The Promise Page 15

  CHAPTER XIV

  AT BAY

  Bill Carmody was no coward; but neither was he a fool, and for thefirst time the seriousness of his position dawned upon him. Othershapes appeared and ranged themselves beside their leader, and as theman looked upon their gaunt, sinewy leanness, the slavering jaws, andblazing eyes, he shuddered. Here, indeed, was a very real danger.

  He decided to camp. Fire, he remembered to have read, would hold thebrutes at bay. Wood there was in plenty, and, quickly clearing a spacein the snow, he soon had the satisfaction of seeing tiny tongues offlame crackle in a pile of dry branches.

  He unslung his light axe and attacked the limbs of a dead pine that layat the edge of the road.

  After an hour's work his cleared space was flanked on either side bypiles of dry firewood, and at his back the great pile of tops affordedshelter from the wind which swept down the roadway, driving before itstinging volleys of snow.

  He spread his blanket and drew from his pack the unappetizing food. Hewarmed the remaining half-can of salmon and whittled at his nubbin ofbread.

  "Dinner is served, sir," he announced to himself, "dead fish withformaldehyde dressing, petrified dough, and _aqua nivis_." The stormcontinued, and as he smoked the gravity of his plight forced itselfupon him.

  The laggards had caught up, and at the edge of the arc of firelight awide semicircle of insanely glaring eyeballs and gleaming fangs toldwhere the wolf-pack waited.

  There was a terrifying sense of certainty in their method. They took nochance of open attack, wasted no breath in needless howling orsnarling, but merely sat upon their haunches beyond the circle of thefirelight--waiting.

  Again the man shuddered. Before him, he knew, lay at least fifteenmiles of trail knee-deep with snow, and he had left but one smallration of unpalatable and unnutritious food.

  "I seem to be up against a tough proposition," he mused. "What was itAppleton said about battle, murder, and sudden death? It looks fromhere as if the old boy knew what he was talking about. But it is kindof rough on a man to roll them all up into one bundle and hand it tohim right on the kick-off."

  He had heard of men who became lost in the woods and died horribly ofcold and starvation, or went down to the rush of the wolf-pack.

  "As long as I stick to this road I won't get lost," he thought. "I mayfreeze to death, or starve, or furnish a cozy meal for the wolvesyonder, but even at that I still have the edge on those others--I'mdamned if I'm _lost_!"

  And, strange as it may seem, the thought gave him much comfort.

  He tossed more wood on the fire and watched the shower of sparks whichshot high above the flames.

  "To-morrow will be my busy day," he remarked, addressing the wolves."Good night, you hell-hounds! Just stick around and see that nothingsneaks up and bites me."

  He hurled a blazing firebrand among the foremost of the hungry hoard,but these did not retreat--merely leaped back, snarling, to lurk in theouter shadows.

  Bill's sleep was fitful. The snow ceased to fall during the early hoursof the night, and the pair of blankets with which he had providedhimself proved entirely inadequate protection against the steadilyincreasing cold.

  Time and again he awoke and replenished the fire, for, no matter inwhat position he lay, one side of his body seemed freezing, while theother toasted uncomfortably in the hot glare of the flames. Andalways--just at the rim of the fire-light--sat the wolves, waiting intheir ominous circle of silence.

  But in the interims between these awakenings he slept profoundly,oblivious alike to discomfort and danger--as the dead sleep.

  At the first hint of dawn Bill hastily consumed the last of hisunpalatable food and resumed his journey.

  Hour after hour he toiled through the snow, and always the wolf-packfollowed, haunting his trail in the open roadway and flanking him inthe deep shade of the evergreen forest, moving tirelessly through theloose snow in long, slow leaps.

  Seventeen of them he counted--seventeen murderous, ill-visaged curs ofthe savage kill! And the leader of the pack was a very demon wolf. Amonstrous female, almost pure white, huge, misshapen, hideous--theultimate harridan of the wolf-breed--she stood a full two hands abovethe tallest of the rank and file of her evil clan.

  The foot and half of a foreleg had been left between iron jaws whereshe had gnawed herself out of a trap, and the shrunken stub, dependingfrom a withered shoulder, dragged over the surface of the snow, leavinga curious mark like the trail of a snake.

  The remaining foreleg was strong and thick and, from redistribution ofbalance, slanted inward from the massive shoulder, which was developedout of all proportion to its mate, giving the great white brute arepulsive, lopsided appearance.

  The long, stiff hair stood out upon her neck in a great ruff, whichaccentuated the fiendish ferocity of her, adding a hyena-like slope toher ungainly body. But it was in the expression of her face that shereached the climax of hideous malevolence.

  One pointed ear stood erect upon her head, while the other, mangled andtorn into a serried red excrescence, formed the termination of a broad,ragged scar which began at the corner of her mouth, giving her face theexpression of a fiendish grin that belied the green glare of hervenomous, opalescent eyes.

  The loss of the leg seemed in nowise to hamper her freedom of action.She moved ceaselessly among the pack with a peculiar bounding gallop,fawning in subtle cajolery upon those in the forefront, slashing rightand left among the laggards with vicious clicks of her long, whitefangs; and always she watched the tiring man who found his own gazefixed upon her in horrid fascination.

  There was something sinister in the wolf-pack's noiseless pursuit. Thebrutes drew nearer as the man's pace slowed to the wearying of hismuscles.

  Instinctively he knew that at the last there would be no waiting--nodelay. The very minute he sank exhausted into the snow they would beupon him--the great white leader and her rapacious horde--and in hisimagination he could feel the viselike clench of iron jaws and thetearing rip with which the quivering flesh would be stripped from hisbones.

  At midday the man placed the sheath-knife in his belt and threw awaythe pack. Relieved of the burden, his shoulders felt strangely light.There was a new buoyancy in his stride.

  But the relief was temporary, and as the sun sank early behind thepines his brain was again driving his wearied muscles to their work.

  The wolves were following close in now, and the silence of theirrelentless persistence filled the man with a dumb terror which nopandemonium of howling could have inspired.

  His advance was halting. Each step was a separate and consciousundertaking, and it was with difficulty that he lifted his moccasinsclear of the snow.

  Suddenly he stumbled. The leaders were almost upon him as he recoveredand faced them there in the white reach of the tote-road. They haltedjust out of reach of the swing of his axe, and as the man looked intotheir glaring eyes a frenzy of unreasoning fury seized him.

  His nerves could no longer stand the strain. Something seemed to snapin his brain, and through his veins surged the spirit of his fightingancestors.

  A sudden memory flash, as of deeds forgotten through long ages, andwith it came strength--the very abandon of fierce, brute strength of aman with the mind to kill.

  "Come on!" he cried. "Fight it out, you fiends! I may die, but I'll bedamned if I'll be hounded to death! You may get me, but you'll _fight_!When a McKim goes down some one pays! And if it is die--By God!There'll be fun in the dying!"

  With a weird primordial scream, as the first man might have screamed inthe face of the first saber-tooth, he hurled his axe among them andsprang forward, flashing the cold, gray blade of his sheath-knife!