King Spruce, A Novel

by Holman Day

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE MAN WHO CAME FROM NOWHERE

  "He hadn't a word for no one, not even for me or Mike, And whenever we spoke or tried to joke, he growled like a Chessy tyke."

  Dwight Wade found a lively conference in progress in the main camp.

  Tommy Eye was doing most of the talking, and it was plain that hisopinions carried weight, for no one presumed to gainsay him.

  "And I'll say to you what I'm tellin' to them here, Mr. Wade," continuedthe teamster. "You saw for yourself what happened here last night. Aha'nt done it. And the ha'nt done this last. They're pickin' Skeetsright and left."

  "Ha'nt must be in the pay of Pulaski D. Britt," remarked one rude joker."He's been the one most interested in gettin' the tribe out of thissection."

  Dwight Wade, love and awful fear raging in his heart, was in no mood toplay dilettante with the supernatural, nor to relish jokes.

  "We'll have done with this foolishness, men!" he cried, harshly. "A girlhas been lost in these woods." He was protecting Elva Barrett'sincognito by a mighty effort of self-repression. The agony of his soulprompted him to leap, shouting, down the tote road, calling her name andcrying his love and his despair. "I want this crew to beat the woods andfind her."

  "She can't ever be found," growled a prompt rebel. "I heard the drivertell. She was picked right up and lugged off. There ain't any of us gotwings."

  "Oh, you've got to admit that there are ha'nts!" persisted Tommy, withfine relish for his favorite topic. "And they pick up people. I see one,in the shape of a tree, pick up an ox once and break his neck."

  "D--n you for drooling idiots!" raved Wade, beside himself. It was thefirst outlet for the storm of his feelings.

  He ordered them to get lanterns and start on the search--he strode amongthem with brandished fists and whirling arms, and they dodged from infront of him, staring in amazement.

  "My Gawd," mourned Tommy, "this camp has had the spell put on it forsure! The ha'nt has driv' the boss out of his head, and will have himnext. And if it can drive a college man out of his head, what chance hasthe rest of us got?"

  Panic was writ large in the faces of the simple woodsmen, and fearglittered in their eyes. A single queer circumstance would merely haveset them to wondering; but these unexplainable events, following eachother so rapidly and taking ominous shade from the glass that lugubriousTommy Eye held over them, shook them out of self-poise. It needed butone voice to cry, "The place is accursed!" to precipitate a rout, andold Christopher Straight had the woodsman's keen scent for trouble ofthis sort.

  "A moment! A moment, Mr. Wade!" he called. He patted the young man'selbow and urged him towards the door. "I want to speak to you. Keepquiet, my men, and go in to your supper."

  As he passed the cook-house door he sharply ordered the cook to soundthe delayed call--the cook being then engaged in discussing, withchopping-boss and cookee, a certain "side-hill lounger," a ha'nt thatwrought vast mischief of old along Ripogenus gorge.

  "Mr. Wade," advised the old man, when they were apart from the camp,"I'm sorry to see you get so stirred up over the Skeet girl, for I don'tbelieve she appreciates your kindness. I have this matter pretty wellsettled in my own mind. I don't know just why Miss Nina is up here, norwhy she has brought that girl back--or tried to. It is plain, though,that the girl has deceived her."

  "I don't understand," quavered Wade, struggling between his ownknowledge and old Christopher's apparent certainty.

  "The Skeet girl, having her own reasons for wanting to come this wayfrom Castonia, got as far as Pogey Notch, slipped off the team, and madeher way to Britt's camp on Jerusalem to join Colin MacLeod. It's all aput-up job, Mr. Wade, and they've simply done what they set out to do inthe first place, when Britt and his crew followed John Barrett and me toDurfy's. So I wouldn't worry any more about the girl, Mr. Wade. Let herstay where she plainly wants to stay."

  Wade blurted the truth without pausing to weigh consequences. Hebitterly needed an adviser. Old Christopher's calm confidence in his owntheory pricked him.

  "Great God, man, it isn't the Skeet girl! It is John Barrett'sdaughter--his daughter Elva!"

  For a moment Christopher gasped his amazement, without words.

  "There have been strange things happening outside since we've beenlocked in here away from the news," the young man went on, excitedly."It is Elva Barrett, I tell you, Christopher, and she has been stolen."

