CHAPTER X
THE RUSH OUTFIT
"Curse 'em!"
Ian Ross raised a hand and swept it across the back of his muscularneck. Then he wiped his palm on his cord breeches leaving there thestain of his own blood, and the crushed remains of hundreds ofmosquitoes.
"Get a look at that," he cried, in genial disgust.
The man riding at his side turned and laughed without mirth. His eyesremained serious.
"Sure," he said indifferently. "We've got to get 'em, this time of year,Doc. We need a head breeze."
"Got to get? What we're getting is hell--plumb hell," exploded theScotsman.
The other nodded.
"Sure. But there's worse hell on the trail, and it isn't us who's gotit."
The rebuke was without offence. But it was sufficient. In a moment Rosswas flung headlong back to the haunting thoughts of the great effort heand his companion were engaged upon.
"Another day--and no sign," he said.
"No."
There was no great display, yet the doctor's words, and the monosyllabicreply, were deeply significant.
Jack Belton--Inspector Jack Belton--and the doctor were on a "rushoutfit" of rescue. They were riding back to camp after a long day ofsearch along the banks of the Theton River. Their search was systematic.Each day they rode out and followed the intricate course of the smilingriver with its endless chain of lakes. Each day their camp broke up andfollowed a similar course, but taking the direct and shortest route downthe river. Then, at nightfall, the two men rejoined their outfit, onlyto follow a similar procedure next day. Thus they had left theheadwaters far behind, and were steadily working their way down theriver. Somewhere along that river was Steve Allenwood, alive or dead.They could not guess which. They could not estimate where. It was theirpurpose to leave no creek, or lake, or yard of the great riverunexplored, until the secret was yielded up.
"And when we find him, what then?" the doctor exclaimed in a desperatefashion. "Maybe he's sick. Maybe--whatever it is we've got to heal him,and break him at the same time. God!"
"Yes." Jack Belton turned his dark eyes on his companion. They were hotwith feeling. "Say, Doc, I'm crazy to find that boy, and find himcursing the skitters with a wholesome vocabulary, same as you and me.But I'd hand over my Commission in the force with pleasure to my biggestenemy rather than pass him the dope you and me need to."
The Scotsman nodded, and the kindly face reflected the bitterness of hisfeelings.
"And I handed him my promise, and Millie's," he aid. "He was crazy aboutthem both--God help him."
"Poor devil!"
The great valley was lit from end to end by the last flaming rays of thesetting summer sun. The green carpet was dotted by a thousand woodedbluffs, and a wonderful tracery of watercourses caught and reflectedthe dying light. Not a breath of air stirred. And the warm, cloudlessevening was alive with the hum of insects, and the incessant chorus ofthe frogs at the water's edge. Now and again the far-off cry of coyoteor wolf came dolefully across the trackless grass. For the rest awonderful peace reigned--that peace which belongs to the wildernesswhere human habitation has not yet been set up.
It had been a tremendous time for both these men, and for those underthe Inspector's command. The whole thing had been an exhibition of humanenergy, rarely to be witnessed. It had all been the result of an episodeon a similar, calm summer afternoon, which would remain for all time alandmark in the doctor's life.
He had been reading in his shanty surgery on the Allowa Reserve. Thestream of his medicine-loving patients had ceased to flow. The littleroom was heavy with the reek of his pipe. So he had risen from his chairand passed to the door for a breath of air. It was then that he wasconfronted by a gaudy coloured apparition. An Indian, whose race wasforeign to him, was patiently sitting on the back of a mean-lookingskewbald pony, clad in a parti-coloured blanket of flaming hues. Themoment Ross appeared in the doorway the Indian produced a crumpled,folded paper from the folds of his blanket and offered it to him withouta word.
He accepted it with a keen curiosity. He unfolded it and glanced at thehandwriting. It was unrecognizable. But that which stirred him to thedepths of his soul, and flooded his heart with something like panic, wasthe signature at the bottom of it. It was Steve's--Steve Allenwood.
