 CHAPTER XI. The House of the Red Death. Halfway down the ridge, a low word from Quassé stopped the engineer. Jean had toggled his team with a stout length of babish on the mountaintop, and he was looking back when Howlin turned toward him. The sharp edge of that part of the mountain from which they were descending stood out in a clear cut line against the sky, and on this edge the six dogs of the team sat squat on their haunches, silent and motionless, like strangely carved gargoyles placed there to guard the limitless plains below. Howlin took the pipe from his mouth as he watched the staring interest of Quassé. From the man he looked up again at the dogs. There was something in their Sphinx-like attitude, in the moveless reaching of their muzzles out into the wonderful starlit mystery of the still night that filled him with an indefinable sense of awe. Then there came to his ears the sound that had stopped Quassé, a low, moaning whine which seemed to have neither beginning nor end, but which was borne in on his senses as though a part of the soft movement of the air he breathed. A note of infinite sadness which held him startled and without movement, as it held Jean Quassé. And just as he thought that the thing had died away the whaling came again, rising higher and higher, until at last there rose over him a single long howl that chilled the blood to its very marrow. It was like the wolf howl of that first night he had looked on the wilderness and yet unlike it. In the first it had been the cry of the savage, of hunger, of the unending desolation of life that had thrilled him. In this it was death. He stood shivering as Quassé came down to him, his thin face shining white in the starlight. There was no other sound save the excited beating of life in their own bodies when Jean spoke. Monsieur, our dogs howl like that, only when someone is dead or about to die, he whispered. It was Woonga who gave the cry. He has lived for eleven years and I have never known him to fail. There was an uneasy gleam in his eyes. I must tie your hands, monsieur. But I have given you my word, Jean. Your hands, monsieur. There is already death below us in the plain, or it is to come very soon. I must tie your hands. Howland thrust his wrists behind him and about them Jean twisted a thong of Babish. I believe I understand, he spoke softly, listening again for the chilling wail from the mountaintop. You are afraid that I will kill you. It is a warning, monsieur. You might try. But I should probably kill you. As it is, he shrugged his shoulders as he led the way down the ridge. As it is, there is small chance of Jean Quassé answering the call. May those saints of yours preserve me, Jean, but this is all very cheerful, grunted Howland, half laughing in spite of himself. Now that I'm tied up again, who the devil is there to die but me? That is a hard question, monsieur," replied the half-breed with grim seriousness. Perhaps it is your turn. I half believe that it is. Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when there came again the moaning howl from the top of the ridge. You're getting on my nerves, Jean. You and that accursed dog. Silence, monsieur." Out of the grim loneliness at the foot of the mountain there loomed a shadow which at first Howland took to be a huge mass of rock. A few steps farther and he saw that it was a building. Quassé gripped him firmly by the arm. Stay here," he commanded. I will return soon. For a quarter of an hour Howland waited. Twice in that interval the dog howled above him. He was glad when Quassé appeared out of the gloom. It is as I thought, monsieur. There is death down here. Come with me." The shadow of the big building shrouded them as they approached. Howland could make out that it was built of massive logs and that there seemed to be neither door nor window on their side. And yet, when Jean hesitated for an instant before a blotch of gloom that was deeper than the others, he knew that they had come to an entrance. Quassé advanced softly, sniffing the air suspiciously with his thin nostrils and listening, with Howland so close to him that their shoulders touched. On the top of the mountain there came again the mournful death-song of Old Wunga and Jean shivered. Howland stared into the blotch of gloom and, still staring, he followed Quassé, entered and disappeared in it. About them was the stillness and the damp smell of desertion. There was no visible sign of life, no breathing, no movement but their own, and yet Howland could feel the half-breed's hand clutch him nervously by the arm as they went step by step into the black and silent mystery of the place. Soon there came a fumbling of Quassé's hand at a latch and they passed through a second door. Then Jean struck a match. Half a dozen steps away was a table and on the table a lamp. Quassé lighted it and with a quiet laugh faced the engineer. They were in a low, dungeon-like chamber without a window and with but the one door through which they had entered. The table, two chairs, a stove, and a bunk built against one of the log walls were all that Howland could see. But it was not the barrenness of what he imagined was to be his new prison that held his eyes and staring inquiry on Quassé. It was the look in his companion's face, the yellow pallor of fear, a horror that had taken possession of it. The half-breed closed and bolted the door and then sat down beside the table, his thin face peering up through the sickly lamp-glow at the engineer. Monsieur, it would be hard for you to guess where you are. Howland waited. If you had lived in this country long, Monsieur, you would have heard of La Maisande de Moir Rouge, the house of the Red Death, as you would call it. That is where we are, in the dungeon room. It is a Hudson Bay post, abandoned almost since I can remember. When I was a child the smallpox plague came this way and killed all the people. Nineteen years ago the Red Plague came again and not one lived through it in this post de Moir Rouge. Since then it has been left to the weasels and the owls. It is shunned by every living soul between the Athabasca and the Bay. That is why you are safe here. Ye, God, breathed Howland. Is there anything more, Quassé? Safe from what, man? Safe from what? From those who wish to kill you, Monsieur. You would not go into the south, so La Belle Mélise has compelled you to go into the north. Compris-ne-vous? For a moment Howland sat as if stunned. Do you understand, Monsieur? persisted Quassé, smiling. I—I think I do, replied Howland, tensely. You mean Mélise? John took the words from him. I mean that you would have died last night, Monsieur, had it not been for Mélise. You escaped from the coyote, but you would not have escaped from the other. That is all I can tell you. But you will be safe here. Those who seek your life will soon believe that you are dead, and then we will let you go back. Is that not a kind fate for one who deserves to be cut into bits and fed to the ravens? You will tell me nothing more, Jean? the engineer asked. Nothing, except that while I would like to kill you, I have sympathy for you. That, perhaps, is because I once lived in the south. For six years I was with the company in Montréal, where I went to school. He rose to his feet, tying the flap of his caribou skin coat about his throat. Then he unbolted and opened the door. Faintly there came to them, as if from a great distance, the wailing grief of Wonga, the dog. You said there was death here, whispered Howland, leaning close to his shoulder. There is one who has lived here since the last plague, replied Closet under his breath. He lost his wife and children, and it drove him mad. That is why we came down so quietly. He lived in a little cabin out there in the edge of the clearing, and when I went to it to-night there was a sapling over the house with a flag at the end of it. When the plague comes to us we hang out a red flag as a warning to others. That is one of our laws. The flag is blown to tatters by the winds. He is dead. Howland shuddered. Of the smallpox? Yes. For a few moments they stood in silence. Then Quassay added, You will remain here, monsieur, until I return. He went out, closing and barring the door from the other side, and Howland seated himself again in the chair beside the table. Fifteen minutes later the half-breed returned, bearing with him a good-sized pack and a two-gallon jug. There is wood back of the stove, monsieur. Here is food and water for a week, and furs for your bed. Now I will cut those thongs about your wrists. Do you mean to say you're going to leave me here alone in this wretched prison? cried Howland. Mon Dieu, is it not better than a grave, monsieur? I will be back at the end of a week. The door was partly open, and for the last time there came to Howland's ears the morning howl of the old dog on the mountaintop. Almost threateningly he gripped Quassay's arm. Jean, if you don't come back, what will happen? He heard the half-breed chuckling. You will die, monsieur, pleasantly, and taking your own time at it, which is much better than dying over a case of dynamite. But I will come back, monsieur. Goodbye. Again the door was closed and bolted, and the sound of Quassay's footsteps quickly died away beyond the log-walls. Many minutes passed before Howland thought of his pipe, or a fire. Then shiveringly he went to seek the fuel which Jean had told him was behind the stove. The old bay stove was soon roaring with the fire which he built, and as the soothing fumes of his pipe impregnated the damp air of the room he experienced a sensation of comfort, which was in strange contrast to the exciting happenings of the past few days. At last he was alone, with nothing to do for a week but eat, sleep, and smoke. He had plenty of tobacco, and an inspection of the pack showed that Quassay had left him well stocked with food. Tilted back in a chair, with his feet on the table, he absorbed the cheerful heat from the stove, sent up clouds of smoke, and wondered if the half-breed had already started back into the south. What would McDonald's say when Jack Pine came in with the report that he had slipped to his death in the waterfall? Probably his first move would be to send the most powerful team on the Wacusco in pursuit of Gregson and Thorn. The departing engineers would be compelled to return, and then he laughed aloud, and began pacing back and forth across the rotted floor of his prison as he pictured the consternation of the two seniors. And then a flush burned in his face, and his eyes glowed as he thought of Mélis. In spite of himself she had saved him from his