The Gun-Brand Read online

  CHAPTER II

  VERMILION SHOWS HIS HAND

  Down, down through the Chute raced the heavily loaded scow, seemingfairly to leap from wave to wave in a series of tremendous shocks, asthe flat bottom rose high in the fore and crashed onto the crest of thenext wave, sending a spume of stinging spray high into the air.White-water curled over the gunwale and sloshed about in the bottom.The air was chill, and wet--like the dead air of a rock-cavern.

  Chloe Elliston knew one moment of swift fear. And then, the mightyroar of the waters; the mad plunging of the scow between the toweringwalls of rock; the set, tense face of Vermilion as he stared into thegloom; the laboured breathing of the scowmen as they strained at thesweeps, veering the scow to the right, or to the left, as the rod ofthe pilot indicated; the splendid battle of it; the wild exhilarationof fighting death on death's own stamping ground flung all thought offear aside, and in the girl's heart surged the wild, fierce joy ofliving, with life itself at stake.

  For just an instant Chloe's glance rested upon her companions; Big Lenasat scowling murderously at Vermilion's broad back. Harriet Penny hadfainted and lay with the back of her head awash in the shallow bilgewater. A strange _alter ego_--elemental--primordial--had takenpossession of Chloe. Her eyes glowed, and her heart thrilled at thesight of the tense, vigilant figure of Vermilion, and the sweating,straining scowmen. For the helpless form of Harriet Penny she feltonly contempt--the savage, intolerant contempt of the strong for theweak among firstlings.

  The intoxication of a new existence was upon her, or, better, aworld-old existence--an existence that was new when the world was new.In that moment, she was a throw-back of a million years, and throughher veins fumed the ferine blood of her paleolithic forebears. What islife but proof of the fitness to live? Death, but defeat.

  On rushed the scow, leaping, crashing from wave to wave, into theNorthern night. And, as it rushed and leaped and crashed, it bore twowomen, their garments touching, but between whom interposed a wholeworld of creeds and fabrics.

  Suddenly, Chloe sensed a change. The scow no longer leaped andcrashed, and the roar of the rapids grew faint. No longer the form ofVermilion appeared couchant, tense; and, among the scowmen, onelaughed. Chloe drew a deep breath, and a slight shudder shook herframe. She glanced about her in bewilderment, and, reaching swiftlydown, raised the inert form of Harriet Penny and rested it gentlyagainst her knees.

  The darkness of night had settled upon the river. Stars twinkledoverhead. The high, scrub-timbered shore loomed formless and black,and the flat bottom of the scow rasped harshly on gravel. Vermilionleaped ashore, followed by the scowmen, and Chloe assisted Big Lenawith the still unconscious form of Harriet Penny. As if by magic,fires flared out upon the shingle, and in an incredibly short time thegirl found herself seated upon her bed-roll inside her mosquito-barredtent of balloon silk. The older woman had revived and lay, a dejectedheap, upon her blankets, and out in front Big Lena was stooping over afire. Beyond, upon the gravel, the fires of the scowmen flamed red,and threw wavering reflections upon the black water of the river.

  Chloe was seized with a strange unrest. The sight of Harriet Pennyirritated her. She stepped from the tent and filled her lungs withgreat drafts of the spruce-laden night-breeze that wafted gently out ofthe mysterious dark, and rippled the surface of the river until littlewaves slapped softly against the shore in tiny whisperings of theunknown--whisperings that called, and were understood by the newawakened self within her.

  She glanced toward the fires of the rivermen where the dark-skinned,long-haired sons of the wild squatted close about the flames over whichpots boiled, grease fried, and chunks of red meat browned upon the endsof long toasting-sticks. The girl's heart leaped with the wild freedomof it. A sense of might and of power surged through her veins. Thesemen were her men--hers to command. Savages and half-savages whose workit was to do her bidding--and who performed their work well. The nightwas calling her--the vague, portentous night of the land beyondoutposts. Slowly she passed the fires, and on along the margin of theriver whose waters, black and forbidding, reached into the North.

  "The unconquered North," she breathed, as she stood upon a water-lappedboulder and gazed into the impenetrable dark. And, as she gazed,before her mind's eye rose a vision. The scattered teepees of theNorthland, smoke-blackened, filthy, stinking with the reek ofill-tanned skins, resolved themselves into a village beside a broad,smooth-flowing river.

