CHAPTER VII
Into the Backwoods
"Jest you sit right up and take a sip at this. Now then, head back;make a try, lad. It'll pull you round; time's pressing."
PETER AND JACK BAILEY FIND JOE UNCONSCIOUS]
Joe heard the voice afar off and stirred. There was a familiar noteabout it, a kindly bluntness to which he was accustomed. So being thesort of lad whose nature it was to make an effort always, if only forthe reason that he was of a decidedly active temperament, and perhapsalso because he hated, like many another person, to be beaten, helifted his head, feeling at once a hand placed beneath it. Then heopened his eyes and stared upward, blinking all the while, at a hugeexpanse of blue sky such as dwellers by the edge of the Mediterraneanrave about.
"Eh?" he gasped, attempting to moisten his lips. "Time to get up, eh?"
"Jest take a sip, and then you'll be feeling lively," he heard again inthe well-known voice. "You ain't knocked out altogether. That tharHurley ain't quite beaten you, I guess."
The mention of the bully's name brought Joe to an upright position. Hesat up abruptly, and then, seeing a tin mug just before his face, andbeing consumed by a terrible thirst, seized the said tin mug anddrained it.
"Ah!" he gasped. "I wanted that. Where's Hurley?"
"That's jest the very question we're axin' ourselves. Sit up agin,lad," he heard, undoubtedly in Peter Strike's voice. He turned at onceand gazed into the rough, unshaved face of his master.
"You?" he asked in bewilderment. "Why, I left you way back at theshack!"
"So you did, lad, so you did; but that's two hours ago, and perhapsmore. I was out lookin' at the pigs, and thinkin' as the time wascoming close when I'd drive some of 'em over to Sudbury, where I'd besure to make dollars on 'em, when the missus comes rushin' out.'Peter,' she shouts, 'where have you got to? Drat the man!' she saysaloud to herself, 'drat the man! Where's he got to? Never here when Iwant him, but--ah, there you be!' she hollers out, suddenly catching aview of me over by the pigs. 'There you be, Peter.'"
Joe sat up with a vengeance now. His stay with the excellent Peter andMrs. Strike had taught him to like them very much, and Peter'sdescription of what had happened was so faithful to what must haveactually occurred. Joe himself had heard the bustling spouse of hismaster calling her lord in peremptory tones, and he grinned now at therecollection.
"Yes," he smiled, "you were there."
"I was that," laughed Peter. "And then I heard that there had been aruction, and that you was in it. Of course I slipped into the shackfer my gun at once, hopped on to a hoss, and was away fer Jim Canning'sin a jiffy. He'd got his hosses harnessed into the rig already, and wewent on in company till we struck along by Jack Bailey's. Wall, now,he's a bright lad is Jack, though he ain't so very long from an officestool in London. There he was with his cousin George, with the rigloaded up with provisions.
"'Most like we'll be away from home a bit,' sang out Jack as we comeup. 'So we've put together a little grub and drink, besides a kettleand sichlike. What'll you do?'
"'Get right along to Hurley's and see what's happened,' I answered.'This Tom's come in in a hurry, and maybe things ain't as bad as theyseem. Anyway, we'll make along there. I'll gallop ahead. I've rungup the central station Sudbury, and told the missus to call for theNorth-west Police, because this job's bound to be a police job anyway.'Wall, here we are. How's yerself?"
Peter had filled his tin mug again, and when he offered it to Joe thelad took it with pleasure. He could sit up alone now, and presentlycould actually stand, though he felt giddy. However, they brought achair from Hurley's shack and placed him in it. Then Jack Bailey, theimmigrant who not so long ago had been a clerk in the city of London,and who was now on the high road to becoming a successful farmer in theDominion, stood over him and gently dressed the wound Hurley had given.
"Not so bad, after all," he said cheerily, as he carefully washed thepart where the bully's stick had fallen. "Little more than an inchlong, and not deep. It won't even send you to bed. Just stay stillwhile I clip the hair away and tidy things up a little."
For ten minutes he busied himself with Joe's head, snipping the hairaway all round the ugly wound which Hurley had given our hero; for yourcity clerk is no fool, and Jack knew that no scalp wound can be safelyleft unless the hair be removed and thorough cleanliness thus ensured.He produced a little roll of strapping which his thoughtful wife hadprovided, and, having placed a small dressing over the wound, appliedthe strips of strapping, getting them to adhere by the simple expedientof lighting a match and heating the adhesive material.
"Now you'll do," he said, surveying his work with some pride. "How doyou feel? Giddy, eh?"