enemies, and he blessed Quassay for having told him the meaning of this flight into the north. Once again she had betrayed him, but this time it was to save his life, and his heart leaped and joyous faith at this proof of her love for him. He believed that he understood the whole scheme now. Even his enemies would think him dead. They would leave the Wacusco, and after a time, when it was safe for him to return, he would be given his freedom. With the passing of the hours, gloomier thoughts shadowed these anticipations. In some mysterious way Mélis was closely associated with those who sought his life, and if they disappeared she would disappear with them. He was convinced of that. And then could he find her again? Would she go into the south, to civilization, or deeper into the untraveled wildernesses of the north? In answer to his question there flashed through his mind the words of Jean Quassay. Monsieur, I know of a hundred men between Athabasca and the Bay who would kill you for what you have said. Yes, she would go into the north. Somewhere in that vast desolation of which Jean had spoken he would find her, even though he spent half of his life in the search. It was past midnight when he spread out the furs and undressed for bed. He opened the stove door and from the bunk watched the faint flickerings of the dying firelight on the log walls. As slumber closed his eyes he was conscious of a sound. The faint, hungerful, wailing cry to which he had listened that first night near Prince Albert. It was a wolf, and drowsily he wondered how he could hear the cry through the thick log walls of his prison. The answer came to him the moment he opened his eyes, hours later. A bit of pale sunlight was falling into the room and he saw that it entered through a narrow aperture close up to the ceiling. After he had prepared his breakfast he dragged the table under this aperture and by standing on it was enabled to peer through. A hundred yards away was the black edge of the spruce and balsam forest. Between him and the forest, half smothered in the deep snow, was a cabin, and he shuddered as he saw floating over it the little red signal of death of which Quassé had told him the night before. With the breaking of this day the hours seemed of interminable length. For a time he amused himself by searching every corner and crevice of his prison room, but he found nothing of interest beyond what he had already discovered. He examined the door which Quassé had barred on him and gave up all hope of escape in that direction. He could barely thrust his arm through the aperture that opened out on the plague-stricken cabin. For the first time since the stirring beginning of his adventures at Prince Albert a sickening sense of his own impotency began to weigh on Howland. He was a prisoner, penned up in a desolate room in the heart of a wilderness, and he, Jack Howland, a man who had always taken pride in his physical prowess, had allowed one man to place him there. His blood began to boil as he thought of it. Now as he had time and silence in which to look back on what had happened, he was enraged at the pictures that flashed one after another before him. He had allowed himself to be used as nothing more than a pawn in a strange and mysterious game. It was not through his efforts alone that he had been saved in the flight on the Saskatchewan Trail. Blindly he had walked into the trap at the coyote. Still more blindly he had allowed himself to be led into the ambush at the Wacusco camp. And more like a child than a man he had submitted himself to Jean-Coisay. He stamped back and forth across the room, smoking viciously, and his face grew red with the thoughts that were stirring venom within him. He placed no weight on circumstances. In these moments he found no excuse for himself. In no situation had he displayed the white feather. At no time had he felt a thrill of fear. His courage and recklessness had terrified Mélis, had astonished Quassay. And yet what had he done? From the beginning, from the moment he first placed his foot in the Chinese café, his enemies had held the whip hand. He had been compelled to play a passive part. Up to the point of the ambush on the Wacusco Trail he might have found some vindication for himself. But this experience was Jean-Coisay. It was enough to madden him, now that he was alone, to think about it. Why had he not taken advantage of Jean, as Jack Pine and the Frenchman had taken advantage of him? He saw now what he might have done. Somewhere, not very far back, the sledge carrying Mélis and Jack Pine had turned into the unknown. They too were alone. Why had he not made Quassay a prisoner, instead of allowing himself to be caged up like a weakling? He swore aloud as there dawned on him more and more a realization of the opportunity he had lost. At the point of a gun he could have forced Quassay to overtake the other sledge. He could have surprised Jack Pine, as they had surprised him on the trail. And then? He smiled, but there was no humor in the smile. He, at least, would have held the whip hand. And what would Mélis have done? He asked himself question after question, answering them quickly and decisively in the same breath. Mélis loved him. He would have staked his life on that. His blood leaped as he felt again the thrill of her kisses when she had come to him as he lay bound and gagged beside the trail. She had taken his head in her arms, and through the grief of her face he had seen shining the light of a great love that had glorified it for all time for him. She loved him. And he had let her slip away from him, had weakly surrendered himself at a moment when everything that he had dreamed of might have been within his grasp. With Jack Pine and Quassay in his power, he went no further. Was it too late to do these things now? Quassay would return. With a sort of satisfaction, it occurred to him that his actions had disarmed the Frenchmen of suspicion. He believed that it would be easy to overcome Quassay to force him to follow in the trail of Mélis and Jack Pine, and that trail it would probably lead to the very stronghold of his enemies. But what of that? He loaded his pipe again, puffing out clouds of smoke until the room was thick with it. That trail would take him to Mélis wherever she was. Here, too, for his enemies had come to him. Now he would go to them. With Quassay in his power and with none of his enemies aware of his presence, everything would be in his favor. He laughed aloud as a sudden thrilling thought flashed into his mind. As a last resort, he would use Jean as a decoy. He foresaw how easy it would be to bring Mélis to him, to see Quassay. His own presence would be like the dropping of a bomb at her feet. In that moment, when she saw what he was risking for her, that he was determined to possess her, would she not surrender to the pleading of his love? If not, he would do the other thing, that which had brought the joyous laugh to his lips. All was fair in war and love, and theirs was a game of love. Because of her love for him, Mélis had kidnapped him from his post of duty, had sent him a prisoner to this death-house in the wilderness. Love had exculpated her. That same love would exculpate him. He would make her a prisoner, and Jean should drive them back to the Wacusco. Mélis herself had set the pace, and he would follow it. And what woman, if she loved a man, would not surrender after this? In their sledge-trip he would have her to himself, for not only an hour or two, but for days. Surely in that time he could win. There would be pursuit, perhaps. He might have to fight, but he was willing, and a trifle anxious, to fight. He went to bed that night, and dreamed of things that were to happen. A second day, a third night, and a third day came. With each hour grew his anxiety for Jean's return. At times he was almost feverish to have the affair over with. He was confident of the outcome, and yet he did not fail to take the Frenchman's true measurement. He knew that Jean was like live wire and steel, as agile as a cat, more than a match with himself in open fight, despite his own superior weight and size. He devised a dozen schemes for Jean's undoing. One was to leap on him while he was eating. Another to spring on him and choke him into partial insensibility as he knelt beside his pack or fed the fire. A third to strike a blow from behind that would render him powerless. But there was something in this last that was repugnant to him. He remembered that Jean had saved his life, that in no instance had he given him physical pain. He would watch for an opportunity, take advantage of the Frenchman, as Quassé had taken advantage of him, but he would not hurt him seriously. It should be as fair a struggle as Jean had offered him, and with the handicap in his favour the best man would win. On the morning of the fourth day Howland was awakened by a sound that came through the aperture in the wall. It was the sharp, yelping bark of a dog, followed an instant later by the sharper crack of a whip and a familiar voice. Jean Quassé had returned. With a single leap he was out of his bunk. Half dressed he darted to the door and crouched there, the muscles of his arms tightening, his body tense with the gathering forces within him. The spur of the moment had driven him to quick decision. His opportunity would come when Jean Quassé passed through that door. CHAPTER XII The fight. Beyond the door Howland heard Jean pause. There followed a few moments' silence as though the other were listening for sound within. Then there came a fumbling at the bar and the door swung inward. Bonjour, monsieur! called Jean's cheerful voice as he stepped inside. Is it possible you are not up with all this dog-barking and his eyes had gone to the empty bunk? Despite his cheerful greeting Howland saw that the Frenchman's face was haggard and pale as he turned quickly toward him. He observed no further than that, but flung his whole weight on the unprepared Quassé, and together they crashed to the floor. There was scarce a struggle and Jean lay still. He was flat on his back, his arms pinioned to his sides, and bringing himself astride the Frenchman's body so that each knee imprisoned an arm, Howland coolly began looping the babish thongs that he had snatched from the table as he sprang to the door. Behind Howland's back Jean's legs shot suddenly upward. In a quick choking clutch of steel-like muscle they gripped about his neck like powerful arms, and in another instant he was twisted backward with a force that sent him half-neckbroken to the opposite wall. He staggered to his feet, dazed