  The teepees faded, and in their place appeared rows of substantial logcabins, each with its door-yard of neatly trimmed grass, and its bedsof gay flowers. Broad streets separated the rows. The white spire ofa church loomed proudly at the end of a street. From the doorwaysdark, full-bodied women smiled happily--their faces clean, and theirlong, black hair caught back with artistic bands of quill embroidery,as they called to the clean brown children who played light-heartedlyin the grassed dooryards. Tall, lean-shouldered men, whose swarthyfaces glowed with the love of their labour, toiled gladly in fields ofyellow grain, or sang and called to one another in the forest where thering of their axes was drowned in the crash of falling trees.

  Her vision of the North--the conquered North--her North!

  As Sir James Brooke and Tiger Elliston overthrew barbarism andestablished in its place an island empire of civilization, so would shesupersede savagery with culture. But, her empire of the North shouldbe an empire founded not upon blood, but upon humanity and brotherlylove.

  The girl started nervously. Her brain-picture resolved into theformless dark. From the black waters, almost at her feet, sounded,raucous and loud, the voice of the great loon. Frenzied, maniacal,hideous, rang the night-shattering laughter. The uncouth mockery ofthe raw--the defiance of the unconquerable North!

  With a shudder, Chloe turned and fled toward the red-flaring fires. Inthat moment a feeling of defeat surged over her--of heart-sickeninghopelessness. The figures at the fires were unkempt, dirty, revolting,as they gouged and tore at the half-cooked meat into which their yellowfangs drove deep, as the red blood squirted and trickled from thecorners of their mouths to drip unheeded upon the sweat-stiffenedcotton of their shirts. Savages! And she, Chloe Elliston, at the verygateway of her empire, fled incontinently to the protection of theirfires!

  Wide awake upon her blankets, in the smudge-pungent tent where her twocompanions slept heavily, Chloe sat late into the night staring throughthe mosquito-barred entrance toward the narrow strip of beach where thedying fires of the scowmen glowed sullenly in the darkness, pierced nowand again by the fitful flare of a wind-whipped brand. Two still formswrapped in ragged blankets, lay like logs where sleep had overcome them.

  A short distance removed from the others, the fire of Vermilion burnedbrightly. Between this fire and a heavily smoking smudge, four menplayed cards upon a blanket spread upon the ground. Silently, save foran occasional grunt or mumbled word, they played--dealing, tossing intothe centre the amount of their bets, leaning forward to rake in a pot,or throwing down their cards in disgust, to await the next deal.

  The scene was intrinsically savage. At the end of the day's work,primitive man followed primitive instinct. Gorged to repletion, theyslept, or wasted their substance with the improvidence ofjungle-beasts. And these were the men Chloe Elliston had picturedlabouring joyously in the upbuilding of homes! Once more the feelingof hopelessness came over her--seemed smothering, stifling her. And agreat wave of longing carried her back to the land of her ownpeople--the land of convention and sophistry.

  Could it be that they were right? They who had scoffed, and ridiculed,and forbade her? What could _she_ do in the refashioning of aworld-old wild--one woman against the established creeds of an ironwilderness? Where, now, were her dreams of empire, her ideals, and hercastles in Spain? Was she to return, broken on the wheel? Crushedbetween the adamantine millstones of things as they ought not to be?

  The resolute lips drooped, a hot salt tear blurred Vermilion'scamp-fire and distorted the f
igures of the gambling scowmen. Sheclosed her eyes tightly. The writhing green shadow-shapes lost form,dimmed, and resolved themselves into an image--a lean, lined face withrapier-blade eyes gazed upon her from the blackness--the face of TigerElliston!

  Instantly, the full force and determination of her surged through thegirl's veins anew. The drooping lips stiffened. Her heart sang withthe joy of conquest. The tight-pressed lids flew open, and for a longtime she watched the shadow-dance of the flames on her tent wall. Dim,and elusive, and far away faded the dancing shadow-shapes--and sheslept.

  Not so Vermilion, who, when his companions tired of their game andsought their blankets, sat and stared into the embers of his dyingfire. The half-breed was troubled. As boss of Pierre Lapierre'sscowmen, a tool of a master mind, a unit of a system, he had prospered.But, no longer was he a unit of a system. From the moment ChloeElliston had bargained with him for the transportation of her outfitinto the wilderness, the man's brain had been active in formulating aplan.

