CHAPTER XI
KIDNAPPED
Harding had cause to remember the forced march he made to the Stonyvillage. The light was faint, and the low ground streaked with haze,as they floundered through the muskeg, sinking deep in the softer spotsand splashing through shallow pools. When they reached the first hillbench he was hot and breathless, and their path led sharply upward overbanks of ragged stones which had a trick of slipping down when theytrod on them. It was worse where the stones were large and theystumbled into the hollows between. Then they struggled through shortpine-scrub, crawled up a wet gorge where thick willows grew, andafterward got entangled among thickets of thorny canes. Harding'sclothes were badly torn and his boots giving out; his breath waslabored, and his heart beat painfully, but he pressed on upward,without slackening his pace, for he knew there was no time to be lost.
It was exhausting toil, and trying to the man who, until he enteredthat grim country, had undergone no physical training and had seldomtried his muscles; being left to shift for himself at an unusuallyearly age had prevented his even playing outdoor games. His career hadbeen a humble one, but it had taught him self-reliance, and when he wasthrown into the company of men brought up in a higher station he wasnot surprised that they accepted him as an equal and a comrade. Therewas, however, nothing assertive in the man; he knew his powers andtheir limitations. Now he clearly recognized that he had undertaken abig thing; but the need was urgent, and he meant to see it through. Hewas of essentially practical temperament, a man of action, and it wasnecessary that he should keep up with his Indian guide as long aspossible. Therefore, he braced himself for the arduous task.
In the afternoon they reached a tableland where traveling was slightlyeasier; but when they camped without a fire among the rocks, one ofHarding's feet was bleeding, and he was very weary. Walking waspainful for the first hour after they started again at dawn, but afterwalking a while his galled foot troubled him less, and he doggedlyfollowed the Indian up and down deep ravines and over rough stonyslopes. Then they reached stunted timber: thickly massed, tangledpines, with many dead trees among them, a number which had fallen,barring the way. The Indian seemed tireless; Harding could imagine hismuscles having been toughened into something different from ordinaryflesh and blood. He was feeling great distress; but for the presentthere was only one thing for him to do, and that was to march. He sawit clearly with his shrewd sense; and though his worn-out bodyrevolted, his resolution did not flinch.
They forced a way through thickets, they skirted precipitous rocks,passed clusters of ragged pines, and plunged down ravines. In theafternoon the sun was hot, and when it got low a cold wind buffetedthem as they crossed the height of land. Harding's side ached, and hisfeet were bleeding, but the march went on. Just before dark thereopened up before them a wide valley, fading into the blue distance,with water shining in its midst and gray blurs of willows here andthere. However, it faded swiftly, and Harding found himself limpingacross a stony ridge into a belt of drifting mist. Half an hourafterward he threw himself down, exhausted, beside a fire in asheltered hollow.
Late at night they stopped a few minutes to listen and look about onthe outskirts of the Indian village. Thick willows stretched up to it,with mist that moved before a light wind drifting past them; and theblurred shapes of conical tepees showed dimly through the vapor. Thenight was dark but still, and Harding knew that a sound would carrysome distance. He felt his heart beat tensely, but there was nothingto be heard. He had seen dogs about the Indian encampments farthersouth and he was afraid now of hearing a warning bark; but nothingbroke the silence, and he concluded that Clarke's friends were unableto find food enough for sled-teams. This was reassuring, because theodds against him were heavy enough, knowing, as he did, that theIndian's sense of hearing is remarkably keen.
Making certain that his magazine pistol was loose, he motioned to hisguide and they moved cautiously forward. The ground was fortunatelyclear, and their footsteps made little noise, though now and then tuftsof dry grass which Harding trod upon rustled with what seemed to himalarming distinctness. Still, nobody challenged them, and creeping upto the center of the village they stopped again. The nearest of thetepees was only thirty or forty yards away, though others ran back intothe mist. As Harding stood listening, with tingling nerves, he clearlyrecognized the difficulty of his enterprise. In the first place, therewas nothing to indicate which tent Clarke occupied; and it was highlyundesirable that Harding should choose the wrong one and rouse anIndian from his slumbers. Then, it was possible that the man shared atepee with one of his hosts, in which case Harding would place himselfat the Indian's mercy by entering it. Clarke was a dangerous man, andhis Stony friends were people with rudimentary ideas and barbaroushabits. Harding glanced at his guide, but the man stood very still,and he could judge nothing about his feelings from his attitude.
Fortune favored them, for as Harding made toward a tepee, without anyparticular reason for doing so, except that it stood a little apartfrom the others, he saw a faint streak of light shine out beneath thecurtain. This suggested that it was occupied by the white man; and itwas now an important question whether he could reach it silently enoughto surprise him. Beckoning the Indian to fall behind, he creptforward, with his heart beating painfully, and stopped a moment justoutside the entrance. It was obvious that he had not been heard, buthe could not tell whether Clarke was alone. Then the Indian, creepingsilently up behind him, dragged the doorway open. Harding jumpedquickly through the entrance, and stood, ragged, unkempt, and strungup, blinking in the unaccustomed light.
