The Promise Page 20

  CHAPTER XIX

  A FRAME-UP

  In the days that followed Bill threw himself into the work with a vigorthat won the approval of the men. A "top" lumber crew is asmooth-running machine of nice balance whose working units areinterdependent one upon another for efficiency. One shirking orinexperienced man may appreciably curtail the output of an entire campand breed discontent and dissatisfaction among the crew. But with Billthere was no soldiering. He performed a man's work from thestart--awkwardly at first, but, with the mastery of detail acquiredunder the able tutelage of Stromberg, he became known as the bestswamper on the job.

  Between him and the big Swede existed a condition of armed neutrality.Neither ever referred to the incident of the bunk-house, nor did eithershow hint of ill-feeling toward the other. The efficiency of eachdepended upon the efforts of the other, and neither found cause forcomplaint.

  With the crew working to capacity to supply Appleton's demand for tenmillion feet of logs, there was little time for recreation.Nevertheless, Bill bought a pair of snowshoes from a passing Indianand, in spite of rough weather and aching muscles, utilized stormy daysand moonlight nights in perfecting himself in their use.

  He and Fallon had become great chums and contrary to the Irishman'sprediction, instead of hectoring the new man, Moncrossen left himseverely alone.

  And so the routine of the camp went on until well into February. Theclearing widened, the timber line receded, and tier upon tier of logswas pyramided upon the rollways. As yet Bill had made noprogress--formulated no definite plan for the detection and ultimateexposure of the gang of bird's-eye thieves.

  Occasionally men put up at the camp for a short stay. Creed and Leboltwere the most frequent visitors, but neither gave evidence of beingother than he appeared to be--Creed a hunter seeking to dispose ofvenison taken out of season, and Lebolt a company cruiser engaged inestimating timber to the northward.

  It was about this time that Bad Luck, that gaunt specter that lurksunseen in the shadows and hovers over the little lives of men for theworking of harm, swooped down upon the camp and in a series of untowardhappenings impaired its efficiency and impregnated the atmosphere withthe blight of discontent.

  An unprecedented thaw set in, ruining the skidways and reducing thesnow of the forest to a sodden slush that chilled men to the bone asthey floundered heavily about their work.

  Reed and Kantochy, two sawyers, were caught by a "kick-back." One ofthe best horses was sweenied. A teamster who fell asleep on the top ofhis load awoke in the bottom of a ravine with a shattered arm, a deadhorse, and a ruined log-sled. Bill's foot was mashed by a rolling log;and last, and most far-reaching in its effect, the cook contractedspotted fever and died in a reverse curve.

  Moncrossen raged. From a steady eighty thousand feet a day the outputdropped to seventy, sixty, fifty thousand--and the end was not insight. Good-natured banter and friendly tussles among the men gaveplace to surly bickering and ugly fist-fighting, and in spite of thebest efforts of the second cook the crew growled sullenly or openlycursed the grub.

  Then it was that Moncrossen knew that something must be done--and thatsomething quickly. He shifted Stromberg and Fallon to the sawing crew,made a skidder out of a swamper, and filled his place with a grub-shackflunky.

  Then one afternoon he dropped in upon Bill in the bunk-house, wherethat young man sat fuming at his inaction with his foot propped up onthe edge of a bunk.

  "How's the foot?" growled the boss.

  "Pretty sore," answered Bill, laying aside a magazine. "Swelling isgoing down a bit."

  "Ever handle horses?"

  "Yes, a few."

  The boss cleared his throat and proceeded awkwardly.

  "I don't like to ask no crippled man to work before he's able," hebegan grudgingly. "But things is goin' bad. What with them two pilgrimsthat called theirselves sawyers not bein' able to dodge a kick-back,an' Gibson pickin' a down-hill pull on an iced skidway for to go tosleep on his load, an' your gettin' pinched, an' the cook curlin' upan' dyin' on us, an' the whole damned outfit roarin' about the grub,there's hell to pay all around."

  He paused and, receiving no answer, shot a crafty look at the manbefore him.

  "Now, if you was able," he went on, "you c'd take the tote-sled down toHilarity an' fetch us a cook. It seems like that's the onliest way;there ain't nary 'nother man I c'n spare--an' he's a good cook, oldDaddy Dunnigan is, if he'll come. He's a independent old cuss--work ifhe damn good an' feels like it, an' if he don't he won't.

  "If you think you c'n tackle it, I'll have the blacksmith whittle youout a crutch, an' you c'n take that long-geared tote team an' makeHilarity in two days. They's double time in it for you," he added, as amatter of special inducement.

  Bill did not hesitate over his decision.

  "All right; I think I can manage," he said. "When do I start?"

  "The team'll be ready early in the mornin'. If you start about fouro'clock you c'n make Melton's old No. 8 Camp by night without crowdin''em too hard. It's the first one of them old camps you strike, and youc'n stable the horses without unharnessin'; just slip off the bridlesan' feed 'em."

  Bill nodded. At the door Moncrossen halted and glanced at himpeculiarly.

  "I'm obliged to you," he said. "For a greener, you've made a good hand.I'll have things got ready."

  Bill was surprised that the boss had paid him even this grudgingcompliment, and as he sat beside the big stove, puzzled over thepeculiar glance that had accompanied it.

