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Show RESURRECTION I William Bmjdmr!k BYRON mL: Av CnAPTER XVIII Continued 18 No one moved. The men merely stared at her. The very wildness and passion of her charges made them turn deaf ears to what she said. Their belief in Craig had been shattered. Their god had fallen. Warren shook his head sorrowfully. sorrow-fully. "Don't blame her, men," he repeated. "She has really meant to be your honest friend, all along." "Don't let Craig down!" Patricia pleaded with them. "Don't let those half-breeds kill himl" The stony disbelief dis-belief of the crowd maddened her. She was flinging herself, battering herself, against a rock wall. "Help me save Craig. He's helped you, saved you; and how, in his need, you you ... Oh God, you're letting let-ting him down and he'll be killed " "Miss Pat," the huge redhead spoke up, "we ain't blaming you for a thing. You've been awful durned good to us rock-hogs. It's Tarlton that's the guilty devil. He sold out and skipped." "You're a liarl" Patricia flashed back. But in the next breath she was pleading: "Don't let Craig be murdered. You can make Warren Lovett tell where Craig is, and we can send out a rescue party " Someone laughed derisively. The rest took up the laugh. They jeered at the notion of "helping" or "rescuing" "res-cuing" a man who had sold them out and skipped with a quarter-million dollars. Patricia suddenly hated all of them, with a flaming hatred. She forgot Craig's large-visioned words to her last winter, "Don't blame the poor devils, Treeshia; they're not to blame if they give In." They were suddenly not her friends but ingrates and enemies. "Then get out of here!" she stormed at them. "Get out of this house! It's my house. Get your packs and move out. Get back to your lousy tents and the mud and wet and cold that I lifted, you out of!" They paid no attention to her. A dozen or more were crowding around Warren, trying to talk sellout sell-out terms with him. Another dozen were making for the main door, to be the first across the river and in the line to sell. One man did growl sullenly: "I'll live here as long as I blasted please! Try'n make me move out." Patricia jumped down from the chair, blind with rage. They thought she was helpless, did they? Thought they'd stay there in her house, after they'd let her down and refused to save Craig's life? She'd show them! She'd get them out of there! Of what use, anyway, was this house now? In a few days it would be empty, tenantless a mockery of her and Craig's unselfish battle. Her knees wobbled as she ran over to a corner of the Den and grabbed an ax and ran back to the drum of kerosene. She smashed at the drum furied vengeful blows. The liquid gushed out upon the pine-slab pine-slab flooring. "Hey!" a man yelled. "She's crazy! She's going to set this place on flrel" Before they could stop her, Patricia Pa-tricia whirled to the nearest table, seized a lamp, flung it at the pool of kerosene. There was a puff of blackish smoke, a scorching sheet of flame. The half-emptied barrel caught and exploded, flinging its blazing contents con-tents all over the wall and floor, and wrapping the whole north end of the building in flames . . . Through the panicky crowd of men, grabbing at their belongings and jamming toward the door, Warren War-ren fought his way to Patricia and seized her. She was limp and nerveless nerve-less on the point of sinking down upon the floor. He beat out a spot of fire on her dress, picked her up, ran with her to the nearest window, and got her out of the blazing building. build-ing. Over near her cabin he stopped, and set her on her feet and steadied stead-ied her. Patricia turned and glanced back at her community house, her child, the symbol of all her work and sacrifice and hope. It was already gutted, doomed. The flames had eaten through the roof, and were leaping above the surrounding pines; the whole inside was a mass of fire; the rafters and walls were tumbling to black ruin. CHAPTER XIX In the little shack where Craig lay prisoner, Lupe Chiwaughimi squatted down beside the low bunk. His voice was kind enough but his eyes glinted evilly in the candlelight. candle-light. "You wan' anyt'ing to eat or drink, mebbe?" he inquired. Craig shook his head. "You wan' me to hold a cigarette, ciga-rette, mebbe, w'ile you smoke heem?" "No." "You