The Promise Page 52

  CHAPTER LI

  THE PROMISE FULFILLED

  Again the interest centered upon the two big men who faced each otheron the trodden ground of the clearing. Other men came--the ones who hadfled from the rollway, their curiosity conquering their fear at thesight of the dead man.

  And now the greener was speaking, and the tone of his voice was gentlein its velvety softness. His lips smiled, and his gray eyes, narrowedto slits, shone cold--with a terrible, steely coldness, so that menlooked once, and shuddered as they looked.

  "And, now, Moncrossen," he was saying, "_we will fight_. It is a longscore that you and I have to settle. It starts with your dirty schemesthat Stromberg wouldn't touch.

  "Then, the well-laid plan to have Creed bump me off that night atMelton's No. 9; and the incident of the river, when you broke the jam.You thought you had me, then, Moncrossen. You thought I was done forgood and all, when I disappeared under the water.

  "There are other things, too--little acts of yours, that we will figurein as we go. The affair on Broken Knee, when you attacked this younggirl; the shooting of Blood River Jack, from ambush; the second attackon the girl at the foot of the rapid--and the brutal starving ofWa-ha-ta-na-ta.

  "Oh, yes; and the little matter of the bird's-eye. I have the logs,Moncrossen, all safely cached--the pile of ashes you found was a blind.Quite a long score, take it first and last, isn't it, Moncrossen?"

  The silence, save for the sound of the voice, was almost painful. Menstrained to listen, looking from one to the other of the two big men,with white, tense faces.

  At the words, the blood rushed to the boss's face. His little, swinisheyes fairly blazed in their sockets. He was speechless with fury. Thecords knotted in his neck, and a great blue vein stood out upon hisforehead. The breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the goadingwords fell in the voice of purring softness.

  "But it has come to a show-down at last, between you and me," thegreener went on as he slowly and methodically turned the sleeves of hisshirt back from his mighty forearms. "They tell me you are a fightingman, Moncrossen. They tell me you have licked men--here in thewoods--good men, too. And they tell me you have knocked down drunkenmen, and stamped on their faces with your steel-calked boots.

  "Maybe--if you last well--I will save a couple of punches for thosepoor devils' account. I think you will last, Moncrossen. You are big,and strong, and you are mad enough, in your blind, bull-headed way.

  "But I am not going to knock you out. I am going to make you _liedown_--to make you show your yellow, and quit cold; for this is goingto be your last fight. When I am through, Moncrossen, you won't beworth licking--no ten-year-old boy will think it worth his while tostep out of his way to slap your dirty face."

  With a hoarse bellow, Moncrossen launched himself at the speaker. Andjust at that moment--swarming over the bank at the rollways--came themen of the upper drive. The leaders paused, and sizing up thesituation, came on at a run.

  "A fight!" they yelled. "A fight! H-o-o-r-a-y!"

  Then came Appleton and Sheridan with their wives, and beside themwalked a slender, girlish figure, whose shoulders drooped wearily, andwhose face was concealed by a heavy, dark-blue veil.

  The two lumbermen guided the ladies hurriedly in the direction of theoffice, when suddenly the shrill voice of Charlie Manton broke upontheir ears.

  "Whoo-p-e-e! It's _Bill_! Go to it, Bill! Swing on him! Give him yourleft, Bill! Give him your left!"

  They halted, and obeying some strange impulse, the girlish figureturned and made straight for the wildly yelling men, who stood in theform of a great circle in the center of which two men weaved and milledabout each other in a blur of motion.

  Old Daddy Dunnigan was the first to see her hovering uncertainly uponthe edge of the crowd. Brandishing his crutch he howled into the earsof those nearest him:

  "Give th' lady a chanst! Come on, miss! He's _her_ man, an' God bepraised! she wants to see 'um foight!"

  The men made a lane, and scarcely knowing what she did, Ethel foundherself standing beside the old Irishman, who had wormed his way to thevery front rank of the crowding circle. She stared in fascinatedterror, throwing back her veil for a clearer view, regardless of themen who stared at _her_ in surprise and wondered at the whiteness ofher face.

  Bill Carmody met Moncrossen's first rush with a quick, short jab thatreached the corner of his eye. With an almost imperceptible movement heleaned to one side, and the flail-like swing of the huge boss's armpassed harmlessly within an inch of his ear.

  Moncrossen lost no time. Pivoting, he swung a terrific body blow whichglanced lightly against Bill's lowered shoulder, and the greener cameback with two stiff raps to the ear.

  Again and again Moncrossen rushed his antagonist, lashing out with bothfists, but always the blows failed by a barely perceptible margin, andBill--always smiling, and without appreciable effort--stung him withshort, swift punches to the face.

  And always he talked. Low and smooth his voice sounded between the thudof blows and the heavy breathing of the big boss.

  "Poor business, Moncrossen--poor judgment--for a fighting man. Saveyour wind--take it easy, and you'll last longer--this is a _long_fight, Moncrossen--take it slow--slow and steady."

  The taunting voice was always in the boss's ears, goading him to blindfury. He paused for breath, with guard uplifted, and in that momentBill Carmody saw for the first time the figure of his wife. For aninstant their eyes met, and then Moncrossen was at him again. ButBill's low, taunting voice did not waver.