  "Then it's a part of the plot--somehow--someway," insisted the old man."Colin MacLeod, or some one interested for Colin MacLeod, saw thatgirl, and took her for the Skeet girl. I've never seen Elva Barrett, butyou've told me that the Skeet girl is her spittin' image--or words tothat effect," corrected the old guide.

  "And she was dressed in Kate Arden's clothes!" groaned Wade, rememberingNina Ide's little scheme of deception.

  "Then she's at Britt's camp--mistaken for the Skeet girl, as I said,"declared Straight, with conviction.

  "But hold on!" he cried, grasping Wade's arm as the young man was aboutto rush back into the camp, "that's no way to go after that girl--hammerand tongs, mob and ragtag. In the first place, Mr. Wade, those men inthere are in no frame of mind to be led off into the night. I knowwoodsmen. They've been talkin' ha'nts till they're ready to jump tenfeet high if you shove a finger at 'em. This is no time for an army--anarmy of that caliber. They know well enough now at Britt's camp that itisn't Kate Arden. And I'll bet they're pretty frightened, now that theyknow who they've got. It's a simple matter, Mr. Wade. I'll go to Britt'scamp and get the young lady. I'll go now on snow-shoes and take themoose-sled, and I'll be back some time to-morrow all safe and happy."

  "I'll go with you," declared Wade.

  "It isn't best," protested the old man. "I've no quarrel with ColinMacLeod. It means trouble if you show in sight there without your menbehind you."

  "But I'm going," insisted Wade, with such positiveness that oldChristopher merely sighed. "I'll let you go into the camp alone,"allowed Wade, "for I am not fool enough to look for trouble just to findit; but I'll be waiting for you up the tote road with the moose-sled,and I'll haul her home here out of that hell."

  "I can't blame you for wantin' to play hoss for her," said the woodsman,with a little malice in his humor. "And if she is like most girlsshe'll be willin' to have you do it."

  Ten minutes later the two were away down the tote road. They saidnothing of their purpose except to Nina Ide, whom they left intrenchedin the wangan--a woods maiden who felt perfectly certain of the chivalryof the men of the woods about her.

  The storm was over, but the heavens were still black. Wade dragged themoose-sled, walking behind old Christopher in the patch of radiance thatthe lantern flung upon the snow. Treading ever and ever on the samewhiteness in that little circle of light, it seemed to Wade that he wasmaking no progress, but that the big trees were silently crowding theirway past like spectres, and that he, for all his passion of fear andforeboding, simply lifted his feet to make idle tracks. The winds werestill, and the only sounds were the rasping of legs and snow-shoes, andthe soft thuddings of snow-chunks dropped from the limbs of overladentrees.

  In the first gray of the morning, swinging off the tote road and downinto the depths of Jerusalem valley, they at last came upon thescattered spruce-tops and fresh chips that marked the circle of Britt'swinter operation.

  The young man's good sense rebuked his rebelliousness when Christophertook the cord of the sled and bade him wait where he was.

  "I don't blame you for feeling that way," said the old man, interpretingWade's wordless mutterings; "but the easiest way is always the best. Ifshe is there she will want to come with me, where Miss Ide is waitingfor her, and the word of the young lady will be respected. I'm afraidyour word wouldn't be--not with Colin MacLeod," he added, grimly.

  And yet Dwight Wade watched the lantern-light flicker down the valleywith a secret and shamed feeling that he was a coward not to be thefirst to hold out a hand of succor to the girl he loved. That he ha
d towait hidden there in the woods while another represented him chafed hisspirits until he strode up and down and snarled at the reddening east.

  At last the waiting became agony. The sun came up, its light quiveringthrough the snow-shrouded spruces. Below him in the valley he heardteamsters yelping at floundering horses, the grunting "Hup ho!" ofsled-tenders, and the chick-chock of axes. It was evident that the visitof Christopher Straight had not created enough of a sensation to divertPulaski Britt's men from their daily toil. Wade's hurrying thoughtswould not allow his common-sense to excuse the old man's continuedabsence. To go--to tear Elva Barrett from that hateful place--to rushback--what else was there for Straight to do? In the end the goads ofapprehension were driving him down the trail towards the camp,regardless of consequences.