aw-right comfortable for de night, den?" "Trot along to your ileep," Craig bade curtly. He hated this insistent kindness from Lupe. It was the inhuman in-human kindness of an executioner. Lupe got up and went out of the shack, leaving Cesar Chiwaughimi there as a guard during the brief night Staring up at the lodepole rafters, raft-ers, as he had stared for so many pain-shot hours, Craig wearily listened list-ened to the macabre hooting of an owl and forced his aching thoughts away from his lost battle and Patricia Pa-tricia and the death hanging over him. He had little idea where the Chi-waughimis Chi-waughimis had come with him, except ex-cept that they had made about a twenty-hour journey from the Bay, pulling him on a light komatik; but he felt sure that they had brought him to some wild region where Indians In-dians and prospectors rarely came. From the sounds outside the hooting hoot-ing of owls at night, the twittering of redpolls and buntings by day, the occasional tattoo of an Arctic woodpecker wood-pecker he knew that the camp was located in a deep woods. He reasoned also that there must be a second shack close by, where the other Chiwaughimis slept and where the cooking was done, for his food was brought in to him already prepared. During the sled Journey he had clung to the hope that Poleon might be trailing the Chiwaughimis, with a rescue party. But that hope had died in him now. Too much time had elapsed. If any party had followed, fol-lowed, it would have closed in last night and attacked. Escape by his own hand, by any physical means, was flatly impossible. impossi-ble. His wrists were bound with the green rawhide thongs till he could not move a finger; he was securely roped to the bunk; and always, al-ways, close enough to touch him, sat an alert Chiwaughimi guard with a rifle on his lap. In his helplessness he had turned to 'Teeste Chiwaughimi that afternoon after-noon and reminded the half-breed of. the life debt between them; but 'Teeste had stonily refused to help him. ' The 'breed's gratitude had distinctly waned. Full of health and strength again, he chose to forget the night when he had lain at the point of death. Out in the woods, 400 yards away, the owl kept up its weird hooting Whoo - cooooks Whoo-whoo-cooooks Who - whoo - cooooks - for - youuu-aaallll. youuu-aaallll. The bird was staying in one spot an unusual while, Craig thought. He had seldom known a horned owl to hoot more than twice from the same place. The call brought him a poignant memory of a summer twilight at the Bay when fun-loving Poleon hid himself in some brush and sounded the ven-triloquial ven-triloquial Whoo-whoo and had all the prospectors craning their necks around at the trees. The hooting stopped. Ten minutes min-utes later it started up again, from a different direction, nearer and more distinct. Craig thought that he detected a false quaver in the last two notes. Listening closely, he compared the call with several others here and there in the woods. This call was not exactly like those others. A little thrill went through his numbed body. Maybe it was Poleon out yonder in that dark drogue, signaling sig-naling him, saying, "Keep your cheen op, Craig; I'm wit' you." He drove the thought away, because be-cause it was torment. Though he was in extremity of body and mind, he refused to clutch at straws. Some time later he had dozed off without knowing it he stirred out of a feverish sleep. He was clammy with sweat, his throat felt parched, his broken nose pained him intolerably. intol-erably. "Bring me water," he asked the vigilant Cesar, in French. "To drink, and for a cool cloth on my face." "Go to sleep," Cesar growled. "It is night. Sleep." Craig lashed out savagely: "Beast, you! When your brother lay gasping for life breath, I saved him; and now you refuse me a tin of water. wa-ter. Don't, then, carcajou-hearted!" A little ashamed, Cesar got up, reached for a pan behind the stove, and went out. Craig heard him scoop the pan full of snow and start back lor the door. Then, all suddenly, he heard a surprised grunt from the 'breed a grunt cut short by a hard blow, as of a man being smashed over the head. Then came the sound of a body sprawling heavily in the snow. Bewildered, Craig twisted painfully pain-fully in his ropes till he could see the door. A few momenti later a dark figure