Joe felt distinctly giddy and positively sick; for a concussion isoften followed by sickness. But he was game, and fought down thefeeling heroically; in fact, he struggled to his feet, plunged hishands into his pockets, and actually whistled.
"Showing as you ain't beaten by a long way," said Peter, emerging fromthe shack and looking with approval at our hero. But there were gravelines about his face, and for a little while he was in close andearnest conversation with his friends. Perhaps an hour later ahorseman came galloping towards them, and was hailed with pleasure.
"That you, Mike?" sang out Peter. "I sent along over the 'phone foryou, and guessed it wouldn't take you long to reach."
"Horse was already saddled, and me almost mounted when the messagecame," replied the newcomer, dropping out of his saddle. "I was jestoff in the opposite direction, so it war lucky you 'phoned jest then.I rode down to the station, and put horse and self aboard a freighterabout to steam out. They dropped me down about opposite here, and I'velegged it for all I could. What's the tale?"
A magnificent specimen of humanity he was, this newcomer. Even Joe wasnot so sick that he could not admire him. For Mike Garner stood sixfeet in his stockinged feet, nothing less, and was burly in proportion;also he seemed to be as agile as a cat, while none could accuse him offatness.
His muscular calves filled the soiled and stained butcher boots hewore. A pair of massive thighs swelled his khaki breeches, while thedun-coloured shirt was stretched tight over a brawny chest, open at theneck, and with sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing a pair of armstanned to the colour of nut-brown, and swelling with muscle and sinew.In fact, Mike was just a specimen of that fine body of men, theNorth-west Police of Canada, who, in spite of paucity of numbers, keeplaw and order in the land. But it is only fair to mention that out inthe settlements their task is simple, as a general rule; for yournewcomer to Canada, as well as the old settlers, are law-abidingpeople, given to toil and thrift and not to broiling. However, hereand there there is trouble, and Mike had galloped over to investigatethe case of Hurley.
"What's the tale?" he asked abruptly, dropping his reins over the bighorse's neck and leaving it there unattended, while he came towards theshack rolling a cigarette. "Hurley's broken out, you say. Guessed hemight. I've had an eye on him this two years back. There's beencomplaints of ructions at the shack. We had a man in a month back whosaid he'd been knocked about."
"It's wuss this time," answered Peter gravely. "I'll give yer the yarnin a few words. I sent this here chap Joe over to fetch a seederHurley had borrowed two years ago and hadn't returned. Wall, he heardshouts as he come up to the shack, and saw Hurley whacking Tom here,the lad he'd got apprenticed to him. Joe wasn't having that, nohow.Eh?"
He looked over at our hero as if for corroboration. Then Tom chimed in.
"Hurley's a bully," he cried. "He was tying me to the post when Joeasked him to leave off. He was polite, was Joe. But Hurley swore andthreatened him too. Then he struck at him, and there was a shindy.My, but Joe stuck to his man and hammered him in fine style! If ithadn't been for the rake handle, Joe would have beat him, big thoughHurley is. But he struck Joe over the head, and then I ran for help."
"Seems to me as this here Joe did well," declared Mike curtly. "W
all,now?"
"There ain't much to tell. Tom reached Jim Canning's, and he rang meup. We was all of us along here as quick as possible. Hurley took therig and drove off, and there ain't a doubt that he's taken a gun withhim. He cleared Joe's pockets of every cent--about sixty dollars, hereckons--as well as a letter of some value. But that ain't all.There's been trouble in the shack. That ere brute set upon his wifeand made an end of her."
When the whole tale came to be understood, there was little doubt thatthe brute Hurley had flown into a furious temper, and had become almostmad with passion. His unfortunate wife he had killed with a knock-downblow, while the reader has learned of his subsequent movements.
"Wall?" asked Peter, looking expectantly at Mike.
"You wait a bit, mate," said the other. He dropped his cigarette,lifted his hat solemnly, and entered the shack. There was a severe airon his handsome, sunburned face as he emerged.
"Of course," he said, "we've got to follow; that is, I have. If yougentlemen----"
"You don't need to ax," exclaimed Peter, with added bluntness. "We'rehere. Ef you want us, we're right alongside you all the time. Murdersain't often done in the settlements, but when they are, then it's everyman's job to find the brute as did it. You lift yer little finger, andyou've every man Jack willing and ready."
"Thanks," said Mike swiftly, looking about him and proceeding to rollanother cigarette. "We'll move slippy; we'll get right back along thetracks this fellow made, and make use of the first telephone. ThisHurley didn't have one, so we can't send news from here. If he's takento the railway, we'll send along either way, and they'll have himquick. But most like he's turned north, in which case we've a prettybusiness before us. Ready now?"