  "That's better," he said, and moved his head to one side as a viciousblow passed close. "And now, Moncrossen, I'm going to hit you on thenose--I haven't hit you yet--those others were just to feel you out."

  With an incredibly swift movement he swung clear from the shoulder.There was the wicked, smashing sound of living flesh hard struck. Thebig boss staggered backward, pawing the air, and the red blood spurtedfrom his flattened nose.

  "That one is for trying to get Stromberg to file a link." Bill ducked alunging blow without raising his guard. "And now your ear, Moncrossen;I won't knock it off, but it will never be pretty again."

  Another long swing landed with a glancing twist that split the ear inhalf. "That is for the Creed item--and this one is for the river."

  The boss's head snapped backward to the impact of a smashing blow;again he staggered, and, turning, spat a mouthful of blood which seepedinto the ground, leaving upon the surface several brownish, misshapennuggets.

  "God!" breathed a man, and turned away. "It's his teeth!"

  The yelling had ceased and men stared white faced. This was not thefighting they were used to; they understood only the quick, frenziedfighting of fury, where men pummel each other in blind rage, fightingclose--as tigers fight--gouging and biting one another as they rollupon the ground locked in each other's grip.

  The men gazed in awe, with a strange, unspoken terror creeping intotheir hearts, upon the vicious battering blows, the coldly gleamingeyes and smiling lips of the man who fought, not in any fume ofpassion, but deliberately, smoothly, placing his terrific blows at willwith a cold, deadly accuracy that smashed and tore.

  Moncrossen rushed again.

  "And now for the other things," Bill continued; "the attacks upon thedefenseless girl--the attempted murder from ambush--and the starving ofan old woman."

  Blow followed blow, until in the crowd men cried out sharply, and thosewho had watched a hundred fights turned away white lipped.

  Moncrossen fought blindly now. His eyes were closed and his face onesolid mass of blood. And still the blows fell. Smash! Smash! Smash! Itwas horrible--those deliberate, tearing blows, and the lips that smiledin cold, savage cruelty.

  No blow landed on the point of the jaw, on the neck, on the heart, orthe pit of the stomach--blows that bring the quiet of oblivion; buteach landed with a cutting twist that ground into the flesh.

  At last, with his face beaten to a crimson pulp, Moncrossen sagged tohis knees, tried to rise, an
d crashed limp and lifeless to the ground.And over him stood Bill Carmody, smiling down at the broken andbattered wreck of the bad man of the logs.

  Gradually the circle that surrounded the fighters broke into littlegroups of white-faced, silent men who shot nervous, inquiring glancesinto each other's faces and swore softly under their breath--thefoolish, meaningless oaths of excitement.

  Minutes passed as Ethel stood gazing in terrible fascination from thebig man to the thing on the ground at his feet. And as she looked, ahideous old squaw, apparently too weak to stand, struggled from herplace of vantage among the feet of the men, and crawled to the limp,sprawled form.

  Leaning close she peered into the shapeless features, crooning andgurgling, and emitting short, sharp whines of delight. Her beady eyesglittered wickedly, like the eyes of a snake, and the withered lipscurled into a horrid grin, exposing the purple snag-toothed gums.

  Suddenly the bent form knelt upright, the skeleton arms raised highabove the tangle of gray-black hair, the thin, high-pitched voicequavered the words of a weird chant, the clawlike fingers twitched inshort, jerky spasms, and the emaciated body swayed and weaved to thewild, barbaric rhythm of the chanted curse.

  Terrible, blighting, the words were borne to the ears of the girl.Bearded men looked, listened, and turned away, shuddering. The sunburst suddenly through a rift in the flying clouds, and his goldenradiance fell incongruously upon the scene.

  Ethel gazed as at some horrid phantasm--the rough men with gaudy shirtsof red and blue and multicolored checks, standing in groups with tense,set faces--the other man--_her_ man--standing alone, silent andsmiling, by the side of his blood-bathed victim, and the old crone,whose marcid form writhed in the swing of the thin-shrieked chant.

  And then before she sensed that he had moved he stood before her. Sheraised her eyes to his in which the hard, cold gleam had given place toa look of intense longing, of infinite love, and the long-pent yearningof a soul.

  He stretched his arms toward her and she saw that the bruised andswollen hands were stained with blood. Suddenly she realized that thisman was her _husband_. A sickening fear overcame her, and she shrank,shuddering, from the touch of the blood-smeared hands.

  A look of terror came into her face; she covered her eyes with herhands as if to shut out the horror of it all, and, turning, fledblindly--she knew not where.

  As she ran there still sounded in her ears the words of the high, thinchant--the blighting curse of Yaga Tah.

  CHAPTER LII

  THE BIG MAN

  Darkness settled over the North country. The sky had cleared, the windgone down, and the air was soft and balmy with the feel of spring. Amillion stars sparkled overhead and above the intense blackness of thepines the moon rose, flooding the timberland with the mystery of hersoft radiance.