  In a few minutes, however, he dismissed the matter and turned again to,his six-months-old magazine. Could he have followed Moncrossen andoverheard the hurried conversation which took place in the littleoffice, he would have found food for further reflection, but of this heremained in ignorance; and, all unknown to him, a man left the office,slipped swiftly and noiselessly into the forest, and headed southward.

  "'Tis a foine va-acation ye're havin' playin' nurse fer a pinched toe,an' me tearin' out th' bone fer to git out th' logs on salt-horse an'dough-gods 't w'd sink a battle-ship. 'Tis a lucky divil ye ar-realtogither," railed Fallon good-naturedly as he returned from supperand found Bill engaged in the task of swashing arnica on his bruisedfoot.

  "Oh, I don't know. I'll be back in the game to-morrow."

  "To-morry!" exclaimed Irish, eying the swollen and discolored memberwith a grin. "Yis; ut'll be to-morry, all right. But 'tis a shame towaste so much toime. Av ye c'd git th' boss to put ye on noight shifticin' th' skidways, ye wudn't have to wait so long."

  "It's a fact, Irish," laughed Bill. "I go on at 4 A.M. to-morrow."

  "Fure A.M., is ut? An' phwat'll ye be doin'? Peelin' praties fer thatdommed pisener in th' kitchen. Ye've only been laid up t'ree days an'talk av goin' to wor-rk. Man! Av Oi was lucky enough to git squoseloike that, Oi'd make ut lasht a month av Oi had to pour ink on me footto kape up th' color."

  "I'm going to Hilarity for a cook," insisted Bill. "Moncrossen saysthere is a real one down there--Daddy Dunnigan, he called him."

  "Sure, Dunnigan'll not come into th' woods. An' phy shud he? Wid moneyin th' bank, an' her majesty's--Oi mane, his nibs's pension comin' inivery month, an' his insides broke in to Hod Burrage's whisky--phwatmore c'd a man want?"

  "The boss thinks maybe he'll come. Anyway, I am going after him."

  "Ye shud av towld um to go to hell! Wor-rkin' a man wid a foot loikethat is croolty to animals; av ye was a harse he'd be arrested."

  "He didn't tell me to go. He is crowded for men; the grub is rotten;something has to be done; and he asked me if I thought I could makeit."

  Irish pulled thoughtfully at his pipe, and slowly his brows drewtogether in a frown.

  "He said ye c'd make ut in two days?" he inquired.

  "Yes. The tote-road is well broken, and forty miles traveling lightwith that rangy team is not such an awful pull."

  "An' he towld ye phwere to camp. It'll be Melton's awld No. 8, where yecamped comin' in?"

  "Yes."

  Fallon nodded t
houghtfully, and Bill wondered what was passing in hismind. For a long time he was silent, and the injured man responded tothe hearty greetings and inquiries of the men returning from thegrub-shack.

  When these later had disposed themselves for the evening, the Irishmanhunched his chair closer to the bunk upon which Bill was sitting.

  "At Melton's No. 8, Oi moind, th' shtables is a good bit av a way fromth' rist av th' buildin's, an' hid from soight be a knowl av ground."

  "I don't remember the stables, but they can't be very far; they are inthe clearing, and Moncrossen had the blacksmith make me a crutch."

  "A crutch, is ut? A crutch! Well, a man ud play hell makin' foortymoiles on a crutch in th' winter--no mather how good th' thrail wasbroke."

  "Forty miles! Look here, Irish--what are you talking about? I thoughtyour bottle had been empty for a week."

  "Impty ut is--which me head ain't. Listen: S'posin'--just s'posin',moind yez Oi'm sayin'--a man wid a bum leg was camped in th' shack avMelton's No. 8, an' th' harses in th' shtable. An' s'posin' some oneshnaked in in th' noight an' stole th' harses on um an' druv 'em toHilarity, an' waited f'r th' boss to sind f'r 'em. An' s'posin' a wakewint by befoor th' boss c'd sind a man down to look up th' team he'dsint f'r a cook, wid orders to hurry back. An' s'posin' he found th'bum-legged driver froze shtiff on th' tote-road phwere he'd made out tohobble a few moiles on his crutch--phwat thin? Why, th' man was agreener, an', not knowin' how to handle th' team, they'd got away fromum."

  Bill followed the Irishman closely, and knew that he spoke with apurpose. His eyes narrowed, and his lips bent into that cold smilewhich the men of the camp had come to know was no smile at all, but abattle alarm, the more ominous for its silence.

  "Do you mean that it is a frame-up? That Moncrossen----" Fallon silencedhim with a motion.

  "Whist!" he whispered and glanced sharply about him, then leaned overand dug a stiffened forefinger into the other's ribs. "Oi don't manenothin'. But 'tis about toime they begun bankin' their bird's-eye.

  "Creed et dinner in camp, but he never et supper. Him an' th' boss mademedicine in th' office _afther_ th' boss talked to ye. Put two an' twotogither an' Oi've towld ye nothin' at all; but av ye fergit ut Oi'llsee that phwat th' wolves lave av th' bum-legged teamster is buriedproper an' buried deep, an' Oi'll blow in tin dollars f'r a mass f'rhis sowl.

  "Av ye _don't_ fergit ut, ye moight fetch back a gallon jug av HodBurrage's embalmin' flooid, f'r me inwards is that petrified be th'grub we've been havin' av late, they moight mishtake ut f'r raleliquor. Good-by, an' good luck--'tis toime to roll in."