for a moment, and Jean Quassé stood in the middle of the floor, his caribou skin coat thrown off, his hands clenched, his eyes darkening with a dangerous fire. As quickly as it had come the fire died away, and as he advanced slowly his shoulders hunched over, his white teeth gleamed in a smile. Howland smiled back and advanced to meet him. There was no humor, no friendliness in the smiles. Both had seen that flash of teeth and deadly scintillation of eyes at other times. Both knew what it meant. I believe that I will kill you, monsieur, said Jean softly. There was no excitement, no tremble of passion in his voice. I have been thinking that I ought to kill you. I almost made up my mind to kill you when I came back to this Maison de Moire Rouge. It is the justice of God that I kill you. The two men circled, like beasts in a pit. Howland in the attitude of a boxer, Jean with his shoulders bent, his arms slightly curved at his side, the toes of his moccasin feet bearing his weight. Suddenly he launched himself at the other's throat. In a flash Howland stepped a little to one side and shout out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of the head and sent him flat on his back. Half-stunned Quassé came to his feet. It was the first time that he had ever come into contact with science. He was puzzled. His head rang, and for a few moments he was dizzy. He darted in again in his old, quick, cat-like way, and received a blow that dazed him. This time he kept his feet. I am sure now that I am going to kill you, monsieur, he said as coolly as before. There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the weapons in his belt, and slowly the smile faded from Howland's lips as Jean circled about him. He had never fought a man of this kind, never had he looked on the appalling confidence that was in his antagonist's eyes. From those eyes, rather than from the man, he found himself slowly retreating. They followed him, never taking themselves from his face. In them the fire returned and grew deeper. Two dull red spots began to glow in Quassé's cheeks, and he laughed softly when he suddenly leaped in so that Howland struck at him and missed. He knew what to expect now, and Howland knew what to expect. It was the science of one world pitted against that of another, the science of civilization against that of the wilderness. Howland was trained in his art. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx. His was the quickness of sight, of instinct, the quickness of the great North Loon that had often played the same game with his rifle fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so quickly that eyes could not follow. A third and a fourth time he came within distance, and Howland struck and missed. I am going to kill you, he said again. To this point Howland had remained cool. Self-possession in his science he knew to be half the battle. But he felt in him now a slow, swelling anger. The smiling flash in Jean's eyes began to irritate him. The fearless taunting gleam of his teeth, his audacious confidence put him on edge. Twice again he struck out swiftly, but Jean had come and gone like a dart. His lithe body, fifty pounds lighter than Howland, seemed to be that of a boy dodging him in some tantalizing sport. The Frenchman made no effort at attack. His were the tactics of the wolf at the heels of the bull moose, of the lynx before the prongs of a cornered buck, tiring, worrying, ceaseless. Howland's striking muscles began to ache, and his breath was growing shorter with the exertions which seemed to have no effect on Quassé. For a few moments he took the aggressive, rushing Jean to the stove, behind the table, twice around the room, striving vainly to drive him into a corner, to reach him with one of the sweeping blows which Quassé evaded with the lightning quickness of a hell-diver. When he stopped his breath came in windbroken gasps. Jean drew nearer, smiling, ferociously cool. I am going to kill you, monsieur, he repeated again. Howland dropped his arms, his fingers relaxed, and he forced his breath between his lips as if he were on the point of exhaustion. There were still a few tricks in his science, and these he knew were about his last cards. He backed into a corner, and Jean followed, his eyes flashing a steely light, his body growing more and more tense. Now, monsieur, I am going to kill you, he said in the same low voice. I am going to break your neck. Howland, backed against the wall, partly turned as if fearing the other's attack, and yet without strength to repel it. There was a contentious smile on Quassé's lips as he poised himself for an instant. Then he leaped in, and as his fingers gripped at the other's throat, Howland's right arm shot upward in a deadly short-arm punch that cut his antagonist under the jaw. Without a sound, Jean staggered back, tottered for a moment on his feet, and fell to the floor. Fifty seconds later he opened his eyes to find his hands bound behind his back, and Howland standing at his feet. Oh, dear! But that was a good one! he gasped after he had taken a long breath or two. Will you teach it to me, monsieur? Get up, commanded Howland. I have no time to waste, Quassé. He caught the Frenchman by the shoulders, and helped him to a chair near the table. Then he took possession of the other's weapons, including the revolver which Jean had taken from him, and it began to dress. He spoke no word until he was done. Do you understand what is going to happen, Quassé? he cried then, his eyes blazing hotly. Do you understand that what you have done will put you behind prison bars for ten years or more? Does it dawn on you that I'm going to take you back to the authorities, and that as soon as we reach the Wacusco I'll have twenty men back on the trail of these friends of yours? A gray pallor spread itself over Jean's thin face. The great God, monsieur, you cannot do that. Cannot, Howland's fingers dug into the edge of the table. By this great God of yours, Quassé, but I will, and why not? Is it because Mélis is among this gang of cutthroats and murderers? Pish, my dear Jean, you must be a fool. They tried to kill me on the trail, tried it again in the coyote, and you came back here determined to kill me. You've held the whip hand from the first, now it's mine. I swear that if I take you back to the Wacusco, we'll get you all. If, monsieur? Yes, if. And that if, Jean was straining against the table. It rests with you, Quassé. I will bargain with you. Either I shall take you back to the Wacusco, hand you over to the authorities, and send a force after the others, or you shall take me to Mélis. Which shall it be? And if I take you to Mélis, monsieur? Howland straightened, his voice trembling a little with excitement. If you take me to Mélis, and swear to do as I say, I shall bring no harm to you or your friends. And Mélis, Jean's eyes darkened again, you will not harm her, monsieur? Harm her? There was a laughing tremor in Howland's voice. Good God, man, are you so blind that you can't see that I am doing this because of her? I tell you that I love her, and that I am willing to die in fighting for her. Until now I haven't had the chance. You and your friends have played a cowardly, underhand game, Quassé. You have taken me from behind at every move, and now it's up to you to square yourself a little, or there's going to be hell to pay. Understand? You take me to Mélis, or there'll be a cleanup that will put you in the whole bunch out of business. Harm her? Again Howland laughed, leaning his white face towards Jean. Come, which shall it be, Quassé? A cold glitter like the snap of sparks from striking steel's shot from the Frenchman's eyes. The grayish pallor went from his face. His teeth gleamed in the enigmatic smile that had half undone Howland in the fight. You are mistaken in some things, Monsieur, he said quietly. Until today I have fought for you and not against you. But now you have left me but one choice. I will take you to Mélis, and that means good, cried Howland. La la, Monsieur, not so good as you think. It means that as surely as the dogs carry us there, you will never come back. Mon Dieu, your death is certain. Howland turned briskly to the stove. Hungry Jean, he asked more companionably. Let's not quarrel, man. You've had your fun, and now I'm going to have mine. Have you had breakfast? I was anticipating that pleasure with you, Monsieur, replied Jean, with grim humor. And then, after I had fed you, you were going to kill me, my dear Jean, laughed Howland, flopping a huge caribou steak on the naked top of the sheet-iron stove. Real nice fellow you are, huh? You ought to be killed, Monsieur. So you've said before. When I see Mélis, I'm going to know the reason why, or... Or what, Monsieur? Kill you, Jean. I've just about made up my mind that you ought to be killed. If anyone dies up here where we're going, Quassé, it will be you, first of all. Jean remained silent. A few minutes later, Howland brought the caribou steak, a dish of flour cakes, and a big pot of coffee to the table. Then he went behind Jean and untied his hands. When he sat down at his own side of the table, he cocked his revolver and placed it beside his tin plate. Jean grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. It means business, said his captor, warningly. If at any time I think you deserve it, I shall shoot you in your tracks, Quassé, so don't arouse my suspicions. I took your word of honour, said Jean sarcastically. And I will take yours to an extent, replied Howland, pouring the coffee. Suddenly he picked up the revolver. You never saw me shoot, did you? See that cup over there? He pointed to a small tin pack-cup hanging to a nail on the wall, a dozen paces from them. Three times without missing, he drove bullets through it, and smiled across at Quassé. I am going to give you the use of your arms and legs, except at night, he said. Ma dieu, it is safe, grunted Jean. I give you my word that I will be good, monsieur. The sun was up when Quassé led the way outside. His dogs and sledge were a hundred yards from the building, and Howland's first move was to take possession of the Frenchman's rifle and eject the cartridges, while Jean tossed chunks of caribou flak. When they were ready to start, Jean turned slowly and half reached out a mitten hand to the engineer. Monsieur, he said softly, I cannot help liking you, though I know that I should have killed you long ago. I tell you again, that if you go into the north, there is only one chance in a hundred that you will kill. I tell you again, that if you go into the north, there is only one chance