  Ethel tossed uneasily in her cot and glanced across to where her auntand Mrs. Sheridan slumbered heavily. Then she arose and stood at thewindow gazing out on the moonlit clearing with its low, silentbuildings, and clean-cut, black shadows.

  Noiselessly she dressed and stole into the silvery world. Utterlywretched, dispirited, heartsick, she wandered aimlessly, neitherknowing nor caring whither her slow, dragging steps carried her.

  Somewhere in the distance, sounding faint and far, came the shouts ofmen. Unconsciously she wandered toward the river. On the edge of a highbluff overlooking the rollways and the rushing waters she paused,leaning wearily against the bole of a giant birch.

  Thanks to the quick action of Bill Carmody Moncrossen's scheme offouling the upper drive had taken no toll of human life. The fewrollways that were broken out, however, were sufficient to cause anasty jam, and far below where the girl stood the men of both crewsworked furiously among the high-piled logs.

  Weird and unreal it seemed to Ethel as she gazed down upon the flare ofhuge fires built upon the bank, the tiny flash of lanterns and theflicker of torches, where the men swarmed out upon the uncertainfooting.

  Rough calls of rough men sounded above the crash and pound of logs andthe roar of the rushing waters. Now and then a scrap of rude chanteyreached her ears, a hoarse oath, or a loud, clear order in a voice sheknew so well.

  It was like some eery fantasy, born of an overwrought brain. And yetshe knew it was real--intensely real. Down there among the flashinglights men played with death--big, rough men who laughed loud as theyplayed, and swore mighty oaths, and sang wild, full-throated songs.

  From the shadow almost at her side came the sound of a half-stifledsob. She started. There was a soft footfall on the leaf-mold, andbefore her stood Jeanne Lacombie. The soft moonlight touched withsilvery sheen the long hairs of the great, white wolf-skin which thegirl wore thrown loosely across her shoulders.

  As Ethel gazed upon the wild, dark beauty of the Indian girl her tinyfists clenched, and her breath came in short, quick gasps.

  Why was she here? Had she followed to taunt her to her face? A mightyrage welled up within her, her shoulders stiffened, and as she facedthe girl her blue eyes flashed.

  And then the Indian girl spoke, and at the first words of the soft,rich voice, the rage died in her heart. She looked closely, and in thedark, liquid eyes was a look the white girl will never forget.

  She listened, and with few words and all the dramatic eloquence of thepure Indian the half-breed girl told of the rescue from the river; ofher own love for M's'u' Bill, "The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die"; of his firmrejection of that love; of her pursuit of him when he started for theland of the white man; of the scene at the camp-fire when oldWa-ha-ta-na-ta called him "The One Good White Man"; of the brokenknife; of The Promise; of her peril at the hand of Moncrossen, and ofthe cold-blooded shooting of her brother.

  And then she told of Bill's all-absorbing love for her, Ethel. And ofhow he always loved her, even when he believed she hated and despisedhim; of his deep hurt and the misery of his soul when he believed thatshe was to marry another.

  Until suddenly there in the moonlight the girl of the city saw for thefirst time the bigness of the man--_her man_. She saw him as he was nowand as he had been in the making--the man who had been dubbed "BroadwayBill, the sport"; the "souse," who had "soaked a cop" and then "beat itin a taxi."

  And then the man who, without name or explanation, had won the regardof such a keen judge of men as Appleton, and who, under the stigma oftheft, held that regard without question; the man who beat the boozegame after he had lost his heart's desire, and had been sneered at as acoward and a quitter; the man who having gained his heart's desire, inthe very bigness of him, had unhesitatingly risked wrecking his wholelife's happiness to keep his promise to an old, toothless, savagecrone; and who, in brute fashion, bare-fisted, had all but pounded thelife from the body of the hulking Moncrossen in defense of a woman'shonor.

  And _this_ was the man who, eighteen short months before, hadturkey-trotted upon the sidewalk in front of a gay resort, and had"pulled it too raw even for Broadway!"

  The flood-gates of her soul opened, as is the way of women in all theworld. The great sobs came, and with them tears, and in thetree-filtered moonlight the two girls--the tutored white girl and thehalf-savage Indian--women both--wept in each other's arms.

  * * * * *

  Up the trail from the river, almost at their feet, wearily climbed aman, dog-tired from physical exertion; and worn out with responsibilityand heart-rack he toiled slowly up the steep ascent.

  At the top he paused and removed his cap to let the cool air blowagainst his throbbing temples. At the sight of the two forms he drewback; but at the same moment they saw him.

  With one last, long look, and no word of farewell save a dry, chokingsob, the Indian girl glided silently into the darkness of the forest,which was her home, and the home of her people.

  On the edge of the bluff the other stood silhouetted against thestar-flecked sky. She, too, gazed at the man who stood motionless inthe moonlight. Then with a lithe, quick movement she opened her arms tohim, her lips parted, and
in the blue eyes blazed the love of all theages.

  As her body poised to meet his the man sprang toward her. His armsclosed about her, their lips met; and for a long, long time they lookeddeep into each other's eyes.

  Then slowly the tiny fingers closed about his, the girl raised themreverently to her lips and covered with kisses the great, bruised, andswollen hands.

  THE END