The perusal of that letter was the work of a few moments. And throughoutthe reading Ross was aware--painfully aware--of the aggravating calm ofthe man who had written it. But under its unemotional words urgency,deep, terrible urgency, was revealed. Accident and sickness had hit thewriter hard. His position was desperate. And the final paragraphepitomized his extremity in no uncertain fashion.
I mean to do all a man can to make the headwaters of the Theton River. Maybe I'll succeed. I can't say. If I don't you'll understand. Maybe you'll break it to Nita as easy as you can. If you can help her, and the kiddie, I'll be mighty thankful. Thank God the little one won't understand. I'm sending this by a Yellow-Knife. He reckons he knows Deadwater, and can get through quick. Please pay him well. I can't get farther than the headwater--if that. After that--well, it depends on the help that can reach us.
Optimism and energy were amongst Ian Ross's strongest characteristics.His decision was taken on the instant. With the aid of an interpreter hequestioned the Yellow-Knife, who knew no language but his own and thatof the Caribou-Eaters.
The man's story was broken but lurid.
The white man, he said, had arrived at Fort Duggan on foot, pursued bythe evil spirits of Unaga. He assured the doctor that these devils hadtorn the clothes from him, and left him well-nigh naked. So with all theparty. There was blood on his feet and hands, where the spirits hadsought to devour him. Yes, they had even devoured his shoes. The whiteman had a small white pappoose tied on to his back. The child wassleeping, or sick, or dead. There was a squaw and an Indian with him,whose bones looked out of their skins, and whose eyes were fierce andwild like those who have looked the evil spirits in the face. These twoliving-dead were hauling a sort of sled. And on the sled was anotherIndian who was broken, and maybe dead. No, there were no dogs, nooutfit. It was just as he said. The Shaunekuks were good Indians, andthey gave the strangers food, and milk, and clothes to replace those theevil spirits had devoured. They also had the canoes which the white manhad left with them a year ago. He, the messenger, was on a visit to theShaunekuks at the time, for a caribou hunt. But he abandoned the hunt atthe white man's request, who said he, the doctor, would pay him well.
The man was paid under promise of guiding an outfit back to the ThetonRiver country, and then began a hustle of a cyclonic nature.
Corporal Munday set out for Reindeer forthwith, and made headquarters inrecord time. Within half an hour of his arrival Superintendent McDowellhad issued his orders for a "rush outfit." And three hours later saw iton the trail. There was no hesitation. There was no question. There wasa comrade in peril, and with him others. There was a woman--althoughonly a squaw--and a white child. No greater incentive was needed, andyoung Jack Belton was selected to lead the "rush" for his known speedand capacity on the trail.
Something of the feelings stirring found expression in McDowell's finalinstructions to his subordinate at the moment of departure.
"I don't care a curse if you kill every darn horse between here and theLanding," he said. "Commandeer all you need--and plenty. I don't carewhat you do. You've got to bring Allenwood back alive, or--or break yourdarn neck."
And Belton had needed no urging. He had cut down the month's journey tothe Theton River to something like twenty days. He had foundered sixteams of horses and worn his two men and his scouts well-nighthreadbare with night and day travel. But the doctor had provedinvincible, as had the Yellow-Knife scout on his skewbald pony, which,for all its meanness of shape and size, had stood up to it all.
They had already been pursuing the river course for four days, and, sofar, it had withheld its secret. Somewhere out there on those wideshining waters a man was st
ruggling in a great final effort to defeatonce more the ruthless forces of Nature against which he had battled solong and so successfully.
And what would victory mean for him? Ross knew. Jack Belton knew. Andtheir knowledge of that which was awaiting him, should a final triumphbe his, added a deep depression to the silence which had fallen betweenthem.
The great sun went to its death in a blaze of splendour, and the longNorthern twilight softened the scene with misty, velvet shadows whichcrept down from distant hills to the north and south. The woodlandbluffs, too, promptly lost their sharpness of outline, and the green ofthe trackless grass mellowed to a delicate softness which seemed toround off the peace of the airless evening.