in a hundred that you will come back alive. Great God, monsieur, up where you wish to go, the very trees will fall on you, and the carrion ravens pick out your eyes. And that chance, that one chance in a hundred, monsieur, I will take, interrupted Howland decisively. I was going to say, monsieur," finished Jean quietly, that unless accident has befallen those who left Wacusco yesterday, that one chance is gone. If you go south, you are safe. If you go into the north, you are no better than a dead man. There will at least be a little fun at the finish," laughed the young engineer. Come, Jean, hit up the dogs. Mon Dieu, I say you are a fool, and a brave man," said Quassé, and his whip twisted sinuously in mid-air and cracked in sharp command over the yellow backs of the Huskies. End of Chapter 12 CHAPTER XIII Behind the sledge ran Howland, to the right of the team ran Jean. Once or twice when Quassé glanced back, his eyes met those of the engineer. He cracked his whip and smiled, and Howland's teeth gleamed back coldly in reply. A mutual understanding flashed between them in these glances. In a sudden spurt, Howland knew that the Frenchman could quickly put distance between them, but not a distance that his bullets could not cover in the space of a breath. He had made up his mind to fire, deliberately and with his greatest skill, if Quassé made the slightest movement toward escape. If he was compelled to kill or wound his companion, he could still go on alone with the dogs, for the trail of Mélis and Jackpine would be as plain as their own, which they were following back into the south. For the second time since coming into the north, he felt the blood leaping through his veins, as on that first night in Prince Albert, when from the mountain he had heard the lone wolf, and when later he had seen the beautiful face through the hotel window. Howland was one of the few men who possess unbounded confidence in themselves, who place a certain pride in their physical as well as their mental capabilities, and he was confident now. His successful and indomitable fight over obstacles in a big city had made this confidence a genuine part of his being. It was a confidence that flushed his face with joyous enthusiasm as he ran after the dogs, and that astonished and puzzled Jean Quassé. "'Mondir, but you are a strange man,' exclaimed the Frenchman when he brought the dogs down to a walk after a half-mile run. "'Blessed saints, monsieur, you are laughing, and I swear it is no laughing matter.' "'Shouldn't a man be happy when he is going to his wedding, Jean?' puffed Howland, gasping to get back the breath he had lost. "'But not when he is going to his funeral, monsieur.' "'If I were one of your blessed saints, I'd hit you over the head with a thunderbolt, Quassé. "'Good Lord, what sort of a heart have you got inside of your jacket, man?' "'Up there, where we're going, is the sweetest little girl in the whole world. I love her. She loves me. Why shouldn't I be happy, now that I know I'm going to see her again very soon, and take her back into the south with me?' "'The devil,' grunted Jean. "'Perhaps you're jealous, Quassé,' suggested Howland. "'Great Scott, I hadn't thought of that.' "'I've got one of my own to love, monsieur, and I wouldn't trade her for all else in the world.' "'Damn, if I can understand you,' swore the engineer, you appear to be half-human. You say you're in love, and yet you'd rather risk your life than help out Millece and me. What the deuce does it mean?' "'That's what I'm doing, monsieur, helping Millece. I would have done her a greater service if I had killed you back there in the trail and stripped your body for those things that would be foul enough to eat it. I have told you a dozen times that it is God's justice that you die, and you are going to die very soon, monsieur.' "'No, I'm not going to die, Jean. I'm going to see Millece, and she's going back into the south with me. And if you're real good, you may have the pleasure of driving us back to the workusque, Quassé, and you can be my best man at the wedding. What do you say to that?' "'That you are mad, or a fool,' retorted Jean, cracking his whip viciously. The dog swung sharply from the trail, heading from their southerly course into the northwest. "'We will save a day by doing this,' explained Quassé, at the other sharp word of inquiry. "'We will hit the other trail twenty miles west of here, while by following back to where they turned we would travel sixty miles to reach the same point. That one chance in a hundred which you have depends on this, monsieur. If the other sledge has passed,' he shrugged his shoulders and started the dogs into a trot. "'Look here,' cried Howland, running beside him. "'Who is with this other sledge?' "'Those who tried to kill you on the trail, and at the coyote, monsieur,' he answered quickly. Howland fell half a dozen paces behind. By the end of the first hour he was compelled to rest frequently by taking to the sledge, and their progress was much slower. Jean no longer made answer to his occasional questions. Doggedly he swung on ahead to the right and a little behind the team leader, and Howland could see that for some reason Quassé was as anxious as himself to make the best time possible. His own impatience increased as the morning lengthened. John's assurance that the mysterious enemies who had twice attempted his life were only a short distance behind them, or a short distance ahead, set a new and desperate idea at work in his brain. He was confident that these men from the Wacusco were his chief menace, and that with them once out of the way, and with the Frenchman in his power, the fight which he was carrying into the enemy's country would be half one. It would be then no one to recognize him but Mélis. His heart leaped with joyous hope, and he leaned forward on the sledge to examine Quassé's empty gun. It was an automatic, and Quassé, glancing back over the loping backs of the Huskies, caught him smiling. He ran more frequently now, and longer distances, and with the crossing of each mile, his determination to strike a decisive blow increased. If they reached the trail of Mélis and Jackpine before the crossing of the second sledge, he would lay in wait for his old enemies. If they had preceded them, he would pursue and surprise them in camp. In either case, he would possess an overwhelming advantage. With the same calculating attention to detail that he would have in the arrangement of plans for the building of a tunnel or a bridge, he drew a mental map of his scheme and its possibilities. There would be at least two men with the sledge, and possibly three. If they surrendered at the point of his rifle without a fight, he would compel Jean to tie them up with dog-traces while he held them under cover. If they made a move to offer resistance, he would shoot. With the automatic, he could kill or wound the three before they could reach their rifles, which would undoubtedly be on the sledge. The situation had now reached a point where he no longer took into consideration what these men might be to Mélis. As they continued into the northwest, Howlin noted that the thicker forest was gradually clearing into wide areas of small bangchampine, and that the rock ridges and dense swamps which had impeded their progress were becoming less numerous. An hour before noon, after a tedious climb to the top of a frozen ridge, Croissé pointed down into a vast level plain lying between them and other great ridges far to the north. That is a bit of the barren lands that creeps down between those mountains off there, monsieur, he said. Do you see that black forest that looks like a charred log in the snow to the south and west of the mountains? That is the break that leads into the country of the Athabasca. Somewhere between this point and that we will strike the trail. Maud-yur, I had half expected to see them out there on the plain. Who, Mélis and Jack Pine, or— No, the others, monsieur. Shall we have dinner here? Not until we hit the trail," replied Howland. I'm anxious to know about that one chance in a hundred you've given me hope of, Croissé. If they have passed— If they are ahead of us, you might just as well stand out there and let me put a bullet through you, monsieur. He went to the head of the dogs, guiding them down the rough side of the ridge, while Howland steadied the toboggan from behind. For three-quarters of an hour they traversed the low bush of the plain in silence. From every rising snow-hummock, Jean scanned the white desolation about them, and each time, as nothing that was human came within his vision, he turned toward the engineer with a sinister shrug of his shoulders. Once three moving caribou, a mile or more away, brought a cry to his lips, and Howland noticed that a sudden flash of excitement came into his face, replaced in the next instant by a look of disappointment. After this, he maintained a more careful guard over the Frenchman. They had covered less than half of the distance to the caribou trail, when, in a small open space free of bush, Croissé's voice rose sharply, and the team stopped. What do you think of it, monsieur? he cried, pointing to the snow. What do you think of that? Barely cutting into the edge of the open was the broken crust of two sledge-trails. For a moment Howland forgot his caution and bent over to examine the trails with his back to his companion. When he looked up there was a curious, laughing gleam in Jean's eyes. Mon Dieu, but you are careless, he exclaimed. Be more careful, monsieur. I may give myself up to another temptation like that. The deuce you say, cried Howland, springing back quickly. I'm much obliged, Jean. If it wasn't for the moral effect of the thing, I'd shake hands with you on that. How far ahead of us do you suppose they are? Croissé had fallen on his knees in the trail. The crust is freshly broken, he said after a moment. They have been gone not less than two or three hours, perhaps since morning. See this white glistening surface over the first trail, monsieur? Like a billion needle-points growing out of it? That is the work of three or four days cold. The first sled passed that long ago. Howland turned and picked up Croissé's rifle. The Frenchman watched him as he slipped a clip full of cartridges into the breach. If there's a snack of cold stuff in the pack, dig it out, he commanded. We'll eat on the run, if you've got anything to eat. If you haven't, we'll go hungry. We're going to overtake that sled some time this afternoon, tonight, or bust. Saints be blessed, then we are most certain to bust, monsieur, gasp, Jean. And