The tent had an earth floor, with a layer of reeds and grass throwndown on one side. It was frail, and hinted at changing times andpoverty, for the original skin cover had been patched and eked out withthe products of civilization in the shape of cotton flour-bags and oldsacking. In the later repairs sewing twine had been used instead ofsinews. A wooden case stood open near the reeds, and Harding saw thatit contained glass jars and what looked like laboratory apparatus; acommon tin kerosene lamp hung from the junction of the frame poles,which met at the point of the cone. A curious smell, which remindedhim of the paint factory, filled the tent, though he could notrecognize it.
As Harding entered, Clarke looked up from where he was bending over thecase. It was, Harding thought, a good test of his nerve; but his facewas imperturbable and he showed no surprise. There was silence for amoment, while the Indian stood motionless, with his ax shining as itcaught the light, and Harding's lips grew firmly set. Then Clarkespoke.
"So you have turned back! You found the muskeg too difficult to cross?I suppose this fellow showed you the way here."
Harding felt worn out; he crossed the floor to the heap of reeds andsat down facing Clarke.
"We have come for you," he announced abruptly; "and we must start atonce. My partner is very sick--fever--and you'll have to cure him."
Clarke laughed, without mirth.
"You're presuming on my consent."
"Yes," said Harding sternly; "I'm counting right on that. It wouldn'tbe wise of you to refuse."
"I don't agree with you. A shout or a shot would bring in my friends,and you'd find yourself in a very unpleasant position. You had betterunderstand that nobody troubles about what goes on up here--and Ibelieve I'm a person of some influence." He indicated Harding's guide."I don't know what this fellow's doing in this neighborhood, but hebelongs to a tribe the Stonies have a grudge against. On the whole, Ithink you have been somewhat rash."
"I guess you're clever enough to see that since I've taken a lot ofchances in coming I'm not likely to be bluffed off now. But we'll letthat go. The most important thing is that Blake will die unless hegets proper treatment--and gets it mighty soon."
Clarke regarded him with a mocking smile.
"It's a matter of indifference to me whether Blakes dies or not."
"Oh, no!" said Harding. "On the whole, you would rather he did die.He's in the way."
He could not tell whether this shot had reached the mark, for thoughClarke's eyes were steadily fixed on him the man's face was inscrutable.
"If you're right, it seems strange that you should urge me to prescribefor him."
"There are precautions I mean to take," Harding informed him dryly."However, I haven't come here to argue. For reasons of your own, yousent us into a belt of country which you thought we couldn't possiblyget through. You expected us to be held up there until our provisionsran out and winter set in, when these Stonies would no doubt have movedon. Well, part of what you wished has happened; but the matter istaking a turn you couldn't have looked for. You led us intodifficulties--and now you're going to get us out. I guess delay meansdanger. Get ready to start."
The Indian raised his hand in warning. Footsteps approached the tepeewith something strangely stealthy in their tread, and Clarke, turninghis head, listened with a curious expression. Then he looked atHarding and as the steps drew nearer the American's lips set tight.His pose grew tense, but it was more expressive of determination thanalarm. For a few moments none of the party moved and then the attitudeof all relaxed as the footsteps passed and grew indistinct. Clarkebroke into a faint smile.
"That was not an ordinary Stony but a gentleman of my profession, withsimilar interests, going about his business. There are reasons why heshould undertake it in the dark. You were right in supposing that youwere in some danger--and the danger isn't over."
Harding felt a shiver. He had the repugnance of the healthy minded manof affairs from any form of meddling with what he vaguely thought of asthe occult; but in that remote, grim solitude he could not scoff at it.
"Understand this!" he said curtly. "I mean to save my partner; I'vestaked my life on doing so. But I've said enough. You're coming withme--now--and if you make any attempt to rouse your friends, you'll havea chance to learn something about the other world at first hand a fewseconds afterward."
Clarke saw that it was not an idle threat. The American meant what hesaid, and he hurriedly put a few things together and made them into apack. Then he turned to Harding with a gesture of ironical resignation.
"I'm ready."
The Indian laid a firm hand on his arm, and Harding took out his pistoland extinguished the lamp.
"Your interest in keeping quiet is as strong as mine," he sternlyreminded Clarke.
He set his teeth as they passed a tepee at a few yards' distance. Hecould see the dark gap of the doorway, and had a nervous fancy thateyes were following his movements; for now that he had succeeded in themore difficult part of his errand, he was conscious of strain. Indeed,he feared that he might grow limp with the reaction; and the danger wasnot yet over. Unless they reached camp in the next few days, hethought Blake would die, and the journey was a long and arduous one.Still, he was determined that if disaster overtook him, the plotter whohad betrayed them should not escape. Harding was a respecter of lawand social conventions; but now, under heavy stress, he had suddenlybecome primitive.
They approached the only remaining tepee. The tension on Harding'snerves grew severe. As the Indian, holding tightly to their prisoner'sarm, picked his way noiselessly past the open flap, Clarke made a queernoise--half cough, half sneeze--very low, but loud enough to be heardby any one in the tent. Like a flash, Harding threw up his pistol,ready for use. As he did so, his foot tripped on a broken bottle lyingin front of the dark entrance. The pistol did not go off, but Harding,trying wildly to regain his balance, fell with a crash against thetepee.