Now they picked up the spiral of smoke from the camp-fire, and directionwas promptly changed towards it.
"I sort of feel he'll make it," the Scotsman said abruptly, as though insimple continuation of his unspoken thought.
"You can't kill--him," replied the other emphatically. "I haven't adoubt. He guessed he could make the headwaters. He'll make them. I'monly scared to miss him in the night."
The doctor shook his head.
"I don't fancy that's going to happen. Our camp's always on the mainwater, in the open. There's our watch. No. I'm a deal more scared of himmaking a day camp, resting. Even then we haven't missed anything largeenough to hide up a skitter."
"No."
Now the spot light of the camp-fire shone out of the soft twilight, andthe sound of voices came back from the water's edge.
"I'm wondering about what he needs to be told," Ross said presently."It's for me I guess."
"How's that?"
The younger man turned quickly. The thought of this thing had weighedheavily with him. He was a police officer who was ready to face anyhardship, any of the hundred and one risks and dangers his callingdemanded. But from the moment he was detailed for his present duty hehad been oppressed by the thought of the story which would have to betold Steve, and which duty, as leader of the rescue party, he calculatedmust certainly fall to his lot. He had known Steve from the moment ofhis joining the force. He had worked with him on the trail. He had beenpresent at his senior's wedding, and he remembered his comrade'shappiness at the consummation of a real love match. And now? Thedoctor's words had lifted a great load from his mind.
"There's two sides to be told," Ross said, with a sigh. "There's thepolice side, which deals mostly with the Treaty Money, I guess, andthere's that other which should be mine. You see, he left them in mycare. And so there's a big account to be squared between him and me.Best let me handle the whole rotten thing." Then with a sound that was alaugh without the least mirth: "It's a doctor's job to hand outunpleasant dope to a patient. It's a policeman's job to act unpleasant.Guess the act isn't needed, but the dope is. Yes, it's mine, Belton.Will you leave it that?"
"I'll be so glad to," the other replied with a sigh of relief, "I don'tknow how to tell you about it. It had me scared to death. That's so.Even McDowell shirked it. He told me Steve had to get the whole yarnbefore he got into Reindeer. That's the sort of folk we are. And it'snot a thing to brag about."
The other shook his head.
"It needs good men to hate hurting another," he said. "Guess it's ascare you don't need to be ashamed of. I'll tell him because I've gotto. I hate it worse than hell. But I owe the hurt to myself for the wayI've--failed his trust."
"I don't see you need to blame yourself, Doc," the youngster returned,becoming judicial under his relief. "Steve won't, if I know him. Thissort of thing happens right along under a husband's nose. Just as longas woman's what she is, and there's low down skunks of men around,why--But, say, there's something doing at the camp!"
He lifted his reins and urged his weary horse into a rapid canter, andthe doctor's horse clung close to its flank. The eager eyes of both weresearching for the meaning of the stir which the youthful Inspector haddetected. And instinctively they gazed out down the broad waters of theplacid river as far as the rapidly deepening twilight would permit.
Simultaneously their eyes rested on two objects, a little indistinct,floating upon the water. They looked so small in the immensity of thespread of the river. But even so their outline was familiar enough.
"Canoes!" cried Belton.
"It's him!" came in the deep tones of the doctor.
Five minutes later they were out of the saddle and standing with otherson the grassy river bank watching the steady approach of two canoes,paddling their way up against the easy, sluggish stream.
Near by were the two four-horsed wagons, and the camp-fire with theforgotten supper still wafting its pleasant odours upon the breathlessair. Flies, too, and mosquitoes were in abundance. But these, like therest, were forgotten. The men of the police outfit had eyes and thoughtsfor the canoes only. Each and all were wondering at that which they wereto reveal.
Suddenly a shout broke the profound stillness. It came from the youngofficer who could restrain himself no longer.
"Ho, you, Steve!"
The shout carried away over the water. Those on the bank could almosthear it travel. Then followed what seemed an interminable interval. Butit was seconds only before a faint call came back.
"Hoo-y!"
The policeman was given no opportunity for reply. The doctor's greathusky voice anticipated him.