if we don't, the dogs will. No, it is impossible. Is there anything to eat? A morsel of cold meat, that is all. But I say that it is impossible. That sledge. I interrupted him with an impatient gesture. And I say that if there is anything to eat in there, get it out and be quick about it, Croissé. We're going to overtake those precious friends of yours. And I warn you that if you make any attempt to lose time, something unpleasant is going to happen. Understand? Jean had bent to unstrap one end of the sledge-pack and an angry flash leaped into his eyes at the threatening tone of the engineer's voice. For a moment he seemed on the point of speech but caught himself and in silence divided the small chunk of meat which he drew from the pack, giving the larger share to Howland as he went to the head of the dogs. Only once or twice during the next hour did he look back and after each of these glances he redoubled his efforts at urging on the huskies. Before they had come to the edge of the black-bansion forest, which Jean had pointed out from the farther side of the plain, Howland saw that the pace was telling on the team. The leader was trailing lame and now and then the whole pack would settle back in their traces to be urged on again by the fierce cracking of Croissé's long whip. To add to his own discomforture, Howland found that he could no longer keep up with Jean and the dogs, and with his weight added to the sledge the huskies settled down into a tugging walk. Thus they came into the deep low forest and Jean, apparently oblivious of the exhaustion of both man and dogs, walked now in advance of the team, his eyes constantly on the thin trail ahead. Howland could not fail to see that his unnecessary threat of a few hours before still wrangled in the Frenchman's mind and several times he made an effort to break the other's taciturnity. But Jean strode on in moody silence, answering only those things which were put to him directly and speaking not an unnecessary word. At last the engineer jumped from the sledge and overtook his companion. "'Hold on, Jean,' he cried. "'I've got enough.' "'You're right, and I want to apologize. We're busted. That is, the dogs and I are busted. And we might as well give it up until we've had a feed. What do you say?' "'I say that you have stopped just in time, monsieur,' replied Croissé, with purring softness. "'Another half-hour, and we would have been through the forest. And just beyond that, in the edge of the plain, are those whom you seek, Mélis and her people. That is what I started to tell you back there when you shut me up. Mon Dieu, if it were not for Mélis, I would let you go on.' "'And then, what would happen then, monsieur, if you made your visit to them in broad day?' "'Listen,' Jean lifted a warning hand. Faintly there came to them through the forest the distant baying of a hound. "'That is one of our dogs from the Mackenzie country,' he went on softly, an insinuating triumph in his low voice. "'Now, monsieur, that I have brought you here, what are you going to do? Shall we go on and take dinner with those who are going to eat, or will you wait a few hours? Eh, which shall it be?' For a moment how one stood motionless, stunned by the Frenchman's words. Quickly he recovered himself. His eyes burned with a metallic gleam as they met the half-taunt in Quassé's cool smile. "'If I had not stopped you, we would have gone on,' he questioned tensely. "'To be sure, monsieur,' retorted Quassé, still smiling. "'You warned me to lose no time. That something would happen if I did.' With a quick movement, Howland drew his revolver and leveled it at the Frenchman's heart. "'If you ever prayed to those blessed saints of yours, do it now, Jean Quassé. I'm going to kill you,' he cried fiercely. End of Chapter 13 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 14 of The Danger Trail This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Danger Trail by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 14 The Gleam of the Light In a single breath the face of Jean Quassé became no more than a mask of what it had been. The taunting smile left his lips and a gray pallor spread over his face as he saw Howland's finger curled firmly on the trigger of his revolver. In another instant there came the sound of a metallic snap. "'Damnation! An empty cartridge!' Howland exclaimed. "'I forgot to load after those three shots at the cup. It's coming this time, Jean.' Purposely he snapped the second empty cartridge. "'The great God!' gasped Jean. "'Monsieur!' From deep in the forest came again the baying of the Mackenzie Hound. This time it was much nearer, and for a moment Howland's eyes left the Frenchman's terrified face as he turned his head to listen. "'They are coming,' exclaimed Quassé. "'Monsieur, I swear to—' Again Howland's pistol covered his heart. "'Then it is even more necessary that I kill you,' he said with frightful calmness. "'I warned you that I would kill you if you led me into a trap, Quassé. The dogs are bushed. There is no way out of this but to fight if there are people coming down the trail. Listen to that!' This time from still nearer came the shout of a man and then of another, followed by the husky sharp yelping as they started afresh on the trail. The flush of excitement that had come into Howland's face paled until he stood as white as the Frenchman. But it was not the whiteness of fear. His eyes were like blue steel flashing in the sunlight. "'There is nothing to do but fight,' he repeated, even more calmly than before. "'If we were a mile or two back there, it could all happen as I planned it. But here—' "'They will hear the shots,' cried Jean. "'The post is no more than a gunshot beyond the forest, and there are plenty there who would come out to see what it means. "'Quick, Monsieur, follow me.' Possibly they are hunters going out to the trap lines. "'If it comes to the worst, what then?' demanded Howland. "'You can shoot me a little later,' temperized the Frenchman with a show of his old coolness. "'Come on, dear, I am afraid of that gun, Monsieur. "'I will get you out of this if I can. "'Will you give me the chance, or will you shoot?' "'I will shoot if you fail,' replied the engineer. Barely were the words out of his mouth when Quassé sprang to the head of the dogs, seized the leader by his neck-trace, and half-dragged the team and sledge through the thick bush that edged the trail. A dozen paces farther on the dense scrub opened into the clearer run of the low-hanging banction through which Jean started at a slow trot, with Howland a yard behind him, and the huskies following with human-like cleverness in the sinuous twistings of the trail which the Frenchman marked out for them. They had progressed not more than three hundred yards when there came to them for a third time the hallowing of a voice. With a sharp hop, hop, and a low crack of his whip Jean stopped the dogs. "'The virgin be praised, but that is luck,' he exclaimed. "'They have turned off into another trail to the east, monsieur. If they had come on to that break in the bush where we dragged the sledge through,' he shrugged his shoulders with a gasp of relief. Sucked! They would not be fools enough to pass it without wondering!' Howland had broken the breach of his revolver and was replacing the three empty cartridges with fresh ones. "'There will be no mistake next time,' he said, holding out the weapon. "'You were as near your death a few moments ago as ever before in your life, Quassé. And now for a little plain understanding between us.' "'Until we stopped out there I had some faith in you. Now I have none. I regard you as my worst enemy, and though you are deuce near to your friends, I tell you that you are never in a tighter box in your life. If I fail in my mission here, you shall die. If others come along that trail before dark and run us down, I will kill you. Unless you make it possible for me to see and talk with Mélis, I will kill you. Your life hangs on my success. With my failure your death is as certain as the coming of night. I am going to put a bullet through you at the slightest suspicion of treachery. Under the circumstances what are you proposed to do? I am glad that you changed your mind, monsieur, and I will not tempt you again. I will do the best that I can,' said Jean. Through a narrow break in the tops of the Bangchen pines a few feathery flakes of snow were falling and Jean lifted his eyes to the slit of gray sky above them. Within an hour it will be snowing heavily, he affirmed. If they do not run across our trail by that time, monsieur, we shall be safe. He led the way through the forest again, more slowly and with greater caution than before, and whenever he looked over his shoulder he caught the dull gleam of Howland's revolver, as it pointed at the hollow of his back. A devil, but you make me uncomfortable,' he protested. The hammer is up too, monsieur. Yes, it is up,' said Howland grimly. And it never leaves your back, Quassay. If the gun should go off accidentally it would bore a hole clean through you. Half an hour later the Frenchman halted where the Bangchans climbed to the side of a sloping ridge. If you could trust me I would ask to go on ahead,' whispered Jean. This ridge shuts in the plain, monsieur, and just over the top of it is an old cabin which has been abandoned for many years. There is not one chance in a thousand of there being any one there, though it is a good fox ridge at this season. From it you may see the light and may lease his window at night. He did not stop to watch the effect of his last words, but began picking his way up the ridge with the dogs tugging at his heels. At the top he swung sharply between two huge masses of snow-covered rock, and in the lee of the largest of these, almost entirely sheltered from the drifts piled up by easterly winds, they came suddenly on a small log hut. About it there were no signs of life. With unusual eagerness Jean scanned the surface of the snow, and when he saw that there was trail of neither man nor beast in the unbroken crust a look of relief came into his face. "'Mondir, so far I have saved my hide,' he grinned. "'Now, monsieur, look for yourself and see if Jean Croix today has not kept his word.' A dozen steps had taken him through a screen of shrub to the opposite slope of the ridge. With outstretched arm he pointed down into the plain, and as Howlin's eyes followed its direction he stood throbbing with sudden excitement. Less than a quarter of a mile away sheltered in a dip of the plain were three or four log buildings rising black and desolate of the