appeared there, looked cautiously inside. Then the man stepped in, and the candle shone on hlm. Cralg started to cry out, "Sam!" but his voice choked in his throat The shack, the door and Sam Honeywell's Hon-eywell's figure went all blurry. He closed his eyes a moment, opened them again, stared spellbound in the stupefaction of a man suddenly confronted with a reprieve from death. "Shhh-shl" Sam warned. "We socked one of 'em plenty, but they's four more right a-near sleeping with one eye open; and we ain't got any guns, Poleon and me." In through the doorway came Poleon, Po-leon, carrying the limp unconscious form of Cesar Chiwaughimi. He threw the half-breed down, hurried to the bunk, bent over Craig. Poleon drew his skinning knife and began cutting the ropes and bablschc. "Here, Sam" he tossed Honeywell the thongs "Craig don' need dese any more, so you use 'em on dat son of a blue bull-mink. You hogtle heem proper and gag heem so tight dat he won' holler none till we get plenty gone." "Who's with you?" Craig whispered, whis-pered, as Poleon cut the last rawhide raw-hide from his swollen ankles. "Jus' Sam and me." "Where is this place? They blindfolded blind-folded me on the trip." "It's in de Wolf Lairs, 'bout free mile from Kessler hilL You 'member 'mem-ber dat pine drogue w'ere we cut dem claim stake? Well, dis camp is In dat Dese two shack, dey're w'ere Lovett's men stayed w'en he sen' dat party op here in Apreel to do the assessment work on de Kessler Kess-ler gold lode." "We've got to get out of this shack and away from here," Craig said. "One of those other Chiwaughimis may step in at any moment, to see that everything's all right" He tried to move, but he could not even rise to his elbow. He was helpless as a baby. His arms and legs were stiff as posts, and his whole body was numb. "Easy, easy," Poleon gentled him. "I'll have to give you wan good rub and pummeling 'fore you Lost Their Packs, Guns, and Almost Their Lives. can stan' op. Sam, you step outside and get dat Chiwaughimi's gun. We need dat rifle bad." While he worked with Craig, Poleon Po-leon told how Sam and he had got there. After discovering the abduction, abduc-tion, they had waited till daybreak, then circled the Bay and picked up the telltale tracks of a rted and five men. In the whipping wind the trail was dim when they first found it, and before they had followed more than ten miles it was blotted out altogether. But the Chiwaughimis Chiwaughi-mis had plainly been heading for the Wolf Lairs; and Poleon, remembering remember-ing about Lovett's party In April and the shacks they had built for their temporary stay, shrewdly guessed that the Chiwaughimis were taking Craig to those shacks in that isolated country. Luck had been with them on their trip at every turn except one; but there it had dealt them a cruel jolt. In crossing a small upland river that morning they had broken through the rotten "mush ice" and lost their packs, guns, and almost al-most their lives. After struggling ashore, they had laid a pole walkway walk-way out upon the ice and fished for their rifles; but the water was too swift and deep, and they had come on bare-handed. "But Sam and me have got a substeetoot for guns," Poleon added, add-ed, pointing at a canvas-wrapped bundle which Sam had just lugged in. "Half hour ago, w'en we was nosing 'round dis camp, we ran into a leetle log-and-stone cache, out dere beyon' dat utter shack. It was de place w'ere Lovett's party stored deir tools and dynamite. De heavies' heav-ies' tools and some odd steecks of dynamite was in dere. We wrap' op eight steecks, wit' plenty caps and fuse, and brung 'em along. In a tight peench dem eart'quake steecks might help out." Craig asked Sam, "That Chiwaughimi's Chiwaug-himi's gun is loaded, isn't it?" "Yes. Full clip. But none in the chamber." "Well, that's five cartridges. Search his pockets and belt." Sam made a thorough search but found no more shells. With an effort Craig managed to sit up. He could bend his arms and legs a little now; the paralyzing numbness was slowly leaving him; and In his ineffable gladness at being be-ing snatched back to life he no longer long-er felt his throbbing pains. "We've simply got to clear away from here," he insisted, working hard to drive that numbness out of his body. "If you fellows will help me walk for a mile or two, I'll