"Ho, Steve! It's Doc Ross!"
He had recognized the answering voice and flung his excited greeting ina tumult of feeling.
* * * * *
The canoes drove head on for the river bank.
As Belton and Ross sought to discover the nature of their freight thecoursing blood of excited hope stagnated. There was only the quickeningof apprehension.
A grim, strange figure was confronting them. It was kneeling up in theprow of the nearest vessel. A wild, straining, desperate light shonefeverishly in eyes looking out of a face lost in a tangle of beard andwhisker. The brows were fiercely depressed, suggesting a bitterdefensive spirit. The eyes were lost in cavernous sockets, and thecheeks were sunken and scored with lines of ravening hunger. The wholewas clad in the discoloured buckskin of a Northern Indian, with a mat ofuntended hair reaching to its shoulders.
The waiting men understood. This was their comrade, the man to whosesuccour they had rushed. A tragic story of suffering was in that singlefigure, which, paddle in hand, was battling with a burden too great forany one man to bear. Only he, and the squat figures of Shaunekukpaddlers were to be seen. For the rest nothing was visible to theonlookers.
As the canoe grounded on the reed-grown mud the doctor's deep-voiced"Thank God!" met with no response. The wild-looking figure scrambled offthe boat, and plunged nearly knee-deep into the mud. Those on the bankseemed to concern him not at all, for he turned, as was perhaps his longhabit, to haul the vessel inshore himself.
But the rescue party forestalled him. The men from the bank, policemenand Indian scouts, seized the boat, while Ross's friendly hand was laidon the man's shoulder.
"The boys'll fix things," he said, in a voice deep with intense feeling."Best come right up to camp, Steve."
The sound of the husky voice, whose words were not quite steady, broughta swift turn from Steve. For a moment he stared at the speaker. Heseemed to be striving to restore the broken threads of memory. Finallyhe shook his head.
"No," he said. And turned again to the boat.
Ian Ross made no further attempt. He understood. He turned and flung allhis energies into the work of unloading the tragic freight. The wildfigure of Steve had prepared him. And, in a few moments, hisprofessional mind was absorbed to the exclusion of everything else.
Starvation had nearly defeated the otherwise invincible spirit of Steve.It was there in the bottom of the light vessels, in the drawn faces andattenuated bodies of the paddler crew of Shaunekuks. It was in thedisplay of Steve's side-arms strapped to a strut of the canoe ready tohis hand, with holsters agape, and his loaded guns protrudingthreateningly. It was in a similar disp
lay in the second boat, which thewell-nigh demented Julyman had commanded. Oh, yes. No words were neededto tell the story. It was there for all to read.
The rescuers understood the uselessness of questions. Help was needed,and it was freely given. The urgency of it all held them utterly silent,except for sharp, brief orders.
Ross and the two teamsters dealt with Steve's boat. Jack Belton and thecamp scouts devoted themselves to the second.
In Steve's boat were the fever-ridden body of An-ina, and the scarcelyliving shadow of the child, Marcel. Ross lifted the half-dead woman andcarried her up the bank to the tent which had been set up. Then hereturned in haste for the child. On his way he paused for a moment toglance at the broken body of Oolak, who was being removed from thesecond boat by Jack Belton.
"Guess it's not starvation here," he said significantly.
"No," Belton admitted. "It's a bad smash, I guess. Say----"
The Scotsman glanced back at the river, following the horrified gaze ofhis companion. His big heart thrilled with instant pity, and he set offon the run.
Steve, wild, unkempt, was labouring up from the water's edge, hobblingpainfully on feet that were bound up in great pads of blanket. He wasbearing in his arms the emaciated, unconscious body of the child, andhis whole attitude was one of infinite tenderness, and care, anddisregard for his own sufferings.
The doctor reached the struggling man and held out his arms.
"Give me the little chap," he demanded in his brusque fashion.
Steve turned his head. He stared at him in the fashion of a blind man.
"No!" he said sharply. Then he added with almost insane passion, "Not onyour life!"