  But when, at the first turn of the road, he saw Christopher ploddingtowards him, he ran back in sudden tremor. He wanted to think a moment.There was so much to say. The old man came into sight again, near athand, before Wade had control of the tumult of his thoughts.

  The sled was empty.

  Christopher scuffed along slowly, munching a biscuit.

  "They wouldn't let her go? I--I thought they had made you stay--you wereso long!" gasped the young man, trying by words of his own to calm hisfear.

  "She isn't there, Mr. Wade," said the old man, finishing his biscuit,and speaking with an apparent calmness which maddened the young man.This old man, placidly wagging his jaws, seemed a part of the stolidindifference of the woods.

  "I brought you something to eat, Mr. Wade," Christopher went on. Hefumbled at his breast-pocket. "We've got tough work ahead of us. Youcan't do it on an empty stomach."

  "My God! what are you saying, Straight?" demanded the young man."They're lying to you. She is there. She must be. There's no one--"

  "And I say she isn't there," insisted Christopher, with quiet firmness."I know what I'm talking about. You're only guessin'."

  "They lied to you to save themselves."

  "Mr. Wade, I know woodsmen better than you do. There are a good manythings about Colin MacLeod that I don't like. But when it came to amatter of John Barrett's daughter Colin MacLeod would be as square asyou or I."

  "You told them it was John Barrett's daughter?"

  "I did not," said the old man, stoutly. "There was no need to. If it hadbeen John Barrett's daughter she would have been queening it in thosecamps when I got there. She hadn't been there. There has been no womanthere. Colin MacLeod and his men didn't take Miss Barrett from that toteteam. And I've made sure of that point because I knew my men well enoughto make sure. She isn't there!"

  "There is no one else in all these woods to trouble her," declared Wade,brokenly.

  "No one knows just who and what are movin' about these woods," saidChristopher, in solemn tones. "In forty years I've known things tohappen here that no one ever explained. Hold on, Mr. Wade!" he cried,checking a bitter outburst. "I'm not talking like Tommy Eye, either! I'mnot talking about ha'nts now. But, I say, strange things have happenedin these woods--and a strange thing has happened this time. Barrett'sdaughter is gone. She's been taken. She didn't go by herself." He gazedhelplessly about him, searching the avenues of the silent woods.

  "North or east, west or south!" he muttered, "It's a big job for us, Mr.Wade! I'm goin' to be honest with you. I don't see into it. You'd bettereat."

  The young man pushed the proffered food away.

  "You eat, I say," commanded old Christopher, his gray eyes snapping."An empty gun and an empty man ain't either of 'em any good on ahuntin'-trip."

  He started away, dragging the sled, and Wade struggled along after him,choking down the food.

  When they had retraced their steps as far as the Enchanted tote road,Christopher turned to the south and trudged towards Pogey Notch. Thetrail of the tote team was visible in hollows which the snow had nearlyfilled. The snow lay as it had fallen. The tops of the great trees oneither side of the road sighed and lashed and moaned in the wind thathad risen at dawn. But below in the forest aisles it was quiet.

  Had not the wind been at their backs, whistling from the north, thepassage of Pogey Notch would have proved a savage encounter. Thestunted growth offered no wind-break. The great defile roared like achimney-draught. As the summer winds had howled up the Notch, lashingthe leafy branches of the birches and beeches, so now the winter windshowled down, harpers that struck dismal notes from the bare trees. Thesnow drove horizontally in stinging clouds. The drifting snow even madethe sun look wan. The quest for track, trail, or clew in that stormaftermath was waste of time. But the old man kept steadily on, peeringto right and left, searching with his eyes nook and cross-defile, untilat the southern mouth of the Notch they came to Durfy's hovel.

  Christopher took refuge there, leaning against the log walls, and musedfor a time without speaking. Then he bent his shrewd glance on Wadefrom under puckered lids.

  "There's no telling what a lunatic will do next, is there?" he blurted,abruptly.

  Wade, failing to understand, stared at his questioner.

  "I was thinkin' about that as we came past that place where 'Ladder'Lane trussed up John Barrett and left him, time of the big fire," theold man went on. "Comin' down the Notch sort of brought the thing up inmy mind. It's quite a grudge that Lane has got against John Barrett andall that belongs to him."

