The Promise Page 51

  CHAPTER L

  FACE TO FACE

  Before daylight next morning the two men dragged the little flat boatto the water's edge. The river had risen to full flood during the nightand out of the darkness came the crash and grind of ice, the dull roarand splash of undermined banks, and the purling rumble of swift movingwater.

  After breakfast Bill and Jeanne, armed with light spruce poles, tooktheir places; Chenault pushed the boat into the current and it shotdownstream, whirling in the grip of the flood.

  There was no need for oars. Both Bill and the girl had their work cutout warding off from drifting ice cakes and the thrashing branches ofuprooted trees.

  Time and again they came within a hair's-breadth of destruction. Theeddying, seething surface of the swift rushing river seemed to hurl itsdebris toward their little craft in fiendish malevolence. Ice cakescrashed together on every hand, water-logged tree-butts snagged thembow and stern, and the low-hanging limbs of "sweepers" clawed and toreat them like the teeth of a giant rake as they swept beneath, lyingflat upon the bottom of the boat.

  Bill grinned at the thought of a canoe. In the suck and swirl of thecurrent the odds were heavily against even the stout flat boat'swinning through.

  He estimated their speed to be about eight miles an hour and devotedhis whole attention to preventing the boat from fouling the drift. Theywere riding the "run out," and he knew that Moncrossen would wait forthe river to become comparatively free of drift before breaking out hisrollways.

  The rain ceased, but the sky remained heavily overcast and darknessovertook them while yet some distance above the log camp and skirtingthe opposite shore.

  Eager as he was to meet Moncrossen, Bill decided not to risk crossingthe river in the fast gathering darkness. Gradually the boat was workedtoward shore and poled into the backwater of submerged beaver meadow.

  Landing upon a slope a couple of hundred yards back from the river,they tilted the boat on edge, and, inclining it forward, rested it uponthe tops of stakes thrust into the ground. The blanket was spread, andwith the roaring fire directly in front the uptilted boat made anexcellent shelter.

  An awkward constraint, broken only by necessary monosyllables, hadsettled upon the two. On the river each had been too busy with theworkin hand to give the other more than a passing thought, but now, inthe intimacy of the campfire, each felt uneasily self-conscious.

  Supper over, Bill lighted his pipe and stared moodily into the flameswith set face and brooding eye. From her position at his side Jeannecovertly watched the silent man.

  Of what was he thinking? Surely not of the girl--his wife! She wincedat the word--but the tense, almost fierce expression of his face, theoccasional spasmodic clenching of the great fists, could scarcelyaccompany a man's thoughts of his wife of an hour.

  Of Moncrossen? she wondered. Of the shooting of Jacques? Of the attackupon her? Of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta? But, no--the gray eyes were staring intothe fire calmly, and in their depths she could see no gleam of hate norsteely glitter of rage.

  What was it he said the day she told him of the affair on Broken Knee?"I, too, could kill him for that." The girl gave it up, and fell towondering what the morrow would bring forth.

  At daylight, when they poled the boat into the river, Bill gazed insurprise at the surface of the stream. A few belated ice cakes floatedlazily in the current, and many uprooted snags reared their scragglyheads as they rolled sluggishly in the water.

  But what riveted his attention were the logs. Hundreds and hundreds ofsmoothly floating logs dotted the river, and as far as the eye couldreach more logs were coming.

  He leaped to his feet and stood, shading his eyes with his hand. Far upthe stream the surface seemed solid with logs, and here and there hecould make out moving figures--tiny and frail they looked, likestrange, misshapen insects, as they leaped from log to rolling log--thewhite-water men of the North.

  "It's the drive!" he cried excitedly. "_My_ drive! Come, pole for yourlife--we've got to work her across!"

  A mile farther down they swept around a wide bend, and before themloomed the cleared rollways of Moncrossen's camp, and on top of theslope, for all the world like fortifications commanding the river, werepile after pile of pyramided logs.