white waste. One of these buildings was a large structure similar to that in which Howlin had been imprisoned, and as he looked a team and sledge appeared from behind one of the cabins and halted close to the wall of the large building. The driver was plainly visible, and to Howlin's astonishment he suddenly began to ascend the side of this wall. For the moment Howlin had not thought of a stair. Jean's attitude drew his eyes. The Frenchman had thrust himself half out of the screening bushes and was staring through the telescope of his hands. With an exclamation he turned quickly to the engineer. "'Look, monsieur, do you see that man climbing the stair? I don't mind telling you that he is the one who hit you over the trail, and also one of those who shut you up in the coyote. Those are his quarters at the post, and possibly he is going up to see me lease. If you were much of a shot, you could settle a score or two from here, monsieur.' The figure had stopped evidently on a platform midway up the side of the building. He stood for a moment as if scanning the plain between him and the mountain, then disappeared. Howlin had not spoken a word, but every nerve in his body tingled strangely. "'You say Mélis is there?' he questioned hesitatingly. "'And he, who is that man, Croiset?' Jean shrugged his shoulders and drew himself back into the bush, turning leisurely toward the old cabin. "'No, monsieur, I will not tell you that,' he protested. "'I have brought you to this place. I have pointed out to you the stair that leads to the room where you will find Mélis. You may cut me into ribbons for the ravens, but I will tell you no more.' Again the threatening fire leaped into Howlin's eyes. "'I will trouble you to put your hands behind your back, Croiset,' he commanded. "'I am going to return a certain compliment of yours by tying your hands with this piece of babiche which you used on me. After that—' "'And after that, monsieur?' urged Jean with a touch of that old taunt in his voice, and stopping with his back to the engineer and his hands behind him. "'After that?' "'You will tell me all that I want to know,' finished Howlin, tightening the thong about his wrists. He led the way then to the cabin. The door was closed, but opened readily as he put his weight against it. The single room was lighted by a window through which a mass of snow had drifted, and contained nothing more than a rude table built against one of the log-walls, three supply-boxes that had evidently been employed as stools, and a cracked and rust- eaten sheet-iron stove that had from all appearances long passed into disuse. He motioned the Frenchman to a seat at one end of the table. Without a word he then went outside, securely toggled the leading dog, and returning, closed the door and seated himself at the end of the table opposite Jean. The light from the open window fell full on Quassé's dark face and shone in a silvery streak along the top of Howlin's revolver, as the muscle of it rested casually on a line with the other's breast. There was a menacing click as the engineer drew back the hammer. "'Now, my dear Jean, we're ready to begin the real game,' he explained. "'Here we are, high and dry, and down there, just far enough away to be out of hearing of this revolver when I shoot, are those we're going to play against.' "'So far I've been completely in the dark. I know of no reason why I shouldn't go down there openly and be welcomed and given a good supper. And yet at the same time I know that my life wouldn't be worth a tinker's dam if I did go down. You can clear up the whole business, and that's what you're going to do. When I understand why I am scheduled to be murdered on site, I won't be handicapped as I now am. So go ahead and spiel. If you don't, I'll blow your head off.' Jean sat unflinching, his lips drawn tightly, his head set square and defiant. "'You may shoot, monsieur,' he said quietly. "'I have sworn on a cross of the Virgin to tell you no more than I have. You could not torture me into revealing what you ask.' Slowly Howland raised his revolver. "'Once more, Quassé. Will you tell me?' "'No, monsieur.' A deafening explosion filled the little cabin. From the lobe of Jean's ear there ran a red trickle of blood. His face had gone deathly pale. But even as the bullet had stung him within an inch of his brain he had not flinched. "'Will you tell me, Quassé?' This time the black pit of the engineer's revolver centered warily between the Frenchman's eyes. "'No, monsieur.' The eyes of the two men met over the blue steel. With a cry Howland slowly lowered his weapon. "'Good God, but you're a brave man, Jean Quassé,' he cried. "'I'd sooner kill a dozen men that I know than you.' He rose to his feet and went to the door. There was still but little snow in the air. To the north the horizon was growing black with the early approach of the northern night. With a nervous laugh he returned to Jean. "'Doos take it if I don't feel like apologizing to you,' he exclaimed. "'Does your ear hurt?' "'No more than if I had scratched it with a thorn,' returned Jean politely. "'You are good with the pistol, monsieur. I would not profit by killing you, just now,' mused Howland, seating himself again on the box and resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked across at the other. "'But that's a pretty good intimation that I'm desperate and mean business, Quassé. We won't quarrel about the things I've asked you. What I'm here for is to see me lease. Now how is that to happen?' "'For the life of me, I don't know,' replied Jean, as calmly as though a bullet had not nipped the edge of his ear a moment before. "'There is only one way I can see, monsieur, and that is to wait and watch from this mountaintop until me lease drives out her dogs. She has her own team, and in ordinary seasons frequently goes out alone or with one of the women at the post. "'Mondieu,' she has had enough sledge-riding of late, and I doubt if she will find pleasure in her dogs for a long time. "'I had planned to use you,' said Howland, but I've lost faith in you. Finally, Quassé, I believe you would stick me in the back almost as quickly as those murderers down there.' "'Not in the back, monsieur,' smiled the Frenchman, unmoved. "'I have had opportunities to do that.' "'No, since that fight back there I do not believe that I want to kill you. But I would be a fool to trust you. Isn't that so?' "'Not if I gave you my word. "'That is something we do not break up here, as you do down among the Wacoisco people and farther south. "'But you murder people for pastime, eh, my dear Jean?' Quassé shrugged his shoulders without speaking. "'See here, Quassé,' said Howland, with sudden earnestness. "'I'm almost tempted to take a chance with you. Will you go down to the post tonight, in some way gain access to Mélis, and give her a message from me?' "'And the message? What would it be?' "'It would bring Mélis up to this cabin tonight.' "'Are you sure, monsieur?' "'I am certain that it would. Will you go?' "'No, monsieur.' "'The devil take you,' cried Howland angrily. "'If I was not certain that I would need you later, I'd garret you where you sit.' He rose and went to the old stove. It was still capable of holding fire, and as it had grown too dark outside for the smoke to be observed from the post, he proceeded to prepare a supper of hot coffee and meat. Jean watched him in silence, and not until food and drink were on the table did the engineer himself break silence. "'Of course, I'm not going to feed you,' he said curtly. "'So I'll have to free your hands. But be careful!' He placed his revolver on the table beside him after he had freed Quassé. "'I might assassinate you with a fork,' chuckled the Frenchman and his black eyes laughing over his coffee-cup. "'I drink your health, monsieur, and wish you happiness.' "'You lie,' snapped Howland. Jean lowered the cup without drinking. "'Is the truth, monsieur?' he insisted. "'Since that beautiful fight back there, I cannot help but wish you happiness. "'I drink also to the happiness of Mélis, also to the happiness of those who tried to kill you on the trail and at the coyote. "'But, monsieur, how is it all to come?' "'Those at the post are happy because they believe that you are dead. "'You will not be happy until they are dead. "'And, Mélis, how will all this bring happiness to her?' "'I tell you that I am as deep in trouble as you, monsieur Howland. "'May the Virgin strike me dead if I'm not!'' He drank, his eyes darkening gloomily. In that moment there flashed into Howland's mind a memory of the battle that Jean had fought for him on the Great North Trail. "'You nearly killed one of them that night at Prince Albert,' he said slowly. "'I can't understand why you fought for me then and won't help me now. "'But you did. "'And you're afraid to go down there.' "'Until I have regrown a beard,' interrupted Jean with a low chuckling laugh. "'You would not be the only one to die if they saw me again like this. "'But that is enough, monsieur. I will say no more. "'I really don't want to make you uncomfortable, Jean,' Howland apologized, as he secured the Frenchman's hands again after they had satisfied their hearty appetites. "'But unless you swear by your virgin or something else, "'that you will make no attempt to call assistance, "'I shall have to gag you. "'What do you say?' "'I will make no outcry, monsieur. "'I give you my word for that.'" With another length of babish Howland tied his companion's legs. "'I'm going to investigate a little,' he explained. "'I am not afraid of your voice, for if you begin to shout, "'I will hear you first. "'But with your legs free, you might take it into your head to run away.' "'Would you mind spreading a blanket on the floor, monsieur? "'If you are gone long, this box will grow hard and sharp.'" A few minutes later, after he had made his prisoner as comfortable as possible in the cabin, Howland went again through the fringe of Scrubbush to the edge of the ridge. Below him the plane was lost in the gloom of night. He could see nothing of the buildings at the post, but two or three lights gleaming faintly through the darkness. Overhead there were no stars. Thickening snow shut out what illumination there might have been in the north, and even as he stood looking into the desolation to the west, the snow fell faster and the lights grew fainter and fainter until all was a chaos of blackness. In these moments a desire that was almost madness swept over him. Since his fight with Jean, the swift passing of events had confined his thoughts to their one objective, the finding of Mélis and