"You kin guess so," said Peter, clambering on to his horse. "Tom, youain't afraid to follow?"
That young fellow shook his head vigorously; his eyes were sparkling.At that moment he looked more of a boy, more resolute than he had doneever since he came to the Hurleys'. "I'm game," he said. "If Joe wasgame to tackle him alone, I'm right with the lot of you."
"Then you climb right into Jack's rig and take Joe with you. He'llwant a bit o' nussing for a while. Reckon, Mike, if this here businessis going to take us away north, we'd do well to lay in a stock ofammunition. What say?"
The policeman was in his saddle already and turned his head.
"We'll get all we want from the station," he said. "Let's move."
Waiting to allow Mike to gain some yards start, so that he might followHurley's track without difficulty, the others followed in single file,first Peter, and then Jack and his cousin in their rig, with Tom andJoe beside them, while Jim brought up the rear. Half an hour laterthey struck the railway, running clear and unfenced across the land.Here Mike turned east, still following the wheel marks left by the rigwhich Hurley had stolen. About four miles farther along the marks leftthe railway and ran towards a stretch of wooded country. Perhaps aquarter of a mile within this they came upon the rig itself, deserted,while the horses and Hurley himself were nowhere to be seen. Mikedropped out of his saddle, where Peter joined him. As for Joe, thejolting and the excitement of the chase seemed to have done him a vastamount of good, for his head had ceased to ache, and he was hardlygiddy. But for the pain in his scalp and a certain stiffness about hislimbs, he might never have come by an injury.
"Unhitched his cattle here and made off with 'em," declared Mike,standing well clear of the rig, and walking slowly round it. "Struckdue north, as I guessed he might. He'll be hiding up amongst thewoods, and it'll take a tracker to find him. Tell you, Peter, it ain'tno manner of use for us to follow right off. We might lose his tracksany moment, then there'd be difficulties. Guess the best thing to dois to camp right here and wait. I'll make back to the railway and'phone along. Late to-night, perhaps, or to-morrow morning I'll beback agin with you, and then I'll have someone along with me as canfollow any track, as can scent out a white man almost. You sit tightright here. Got it?"
"You've hit it true," agreed Peter. "There ain't no manner of sense inplunging on. This country right north is jest a huge forest for miles.There's swamps, too; then stretches of rock over which a man might rideand never leave a sign that a white man could follow. So we'll campright here, and you kin get back and fix things. Don't forget thatwe'll want shooters. I've a revolver and a gun; Jack there and Georgeain't got a gun between 'em, nor Joe nor Tom. It ain't sense to goafter a chap same as Hurley without having the things to meet him with.He'll shoot, he will."
"Sure," declared Mike, with the directness of one who knew; "he'llshoot on sight. There's a rope waiting fer his neck, and he knows it.You boys had best understand that right away."
He glanced round at the party, his eyebrows elevated, a question on hislips. But they sent him off promptly, laughing at his caution, eageras ever, whatever the dangers, to follow the miscreant who had killedhis wife and wellnigh done the same for our hero.
"Best get the hosses out o' the rigs and let 'em feed," said Peter, whotook the lead now that Mike had gone. "Jack, you and George has thecooking things and the grub, so reckon it's up to you to cook us ameal. Jim and me'll scout round a while. We ain't likely to cover thetracks left by Hurley, and it'll be well to follow a goodish bit, so asto make sure he ain't too handy. It wouldn't be kinder nice to geteating and then have a bullet plumping amongst us."
There was bustle about the little clearing for some few minutes. Joelent a hand to the Baileys, and soon had the horses out of the rig andtied by a long rein to trees, allowing them freedom to graze. By thenTom had gathered sufficient sticks to form a fire, and had helped totake the horses from Jim's rig; for the latter had already departedwith Peter. In a little while there was a blaze in the centre of thecamp, and Jack had a kettle of water suspended over it with the help ofa couple of forked sticks. George produced from a mysterious parcel alump of meat, and having cut it into dainty slices, skewered them in along row on a maple stick he had cut and cleaned, and at once began totoast them over the flames.
"Makes you get hold of an appetite, young fellow," he said, winking atJoe. "Now don't it? There's a flavour about open-air cookery thatjust sets a man's mouth watering. Ever been out camping?"
"Never," admitted Joe. "Ripping, I should say."
