.His destruction was almost complete. The old farm, the scene of hislabours--his and Mary's--was gone. If Allan should die there remainednothing more.

  Suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the clayroad along the hillside, now softened with the light rain. The soundceased as suddenly as it began, and it occurred to him that it mightbe one of the robbers returning. The lantern was burning low, but asa precaution he now turned it quite out. There were some cartridgesin Allan's pocket; he felt for them and decided to bring the gun outof the cabin. But before he could put this decision into effect heobserved the form of a man moving silently but briskly toward thecabin. He held his breath and remained obscured in the bushes. Dimlyhe discerned the form stop at the door and peer into the darkness.

  There was no doubt in the mind of Harris as to the evil intent of thevisitor. He had come on horseback near the building, and had thendismounted and stole up to it on foot. That, in itself wassufficiently incriminating. One who was riding through the mountainson a legitimate errand, and who knew nothing of the night's affray,would take no such precautions. Unarmed as he was, Harris resolvedthat the robber, probably the murderer of his son, should not on anyaccount escape him. With the blanket which he had brought to coverAllan was a bag in which they had carried oats for their horses; thishe found in the darkness, and stole after his victim. He overtook himstanding at the door, in apparent hesitancy whether to enter thebuilding. Without an instant's warning Harris threw the bag about hishead, and with a quick twist of his powerful wrist had his prisonersecurely gagged. Throwing him violently to the ground, he tied thesack in a hard knot, and, despite all struggles, dragged him back towhere Allan lay. Here he relighted the lantern, and, cutting part ofthe blanket into strips with his pocket-knife, securely tied hiscaptive hand and foot. At first the prisoner tried to talk, but hecould not speak intelligibly through the closely-drawn sack, andpresently he gave up and lay in silence in the wet grass. And againthe leaden night wore on, broken only by occasional gurglings in thethroat of Allan, or futile struggles by the prisoner. Harris feltlittle curiosity concerning the identity of the man in gags beforehim, or the victim of Allan's gun in the doorway. They were absolutestrangers to him, and he even feared that if he should look into theface of the one that still lived his anger over the assault uponAllan would burst all bounds and he would kill his victim on thespot. He was slowly forced to the conclusion that Riles and Gardinerhad also met with foul play, and that no help was now to be expectedfrom that quarter. The light rain had drifted past, and bright starsgleamed through great rents in the shattered clouds. The gibbousmoon, too, looked down, and its cold light intensified the shadows.The night grew colder, and Harris spread his own outer garments uponhis son, and at last lay down with Allan in his arms that he mightcommunicate heat from his body to the struggling frame so sorelyrobbed of blood. And even in his distress and his terrific fear forAllan there came some reminiscence of old delight at the feel of theboy's limbs against his, and fleet-footed memory ran back again tothe childhood of Allan. But on its way it met the childhood ofBeulah, and conjured up the mother-face leaning in tenderness overthe sick-beds of infancy. And John Harris buried his face in theheaving chest of his child and wept in his grief and loneliness.

  Just as the first bars of grey in the eastern sky proclaimedapproaching dawn, the sound of horse's hoofs came distinctly up thevalley. Harris drew himself into a sitting posture, and listened.Allan was still breathing, and apparently with less effort thanearlier in the night. The sound of the horse came nearer and nearer.At last it was in the road just below, and a moment later would havepassed by had not Harris called out. His voice sounded strange anddistant in his own ears, and cost him an unwonted effort.

  Sergeant Grey instantly swung his horse from the road and,dismounting, proceeded in the direction of the voice.

  Harris told his story with such coherence as he could. He and his sonhad come up into the hills to arrange for the purchase of a propertywhich they had become interested in through a third party, Gardiner.They carried with them a large sum of money as proof of the sincerityof their intentions. At this little cabin they were to be joined byGardiner and by another, named Riles, who also was taking an interestin the property. As they waited in the cabin, and as he, Harris,slept after his long drive, they were suddenly set upon by outlaws.Allan shot one down--the body still lay in the doorway--but washimself badly wounded, and had not spoken since. Harris hadencountered another, but after a severe fight the robber had escaped.The little black bag in which the money was carried was gone with allits contents. Although he had waited all night in great anxiety,Gardiner and Riles had failed to appear, and it could only besupposed that they too had met with foul play. But some hours afterthe assault one of the party had returned, dismounted from his horseat some distance, and stolen softly up to the shanty. Harris hadfollowed him, and, taking him by surprise, had been able to make himprisoner.

  Sergeant Grey looked from Harris to Allan, and then to the prisoner,who seemed to lie in a semi-conscious condition amid his bonds andgags.

  "You were foolish to come into the hills with so much money alone,"he said. "I would have been at your service for the asking, and thiswould not have happened. But now that it has happened, the firstthing is to provide for the wounded man, and the next is to placethis suspect in custody. And you will need some toning up yourselfafter your night's experience. Then we will have a fullinvestigation. I know a rancher's house a few miles down the valleywhere you and your son will have the best attention."

  The mounted policeman made a brief examination of Allan, as best hecould in the grey dawn, for the lantern now had no oil. "He has notbled very much," he said, "He has a strong frame and ought to have afighting c
hance. I will just have a look at the scene of the crime,and then we will move him."

  He made a hurried survey of the cabin, merely satisfying himself thatthe man in the doorway was quite dead, and then, with Harris'sassistance, quickly found the horses and harnessed them to the buggy.He also found another horse near the roadway, saddled and bridled."We will make the prisoner ride his own horse," he said, "while youtake your son in the buggy."

  They placed the wounded and still unconscious Allan in the buggy asgently as they could, and then Grey gave his attention to theprisoner. Having searched his clothing for weapons, he cut away thebonds that securely held his arms and feet, and released the sackfrom his half-choked throat. The man writhed and gasped for freshair, and the policeman drew the sack away and revealed the face ofJim Travers.