her people. He had assured himself that his every move was to be a cool and calculating one that nothing, not even his great love, should urge him beyond that reason which had made him a master-builder among men. As he stood with the snow falling heavily on him, he knew that his trail would be covered before another day, that for an indefinite period he might safely wait and watch for Mélis on the mountaintop. And yet slowly he made his way down the side of the ridge. A little way out there in the gloom, barely beyond the call of his voice, was the girl for whom he was willing to sacrifice all that he had ever achieved in life. With each step the desire in him grew, the impulse to bring himself nearer to her, to steal across the plain, to approach in the silent smother of the storm until he could look on the light which Jean Croisset had told him would gleam from her window. He descended to the foot of the ridge and headed into the plain, taking the caution to bury his feet deep in the well, that he might have a trail to guide him back to the cabin. At first he found himself impeded by low bush. Then the plain became more open, and he knew that there was nothing but the night and the snow to shut out his vision ahead. Still he had no motive, no reason for what he did. The snow would cover his tracks before morning. There would be no harm done, and he might get a glimpse of the light, of her light. It came on his vision with a suddenness that set his heart leaping. A dog barked ahead of him, so near that he stopped in his tracks, and then suddenly there shot through the snow gloom the bright gleam of a lamp. Before he had taken another breath he was aware of what had happened. Certain had been drawn aside in the chaos ahead. He was almost on the walls of the post, and the light gleamed from high, up, from the head of the stair. For a space he stood still, listening and watching. There was no other light, no other sound after the barking of the dog. About him the snow fell with fluttering noiselessness, and it filled him with a sensation of safety. The sharpest eyes could not see him, the keenest ears could not hear him. And he advanced again until before him there rose out of the gloom a huge shadowy mass that was blacker than the night itself. The one lighted window was plainly visible now, its curtain two-thirds drawn, and as he looked a shadow passed over it. Was it a woman shadow? The window darkened as the figure within came nearer to it, and Howlin stood with clenched hands and wildly beating heart, almost ready to call out softly a name. A little nearer, one more step, and he would know. He might throw a chunk of snow-crust, a cartridge from his belt, and then the shadow disappeared. Dimly Howlin'd made out the snow-covered stair, and he went to it and looked up. Ten feet above him the light shone out. He looked into the gloom behind him, into the gloom out of which he had come. Nothing, nothing but the storm. Swiftly he mounted the stair. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 15 of The Danger Trail This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Danger Trail by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 15 in the bedroom chamber flattening himself closely against the black logs of the wall. Howlin'd paused on the platform at the top of the stair. His groping hand touched the jam of a door, and he held his breath when his fingers unconsciously rattled the steel of a latch. In another moment he passed on. Three paces, four along the platform, at last sinking on his knees in the snow, close under the window. His eyes searched the lighted room an inch at a time. He saw a section of wall at first, dimly illuminated. Then a small table near the window covered with books and magazines, and beside it a reclining chair buried thick under a great white bare robe. On the table but beyond his vision was the lamp. He drew himself a few inches more through the snow, leaning still farther ahead until he saw the foot of a white bed. A little more and he stopped, his white face close to the window pane. On the bed facing him sat Melyce. Her chin was buried in the cup of her hands, and he noticed that she was in a dressing gown and that her beautiful hair was loosed and flowing in glistening waves about her, as though she had just brushed it for the night. A movement, a slight shifting of her eyes, and she would have seen him. He was filled with an almost mastering impulse to press his face closer, to tap on the window, to draw her eyes to him. But even as his hand rose to do the bidding of that impulse something restrained him. Slowly the girl lifted her head, and he was thrilled to find that another impulse drew him back until his ghostly face was a part of the elusive snow-gloom. He watched her as she turned from him and threw back the glory of her hair until it half hid her in a mass of copper and gold. From his distance he still gazed at her, choking and undecided while she gathered it in three heavy strands and plated it into a shining braid. For an instant his eyes wandered. Beyond her presence the room was empty. He saw a door and observed that it opened into another room, which in turn could be entered through the platform door behind him. With his old exactness for detail he leaped to definite conclusion. These were Melyce's apartments at the post, separated from all others, and Melyce was preparing to retire for the night. If the outer door was not locked and he entered, what danger could there be of interruption? It was late, the post was asleep. He had seen no light but that in the window through which he was staring. The thought was scarcely born before he was at the platform door. The latch clicked gently under his fingers. Cautiously he pushed the door inward and thrust in his head and shoulders. The air inside was cold and frosty. He reached out an arm to the right and his hand encountered the rough-hewn surface of a wall. He advanced a step and reached out to the left. There, too, his hand touched a wall. He was in a narrow corridor. Ahead of him there shone a thin ray of light from under the door that opened into Melyce's room. Nerving himself for the last move he went boldly to the door, knocked lightly to give some warning of his presence, and entered. Melyce was gone. He closed the door behind him, scarce believing his eyes. Then at the far end of the room he saw a curtain undulating slightly as if from the movement of a person on the other side of it. Melyce, he called softly. White and dripping with snow, his face bloodless and the tense excitement of the moment, he stood with his arms half reaching out when the curtain was thrust aside and the girl stood before him. At first she did not recognize him in his ghostly, storm-covered disguise. But before the startled cry that was on her lips found utterance, the fear that had blanched her face gave place to a swift sweeping flood of color. For a space there was no word between them as they stood separated by the breadth of the room. Howland, with his arms held out to her in pleading silence, Melyce with her hands clutched to her bosom, and throat a tremble with strange sobbing notes that made no more sound than the fluttering of a bird's wing. And Howland, as he came across the room to her, found no words to say, none of the things that he had meant to whisper to her, but drew her to him and crushed her close to his breast, knowing that in this moment nothing could tell her more eloquently than the throbbing of his own heart, the passionate pressure of his face to her face, of his great love which seemed to stir into life the very silence that encompassed them. It was a silence broken after a moment by a short, choking cry. The quick-breathing terror of a face turned suddenly up to him, robbed of its flush and quivering with a fear that still found no voice in words. He felt the girl's arms straining against him for freedom. Her eyes were filled with a staring, questioning horror, as though his presence had grown into a thing of which he was afraid. The change was tonic to him. This was what he had expected, the first terror at his presence, the struggle against his will, and there surged back over him the forces he had reserved for this moment. He opened his arms and Melyce slipped from them, her hands clutched again in the clinging drapery of her bosom. I have come for you, Melyce," he said as calmly as though his arrival had been expected. Jean is my prisoner. I forced him to drive me to the old cabin up in the mountain, and he is waiting there with the dogs. We will start back to-night, now! Suddenly he sprang to her again, his voice breaking in a low, pleading cry. My God! Don't you see now how I love you? He went on, taking her white face between his two hands. Don't you understand, Melyce? Jean and I have fought. He is bound, hand and foot, up there in the cabin. And I am waiting for you, for you!" He pressed her face against him, her lips so close that he could feel their quavering breath. I have come to fight for you, if you won't go," he whispered tensely. I don't know why your people have tried to kill me. I don't know why they want to kill me. And it makes no difference to me now. I want you. I've wanted you since that first glimpse of your face through the window, since the fight on the trail. Every minute, every hour, and I won't give you up as long as I'm alive. If you won't go with me, if you won't go now, to-night," he held her closer, his voice trembling in her hair. If you won't go, I'm going to stay with you. There was a thrillingly decisive note in his last words, a note that carried with it more than all he had said before. And as Melyce partly drew away from him again, she gave a sharp cry of protest. No, no, no! she panted, her hands clutching at his arm. You must go back now, now! She pushed him toward the door, and as he backed a step, looking down into her face, he saw the choking tremble of her white throat, heard again the fluttering terror in her breath. They will kill you if they find you here, she urged. They think you are dead, that you fell through the ice and were drowned. If you don't believe me, if you don't believe that I can never go with you, tell Jean," her words seemed to choke her as she struggled to finish. Tell Jean what, he questioned softly. Will you go, then? She cried with sobbing eagerness, as if he already understood her. Will you go back if Jean tells you everything, everything about me, about… No," he interrupted. If you only knew, then you would go back and never see me again. You would understand. I will never understand," he interrupted