  This woman was rich. One who is not rich cannot afford to transportthirty-odd tons of outfit into the heart of the wilderness, at thetariff of fifteen cents the pound. So, throughout the days of thejourney, the man gazed with avarice upon the piles of burlapped pieces,while his brain devised the scheme. Thereafter, in the dead of nightoccurred many whispered consultations, as Vermilion won over his men.He chose shrewdly, for these men knew Pierre Lapierre, and well theyknew what portion would be theirs should the scheme of Vermilionmiscarry.

  At last, the selection had been made, and five of the most desperateand daring of all the rivermen had, by the lure of much gold, consentedto cast loose from the system and "go it alone." The first daring movein the undertaking had succeeded--a move that, in itself, bespoke thedesperate character of its perpetrators, for it was no accident thatsent the head scow plunging down through the Chute in the darkness.

  But, in the breast of Vermilion, as he sat alone beside his camp-fire,was no sense of elation--and in the heart of him was a great fear.For, despite the utmost secrecy among the conspirators, the half-breedknew that even at that moment, somewhere to the northward, PierreLapierre had learned of his plot.

  Eight days had elapsed since the mysterious disappearance ofChenoine--and Chenoine, it was whispered, was half-brother to PierreLapierre. Therefore, Vermilion crouched beside his camp-fire andcursed the slowness of the coming of the day. For well he knew thatwhen a man double-crossed Pierre Lapierre, he must get away with it--ordie. Many had died. The black eyes flashed dangerously.He--Vermilion--would get away with it! He glanced toward the sleepingforms of the five scowmen and shuddered. He, Vermilion, knew that hewas afraid to sleep!

  For an instant he thought of abandoning the plan. It was not too late.The other scows could be run through in the morning, and, if PierreLapierre came, would it not be plain that Chenoine had lied? But, evenwith the thought, the avaricious gleam leaped into the man's eyes, andwith a muttered imprecation, he greeted the first faint light of dawn.

  Chloe Elliston opened her eyes sleepily in answer to a gruff call fromwithout her tent. A few minutes later she stepped out into the grey ofthe morning, followed by her two companions. Vermilion was waiting forher as he watched the scowmen breaking open the freight pieces andmaking up hurried trail-packs of provisions.

  "Tam to mush!" sad the man tersely.

  "But where are the other scows?" asked Chloe, glancing toward the bankwhere the scow was being rapidly unloaded. "And what is the meaning ofthis? Here, you!" she cried, as a half-breed ripped the burlap from abale. "Stop that! That's mine!" By her side, Vermilion laughed, ashort, harsh laugh, and the girl turned.

  "De scow, she not com'. We leave de rivaire. We tak' 'long de grub,eh?" The man's tone was truculent--insulting.

  Chloe flushed with anger. "I am not going to leave the river! Whyshould I leave the river?"

  Again the man laughed; there was no need for concealment now. "Me,Vermilion, I'm know de good plac' back in de hills. We go for staydere till you pay de money."

  "Money? What money?"

  "Un hondre t'ousan' dollaire--cash! You pay, Vermilion--he tak' youback. You no pay--" The man shrugged significantly.

  The girl stared, dumbfounded. "What do you mean? One hundred thousanddollars! Are you crazy?"

  The man stepped close, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "You reech. Youpay un hondre t'ousan' dollaire, or, ba gar, you nevaire com' out debush!"

  Chloe laughed in derision. "Oh! I am kidnapped! Is that it? Howromantic!" The man scowled. "Don't be a fool, Vermilion! Do yousuppose I came into this country with a hundred thousand dollars incash--or even a tenth of that amount?"

  The man shrugged indifferently. "_Non_, but you mak' de write on depapaire, an' Menard, he tak' heem to de bank--Edmonton--Preence Albert.He git de money. By-m-by, two mont', me'be, he com' back. Den,Vermilion, he tak' you close to de H.B. post--_bien_! You kin go hom',an' Vermilion, he go ver' far away."

  Chloe suddenly realized that the man was in earnest. Her eyes flashedover the swarthy, villainous faces of the scowmen, and the seriousnessof the situation dawned upon her. She knew, now, that the separatingof the scows was the first move in a deep-laid scheme. Her brainworked rapidly. It was evident that the men on the other scows werenot party to the plot, or Vermilion would not have risked running theChute in the darkness. She glanced up the river. Would the otherscows come on? It was her one hope. She must play for time. HarrietPenny sobbed aloud, and Big Lena glowered. Again Chloe laughed intothe scowling face of the half-breed. "What about the Mounted? Whenthey find I am missing there will be an investigation."