"Then you're about right," cried George, his face ruddy beside theflames. "I mind the time when I first came out to Canada. Didn't Ijust pity Jack back in the Old Country! For I went off with aprospecting party north to see what sort of a line there was for a newrailway. It wasn't half as bad as people had painted, for there werefew muskegs, as the swamps are called, and fewer mosquitoes. As forfood, there wasn't a day passed but the Indians along with us broughtin beasts of every sort; so we dined handsomely. And camping was afair treat. Talk about a difference between it and the oldlife--living in a tiny villa south of London, mugging in a Londonoffice, and being half-stifled with winter fogs! There we were in theopen day and night, such nights too! Fresh air, fresh food, and heapsof exercise all the time. I just revelled. This steak frizzling here,and the scent it throws out, reminds me of that time."
Joe sniffed eagerly. His headache and even his pains were gone now,while the trouble his wound gave him was infinitesimal. In fact, itwas the weight of the blow which Hurley had delivered which broughtunconsciousness. The wound was trifling. A thick skull had resisteddamage, and now that his brain tissues were recovering from the jarthey had received, Joe was almost himself again. He sniffed with eageranticipation, and agreed that open-air cooking had its attractions. Hewent to the far end of the maple switch and, holding out a hand, tookit from George.
"You'll make a cook all right," laughed the latter. "Now see that noneof the steaks get burned. I'll pop tea into the kettle and get otherthings ready. Those two will be back before very long; it stands toreason that they won't go very far. Take my advice, Joe; get inside ablanket just as soon as you have had a meal, and sleep. You'll be asfit as a daisy co
me morning."
About an hour later, when the first brew of tea had been finished, Jimand Peter put in an appearance.
"We kin camp without a thought of danger so far as I kin see," said thelatter, throwing himself down by the fire. "That thar Hurley's madetracks slick north, and he ain't going to wait for no one. We followedthe trace of his hosses' hoofs fer three mile and more. By the way,they ain't his hosses; they're mine. Jingo! That makes another countup agin him. But I was saying as he's gone north slick as anything.He'll want no end of catching. Seems to me this chase'll last a weekon end, and ef that's to be, I'll make across to the railway after I'vehad a bite, and get on to the nearest telephone. Then I kin ring upJack's wife and my own and tell 'em. How's that?"
"Just what was bothering me," cried Jack, who was at that momentburying his teeth in a juicy steak. "I was saying to myself a littlewhile ago that it seemed as if this wouldn't be a one-day affair, and Iwas bothering to let the wife know. Not that I'm going back till thematter's finished. Not much--this is a duty."
"You've put it fair and square," agreed Peter, with flushing face."This here are a duty, sure. Out in the settlements there ain't somany cases of murder and theft. A man soon gets known, seeing asthere's so few of us, and mostly in settlements close together; and efhe's a bad man--why, out he goes sooner or later. But bad men mostlygets into the towns. There's a sight of 'em always hanging about thesaloons, and so on. Some of 'em make a regular business of watchingout fer green 'uns, fellers just out from home; and mostly the roguesstrip the poor chaps of every dollar. They're up to all sorts oftricks. Most like they'll pretend to have land to sell, ready-madefarms, you might say. The bad man is Canada's curse, jest that andnothing less; and reckon not a few of 'em is the relics of the wastersand the wont-works who was sent out here long ago from the Old Country,to get 'em out of the way or to give 'em a new chance."
"In fact, just the class that modern-day Canada is determined not tohave," chimed in George. "And one can't blame the Government. Infuture, jailbirds won't be sent direct to the Dominion instead of toprison, simply because they'll be turned back at the ports; just thesame as folks with obvious disease of the lungs will be turned back.But you can pass me along another of those steaks, Tom; and don't go onlooking at 'em like that. Pitch in at them, my boy. There's enoughthere and to spare fer everybody."
Tom had indeed been eyeing the frizzling steaks somewhat hungrily, and,if the truth had but been known, it was only from force of habit.Hurley had been very much the master. His apprentice had put up withshort fare and many blows.
"How was it you was put with him, lad?" asked Peter, when he hadfinished his meal and had lit up a pipe preparatory to his setting outfor the railway. "Surely the folks who put you there hadn't metHurley?"
Tom shook his head emphatically. "They'd never seen him," he said."My uncle wished me to come out from England, and saw an advertisementoffering to take a lad for a premium. He paid the money and I came,only to find that I was a sort of slave."