again. I say that it is you who do not understand, Melyce. I don't care what Jean would tell me. Nothing that has ever happened can make me not want you. Don't you understand? Nothing I say, nothing that has happened, that can ever happen, unless… For a moment he stopped, looking straight into her eyes. Nothing, nothing in the world, Melyce," he repeated, almost in a whisper. Unless you did not tell me the truth back on the trail at Wacusco, when you said that it was not a sin to love you. And if I tell you, if I confess that it is a sin, that I lied back there, then will you go? She demanded quickly. Her eyes flamed on him with a strange light. No," he said calmly. I would not believe you. But it is the truth. I lied, lied terribly to you. I have sinned even more terribly, and… and you must go. Don't you understand me now? If someone should come and find you here… There would be a fight," he said grimly. I have come prepared to fight. He waited a moment, and in the silence the brown head in front of him dropped slowly, and he saw a tremor pass through the slender form as if it had been torn by an instant's pain. The pallor had gone from Howlin's face. The mute surrender in the bowed head, the soft sobbing notes that he heard now in the girl's breath, the confession that he read in her voiceless grief, set his heart leaping. And again he drew her close into his arms and turned her face up to his own. There was no resistance now, no words, no pleading for him to go. But in her eyes he saw the prayerful entreaty with which she had come to him on the Wacusco Trail, and in the quivering red mouth the same torture and love and half-surrender that had burned themselves into his soul there. Love, triumph, undying faith shone in his eyes, and he crushed her face closer until the lovely mouth lay pouted like a crimson rose for him to kiss. You told me something that wasn't true once, back there, he whispered, and you promised that you wouldn't do it again. You haven't sinned in the way that I mean and in the way that you want me to believe. His arms tightened still more about her, and his voice was suddenly filled with a tense quick eagerness. Why don't you tell me everything? he asked. You believe that if I knew certain things I would never want to see you again, that I would go back into the South. You have told me that? Then, if you want me to go, why don't you reveal these things to me? If you can't do that, go with me to-night. We will go anywhere, to the ends of the earth. He stopped at the look that had come into her face. Her eyes were turned to the window. He saw them filled with a strange terror, and involuntarily his own followed them to where the storm was beating softly against the window-pane. Close to the lighted glass was pressed a man's face. He caught a flashing glimpse of a pair of eyes staring in at them of a thick, wild beard whitened by the snow. He knew the face. When life seemed slipping out of his throat, he had looked up into it that night of the ambush on the Great North Trail. There was the same hatred, the same demonic fierceness in it now. With a quick movement, Howlin sprang away from the girl and leveled his revolver to where the face had been. Over the shining barrel he saw only the taunting emptiness of the storm. Scarcely had the face disappeared when there came the loud shout of a man, the horse calling of a name, and then of another, and after that the quick, furious opening of the outer door. Howlin whirled, his weapon pointing to the only entrance. The girl was ahead of him, and with a warning cry he swung the muzzle of his gun upward. In a moment she had pushed the bolt that locked the room from the inside, and had leaped back to him, her face white, her breath breaking in fear. She spoke no word, but with a moan of terror caught him by the arm and pulled him past the light and beyond the thick curtain that had hidden her when he had entered the room a few minutes before. They were in a second room, palely lighted by a mass of coals gleaming through the open door of a box-stove, and with a second window looking out into the thick night. Fiercely she dragged him to this window, her fingers biting deep into the flesh of his arm. "'You must go through this!' she cried, chokingly. "'Quick! Oh, my God! Won't you hurry? Won't you go?' Howlin had stopped. From the blackness of the corridor there came the beat of heavy fists on the door and the rage of a thundering voice demanding admittance. From out in the night it was answered by the sharp barking of a dog and the shout of a second voice. "'Why should I go?' he asked. "'I told you a few moments ago that I had come prepared to fight, melees. I shall stay and fight.' "'Please! Please go!' she sobbed, striving to pull him nearer to the window. "'You can get away in the storm. The snow will cover your trail. If you stay they will kill you, kill you!' "'I prefer to fight and be killed rather than to run away without you,' he interrupted. "'If you will go!' she crushed herself against his breast. "'I can't go now, this way,' she urged. "'But I will come to you. "'I promise that I will come to you.' For an instant her hands clasped his face. "'Will you go if I promise you that?' "'You swear that you will follow me, that you will come down to the Wacusco?' "'My God, are you telling me the truth, melees?' "'Yes, yes, I will come to you if you go now!' She broke from him and he heard her fumbling at the window. "'I will come. I will come, but not to Wacusco. They will follow you there. Go back to Prince Albert, to the hotel where I looked at you through the window. I will come there, sometime, as soon as I can.' A blast of cold air swept into his face. He had thrust his revolver into its holster and now again for an instant he held me least close in his arms. "'You will be my wife?' he whispered. He felt her throbbing against him. Suddenly her arms tightened around his neck. "'Yes, if you want me then. If you want me after you know what I am, now go, please, please, go!' He pulled himself through the window, looking for a last moment to the ledge. "'If you fail to come within a month, I shall return,' he said. Her hands were at his face again. Once more, as on the trail at Le Pas, he felt the sweet pressure of her lips. "'I will come,' she whispered. Her hands thrust him back and he was forced to drop to the snow below. Suddenly had his feet touched when there sounded the fierce yelp of a dog close to him, and as he darted away into the smother of the storm the brute followed at his heels, barking excitedly in the manner of the mongrel-curs that had found their way up from the south. Between the dog's alarm and the loud outcry of men there was barely time in which to draw a breath. From the stair-platform came the rapid fusel of rifle-shots that sang through the air above Howlin's head and mingled with the fire was a hoarse voice urging on the cur that followed within a leap of his heels. The presence of the dog filled the engineer with a fear that he had not anticipated. Not for an instant did the brute give slack to his tongue as they raced through the night, and Howlin knew now that the storm and the darkness were of little avail in his race for life. There was but one chance, and he determined to take it. Gradually he slackened his pace, drawing and cocking his revolver. Then he turned suddenly to confront the yelping nemesis behind him. Three times he fired in quick succession at a moving blot in the snow-gloom, and there went up from that blot a wailing cry that he knew was caused by the deep bite of lead. Again he plunged on, a muffled shout of defiance on his lips. Never had the fire of battle raged in his veins as now. Back in the window, listening in terror, praying for him, was Melyse. The knowledge that she was there, that at last he had won her and was fighting for her, stirred him with a joy that was next to madness. Nothing could stop him now. He loaded his revolver as he ran, slackening his pace as he covered greater distance, for he knew that in the storm his trail could be followed scarcely faster than a walk. He gave no thought to Jean-Coisse, bound hand and foot in the little cabin on the mountain. Even as he had clung to the window for that last moment, it had occurred to him that it would be folly to turn to the Frenchman. Melyse had promised to come to him, and he believed her, and for that reason Jean was no longer of use to him. Alone he would lose himself in that wilderness, alone work his way into the south, trusting to his revolver for food and to his compass and the matches in his pocket for life. There would be no sledge-trail for his enemies to follow, no treachery to fear. It would take a thousand men to find him after the night storm had covered up his retreat, and if one should find him, they too would be alone to fight it out. For a moment he stopped to listen and stare futilely into the blackness behind him. When he turned to go on, his heart stood still. A shadow had loomed out of the night, half a dozen paces ahead of him, and before he could raise his revolver the shadow was lightened by a sharp flash of fire. Howland staggered back, his fingers loosening their grip on his pistol, and as he crumpled down into the snow he heard over him the hoarse voice that had urged on the dog. After that there was a space of silent, of black chaos in which he neither reasoned nor lived, and when there came to him faintly the sound of other voices. Finally all of them were lost in one, a moaning, sobbing voice that was calling his name again and again, a voice that seemed to reach to him from out of an infinity of distance, and that he knew was the voice of Melyce. He strove to speak, to lift his arms, but his tongue was as led, his arms as though fettered with steel bands. The voice died away. He lived through a cycle of speechless, painless night into which finally a gleam of dawn returned. He felt as if years were passing in his efforts to move, to lift himself out of chaos. But at last he won. His eyes opened, he raised himself. His first sensation was that he was no longer in the snow, and that the storm was not beating into his face. Instead there encompassed him a damp, dungeon-like chill. Everywhere there was blackness. Everywhere, except in one spot, where a little yellow eye of fire watched him and blinked at him. At first he thought that the eye must be miles and miles away, but it came quickly nearer and still nearer, until at last he knew that it was a candle burning with the silence of a death-taper, a yard or two beyond his feet. End of Chapter 15 Recording by Roger Moline