  For answer, Vermilion pointed toward the river-bank, where the men wereworking with long poles in the overturning of the scow. "We shove heemout in de rivaire. Wen dey fin', dey t'ink she mak' for teep ovaire inde Chute. _Voila_! Dey say: 'Een de dark she run on derock'--_pouf_!" he signified eloquently the instantaneous snuffing outof lives. Even as he spoke the scow overturned with a splash, and thescowmen pushed it out into the river, where it floated bottom upward,turning lazily in the grip of an eddy. The girl's heart sank as hereyes rested upon the overturned scow. Vermilion had plotted cunningly.He drew closer now--leering horribly.

  "You mak' write on de papaire--_non_?"

  A swift anger surged in the girl's heart. "No!" she cried. "I willnot write! I have no such amount in any bank this side of SanFrancisco! But if I had a million dollars, you would not get a cent!You can't bluff me!"

  Vermilion sprang toward her with a snarl; but before he could lay handsupon her Big Lena, with a roar of rage, leaped past the girl and drovea heavy stick of firewood straight at the half-breed's head. The manducked swiftly, and the billet thudded against his shoulder, staggeringhim. Instantly two of the scowmen threw themselves upon the woman andbore her to the ground, where she fought, tooth and nail, while theypinioned her arms. Vermilion, his face livid, seized Chloe roughly.The girl shrank in terror from the grip of the thick, grimy fingers andthe glare of the envenomed eyes that blazed from the distorted, brutishfeatures.

  "Stand back!"

  The command came sharp and quick in a low, hard voice--the voice ofauthority. Vermilion whirled with a snarl. Uttering a loud cry offear, one of the scowmen dashed into the bush, closely followed by twoof his companions. Two men advanced swiftly and noiselessly from thecover of the scrub. Like a flash, the half-breed jerked a revolverfrom his belt and fired. Chenoine fell dead. Before Vermilion couldfire again the other man, with the slightest perceptible movement ofhis right hand, fired from the hip. The revolver dropped from thehalf-breed's hand. He swayed unsteadily for a few seconds, his eyeswidening into a foolish, surprised stare. He half-turned and openedhis lips to speak. Pink foam reddened the corners of his mouth andspattered in tiny drops upon his chin. He gasped for breath with aspasmodic heave of the shoulders. A wheezing, gurgling sound issuedfrom his throat, and a torrent of blood burst from his lips andsplashed upon the
ground. With eyes wildly rolling, he clutchedfrantically at the breast of his cotton shirt and pitched heavily intothe smouldering ashes of the fire at the feet of the stranger.

  But few seconds had elapsed since Chloe felt the hand of Vermilionclose about her wrist--tense, frenzied seconds, to the mind of thegirl, who gazed in bewilderment upon the bodies of the two dead menwhich lay almost touching each other.

  The man who had ordered Vermilion to release her, and who had fired theshot that had killed him, stood calmly watching four lithe-bodiedcanoemen securely bind the arms of the two scowmen who had attacked BigLena.

  So sudden had been the transition from terror to relief in her heartthat the scene held nothing of repugnance to the girl, who wasconscious only of a feeling of peace and security. She even smiledinto the eyes of her deliverer, who had turned his attention from hiscanoemen and stood before her, his soft-brimmed Stetson in his hand.

  "Oh! I--I thank you!" exclaimed the girl, at a loss for words.

  The man bowed low. "It is nothing. I am glad to have been of someslight service." Something in the tone of the well-modulated voice,the correct speech, the courtly manner, thrilled the girl strangely.It was all so unexpected--so out of place, here in the wild. She feltthe warm colour mount to her face.

  "Who are you?" she asked abruptly.

  "I am Pierre Lapierre," answered the man in the same low voice.

  In spite of herself, Chloe started slightly, and instantly she knewthat the man had noticed. He smiled, with just an appreciabletightening at the corners of the mouth, and his eyes narrowed almostimperceptibly. He continued:

  "And now, Miss Elliston, if you will retire to your tent for a fewmoments, I will have these removed." He indicated the bodies. "Yousee, I know your name. The good Chenoine told me. He it was whowarned me of Vermilion's plot in time for me to frustrate it. Ofcourse, I should have rescued you later. I hold myself responsible forthe safe conduct of all who travel in my scows. But it would have beenat the expense of much time and labour, and, very possibly, of humanlife as well--an incident regrettable always, but not always avoidable."

  Chloe nodded, and, with her thoughts in a whirl of confusion, turnedand entered her tent, where Harriet Penny lay sobbing hysterically,with her blankets drawn over her head.