"Huh!" growled Peter. "Jest what I thought. That's another turn thebad man gets up to. But boys ain't always treated same as that. I'vehad 'em meself, and know others who've taken lads. The Barnardo Boys'Home sends a goodish lot out to Canada and places them out on thefarms. But, bless you! they ain't finished with 'em by a long bit, andrightly so. There's inspectors who go round and make surprise visits,and if they find that a boy isn't getting fair and square and liberaltreatment, why, away he's taken, and put somewhere else. And theresult is that we're bringing up in Canada a heap of young chaps whocome out jest at the very right age, when they ain't yet learned anyfarming and when their minds is--wall, now, what are the term?"
"Receptive," cried Jack, who was quite a scholar. "The young,untutored mind is readily receptive."
"Put it like that," agreed Peter, who was a wonderfully talkative andjolly fellow. "The kids learn, and ain't got no bad tricks to unlearn.Folks has got to set great store by 'em, for they're likely obedientlads, and there's more demands for 'em than there's boys. They getlooked after. There ain't no bullyin' and half-starving same as inTom's case. What's more, farmers is willing and eager to pay 'em wagesand keep 'em, and not jest have their work for nothing, and a handsomepremium into the bargain. That 'ere Hurley's a bad hat."
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, leaped to his feet, and swung hisleg over his horse. Without troubling to put a saddle on the beast, hehitched the rein free from the tree and went off whistling.
"A good chap," said Jim. "Known Peter this many a year. Good master,eh, Joe?"
"None better," came the prompt answer. "They treat me as if I were ason. He's used to this tracking?"
"He's a good man, you may say," agreed Jim. "But he don't often trackmen--moose perhaps, and a bear sometimes. This Hurley'll be adifferent matter."
"Now, Joe, jest you get right off to bed," commanded George, who seemedto take almost a paternal interest in our hero. "By sunrise to-morrowyou'll be feeling fine, and you'll thank me."
That the advice was good there was little doubt, and since Jacksupported it with vehemence, Joe obeyed, though he felt far fromsleepy. Indeed, he was almost too excited to be that; for, recollect,the events of the day had been sufficiently rousing for a youth of hisage and experience. He had been engaged in a desperate struggle with abully, with a man who would have killed him with pleasure, and who, infact, did his best to bring about that ending. And now he and hisfriends were in chase of the murderer. He, Joe, was away in the wildsof Canada, in the backwoods, with the open sky above him, about toSleep beneath it for the first time in his life. He drew a blanketwhich Jack had brought round his body, and lay down on a bed of sprucethat Jim had cut. And there for a while he lay without movement, hiseyes blinking at the glowing embers of the fire. A little later hishead dropped lower, while the men chatting in low voices round the fireheard his sonorous breathing.
"Good plucked 'un, him," remarked Jim, pulling his pipe from his mouthand pointing the stem at the recumbent figure. "There's many as wouldhave backed out of that 'ere ruction and left Tom to fend for hisself.He's the sort we want in this country. A chap as can put up a fightwith a murderer double his size can face the troubles that come to allcolonists. Pass the 'bacca, Jack. I came away in such a hurry thatI've none."
"Do you know his history?" asked Jack Bailey after a while, when theyhad smoked silently for some few minutes, the smoke from their pipesascending into the cool evening air and mingling with that from thefire where it met the leaves overhead. "He's a better sort--one of thebetter class in England."
"As you can see," agreed George. "Heard anything of him, Jim?"
"Jest this," came the answer. "There's a man named Fennick as wasclose handy to me this five years back. Well, seems he came out withJoe, and they write to one another every now and again. In fact, thisJoe's going along to join him one of these days as soon as he's learnedfarming. Fennick just swears by the lad; says as he organized a bandof volunteers on the way out when the ship got afire, and helped tofight the flames. So Joe ain't fought a murderer only; that's why Iagreed as he was a good plucked 'un. Now I'm fer bed; most like weshall have a hard day of it ter-morrer. I know Mike; he's a boy ferpushing ahead. There's nothing tires him. Gee! I wouldn't wonder ifwe was in fer a hairy sort of time on this business. Joe are likely tocome up agin trouble beside which his fight with Hurley warn't nothing."
Peace reigned over the slumbering camp within half an hour. Thewatchful stars glowed down upon the little band and seemed to guardthem. Slowly the hours drew along towards morning, when the pursuit ofthe murderer would be taken up in earnest. And which one of the bandcould say what sort of experience awaited them? Perhaps Jim would beright. It was more than likely that Joe might find himself plungedinto a conflict beside which his fight this day was a mere scrimmage.But whatever the prospect might be, it did not disturb his slumbers.Joe hardly so much as turned till the first rays of a brilliant sunstr
eamed into his eyes on the following morning.