  The little flat boat was rapidly approaching, and men could be seenswarming about the rollways. One man with a shirt of flaming red rushedamong them, gesticulating wildly, and faintly to their ears came theraucous bellowing of his voice. At the sight of him Jeanne paledvisibly. The man was Moncrossen.

  Even as they looked the first rollway tore loose; the logs, rolling andtumbling down the steep slope, leaped into the river with a roar and asplash that sent a fountain of white spray flying skyward. Bill set hispole and fairly hurled the boat into the bank well above the rollways.

  "Good God!" he cried. "Can't he see the drive? They'll jam and my menwill be killed!" He leaped ashore and crashed through the interveningunderbrush in great bounds, closely followed by the light-footedJeanne.

  They gained the top, and while rushing along the rollways could hearMoncrossen roaring his orders--could catch the words that foamed fromhis lips amid volleys of crashing oaths.

  "Cut them toggles! Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Damn you! Foul that drive!I'll show 'em if they c'n slip a drive through me!"

  And then--face to face between two high-piled pyramids--they met. Thewords died in a horrible, throaty gurgle; and Moncrossen's face, lividwith rage, turned chalky as his eyes roved vacantly from Bill Carmody'sface to the face of the girl beyond. His jaw wagged weakly, his flabbylips sagged open, exposing the jagged, brown teeth, and he passed hishand uncertainly across his eyes.

  "It's the greener," he mumbled thickly. "It's the greener hisself."

  Another rollway rumbled into the river, and Bill leaped into the open."Stop!" he cried. "It's murder! There are men on that drive!"

  The two lumber-jacks who stood almost at his side turned at the soundof his voice. For one moment they stared into his face, and then with awild yell dropped their peavies and fled toward the bunk-house. Othermen looked, and from lip to lip flashed the word, "The greener!" Menstared at him dumbly, or turned and dashed for the clearing in a panicof fear.

  "He come up out of the river!" shrilled one as he ran. "I seen him! An'I seen him go under a year back! He come hell a rippin' up through thebushes--an' a she one a follerin'!"

  Men crowded about--the bolder spirits, the matter of fact, and theunsuperstitious among the crew--and Bill turned again to Moncrossen,who stood rooted in his tracks.

  "Where is she?" he asked in a low voice that cut distinctly upon thesilence. "The mother of this girl?" Moncrossen started. With a visibleeffort he strove for control of himself.

  "Who are you?" he blurted, and the words rasped hollow and dry.

  Bill turned to the men.

  "Do _you_ know?" he asked. "An old Indian woman--did he bring her tothis camp?"

  The men stared blankly from the speaker to Moncrossen and into eachother's faces. Suddenly, one stepped forward.

  "Look in the storeroom!" he cried. "A little while back--it was atnight--I seen 'em drag somethin' in--him an' Larson of the van." At thewords, Moncrossen sprang toward the speaker with an inarticulate growlof rage.

  "You lie!" he screamed; but before he reached the man, who shrank backinto the crowd, Bill stepped in front of him. He raised his arm andpointed toward the clearing.

  "To the storehouse," he said in the same low voice. For a fleetingsecond Moncrossen glared into his eyes, and without a word, turned andled the way, closely followed by Bill and Jeanne, while the crowd ofwondering lumber-jacks brought up the rear.

  At the storehouse Moncrossen paused. "I'll fetch the key from theoffice," he leered; but Bill turned to a man who stood leaning upon hisaxe.

  "Smash that door!" he commanded; and a half-dozen men sprang to thetask. The next instant the door flew inward, and the men crowded intothe building to return a few moments later bearing the old squaw,gagged, bound, and wrapped tigh
tly in a blanket, but with the undimmedblack eyes glaring upon them like a hawk's.

  The cords were cut and the gag removed by willing hands. Someone held abottle to her lips, and she drank greedily. Jeanne dropped to her kneesby the old woman's side.

  "He has come," she whispered. "M's'u' Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, hascome to you." Wa-ha-ta-na-ta nodded her understanding, and her beadyblack eyes flashed.

  "She must have water!" cried the girl; "and food!"

  At the words a half-dozen men rushed toward the cook-shack, returning afew minutes later laden as to victual a regiment.