get my legs back again." Sam picked up the rifle, Poleon the bundle of dynamite. Poleon bent over the still-unconscious Cesar Chiwaughimi, Chi-waughimi, saw that he was tightly bound and gagged, and then snuffed the candle. Leaning heavily on the two men, Craig stood up from the bunk, shuffled shuf-fled awkwardly across the floor, like a person on stilts, and stumbled out into the dark out of the shack where half an hour ago he had lain awaiting death. Through the pines and buckbrush he saw the dim outlines of the second sec-ond shack, 20 yards away, where the other four Chiwaughimis lay sleeping. With an anxious glance at the dim shack he moved on with his companions. Gray dawn, at two o'clock, found them five miles down country. An hour later the flaming three-o'clock sun slanted above the northeast horizon ho-rizon and started swinging up the bright sky. Craig was heartened by their progress. Seven swift miles, nearly a sixth of the distance to the Bay and no sign yet of the Chiwaughimis Chiwaughi-mis 1 If he and Sam and Poleon could only hold that fast clip, they might outrun the metis to Resurrection Resur-rection mouth. He had shaken off his numbness within the first half hour; and the crisp night air and vigorous pace had cleared up his nauseating headache. head-ache. In better shape in fact than either Sam or Poleon, he was carrying carry-ing the rifle and dynamite and leading lead-ing the way. His two partners were In worse condition than they had told him or than he had reckoned on. With no sleep and very little to eat they had foot-slogged almost 90 miles, and they were badly worn down; but the worst was their snow-blindness. Sam especially was hard hit Within two hours after sunrise his inflamed eyes were nearly closed, and his face was contorted with pain. Gradually going blind, he kept stumbling, falling; and on rocky slopes or through thick drogues Craig had to lead him by the hand. Their route, arrow-straight toward to-ward the Bay, led across a monotonous monoto-nous succession of stony watersheds and timbered valleys. Up one treeless tree-less granite-strewn hill; a pause on the crest for a glance back; down the opposite slope into the first straggly trees; on down into the valley timber, and up the next granite gran-ite slope with little variation that was the story of their trek. Near eight o'clock Craig paused on a high bare ridge and glanced back across the watersheds, searching search-ing the route they had come. With a shock he saw five distant man-figures whip over a rocky crest, swing down the western slope and vanish in the timber. The Chiwaughimis! Following the trail with the ferocity of lean March wolves. Less than five miles away, they were traveling travel-ing almost twice as swiftly as he and his two faltering partners. "We've got to keep ahead, got to lay down fast tracks," he said. He encouraged Poleon and Sam: "We've reeled off eleven miles already. al-ready. A fourth of the way to the Bay. Every mile is a mile for us. If we can keep out of rifle range till late this afternoon, we can make a running fight of it, string out our five shells to the limit, spin out the fight till dusk, and then give 'em the slip. But we don't dare let 'em close in now." He took Sam's arm and hurried down the slope. He knew that the Chiwaughimis would close in, that a death fight was drawing nearer and nearer; but in him was that bulldog quality which kept him battling bat-tling away where lesser men would have wilted; and so he fought stubbornly stub-bornly for the miles. Each mile was precious. Each mile brought him closer to the Bay and into territory where by lucky chance they might run across prospectors or Indians and secure weapons. To stop and try an ambush was suicide, with their five cartridges. A dynamite mine on the back trail was impossible, for they had no way of timing the explosion as the Chiwaughimis Chi-waughimis passed. There was nothing noth-ing to do but struggle on and on, till the metis caught up and started the rifle talk. When that happened well, cross that river when they came to it He and Poleon, by themselves could have kept ahead of the Chiwaughimis, Chi-waughimis, at least for several hours longer; but Sam held them back. By nine o'clock Sam's eyes had swollen shut; he was totally blinded; he had to be led every step of the way. (TO BE CONTINUED |