  Wade was well enough versed in Christopher Straight's subtle fashion ofexpressing his suspicions to understand him now.

  "By ----, Straight, I believe you've hit it!" he panted.

  "I've been patchin' a few things together in my head," said the old man,modestly, "as a feller has to do when dealin' with woods matters. I'vetold you that queer things have happened in the woods. When a number ofthings happen you can fit 'em together, sometimes. Now, there wasn'tanything queer at Britt's camps to fit into the rest. I came right on'em sudden, and there wasn't a ripple anywhere. I didn't go into thedetails, Mr. Wade, in tellin' you why I knew Miss Barrett wasn't there.It would have been wastin' time. But now take the queer things! Out goesAbe Skeet into the storm! Who would be mousin' around outside at thattime of night except a lunatic--such as 'Ladder' Lane has turned intosince the big fire? You saw on Jerusalem how Lane could boss Abe--hejumped when Lane pulled the string.

  "And it was Lane that called him out of our camp," the old man went on."No one else could do it--except that old Skeet grandmother. Lane hasbeen in these woods ever since he abandoned the Jerusalem fire station.He's no ordinary lunatic. He's cunnin'. He's only livin' now to nuss thegrudge. Now see here!" Christopher held up his fingers, and bent themdown one by one to mark his points. "He has ha'nted camps in thissection to locate Abe Skeet. Knowed Abe Skeet could probably tell whereKate Arden had gone, Abe havin' been left to guard her. Called Abe outto go with him to get that girl back--maybe havin' heard that JohnBarrett got out of these woods scot-free and had dumped the girl offsomewhere else. Lane is lunatic enough to think he needs the girl tocarry out his plan of revenge. And he does, if he means to take heroutside and show her to the world as John Barrett's abandoned daughter,as it's plain his scheme is. Lane and Abe started down towards Castonia.Heard tote team, and hid side of road (would naturally hide). Saw girlthat looked like Kate Arden (even dressed in her clothes, I believe youtold me?). Followed the team, and when she covered herself in theblanket, as though to make herself into a package ready for 'em, theygrabbed her off the team before she had time to squawk. Had her readymuzzled and gagged, as you might say! Mr. Wade, as I told you, I've beenpatchin' things in my mind. I ain't a dime-novel detective nor anythingof the sort, but I do know something about the woods and who are in 'emand what they'll be likely to do, and I can't see anything far-fetchedin the way I've figgered this."

  While his fears had been so hideously vague Wade had stumbled on behindhis guide without hope, and with his thoughts whirling in his head aswildly as the snow-squalls whirled in Pogey. Now, with definite point onwhich to hang his bitter fears, he was roused into a fury of activity.

&
nbsp; "We'll after them, Christopher!" he shouted. "They've got her! It's justas you've figured it. They've got her! She will die of fright, man! Idon't dare to think of it!" He was rushing away. Christopher called tohim.

  "Just which way was you thinkin' of goin'?" he asked, with mild sarcasm."I can put queer things together in my mind so's to make 'em fit prettywell," went on the old man, "but jest which way to go chasin' a lunaticand a fool in these big woods ain't marked down on this snow plainenough so I can see it."

  Wade, the cord of the moose-sled in his trembling hands, turned andstared dismally at Straight. The old man slowly came away from thehovel, his nose in the air, as though he were sniffing for inspiration.

  "The nearest place," he said, thinking his thoughts aloud, "would be tothe fire station up there." He pointed his mittened hand towards thecraggy sides of Jerusalem. "They may have started hot-foot for thesettlement. Perhaps 'Ladder' Lane would have done that if 'twas KateArden he'd got. But seein' as it's John Barrett's own daughter--" Hepaused and rubbed his mitten over his face. "Knowin' what we do of thegeneral disposition of old Lane, it's more reasonable to think that heain't quite so anxious to deliver that particular package outside,seein' that he can twist John Barrett's heart out of him by keepin' herhid in these woods."

  The young man had no words. His face pictured his fears.

  "It's only guesswork at best, Mr. Wade," said Christopher. "It's toughto think of climbin' to the top of Jerusalem on this day, but it seemsto me it's up to us as men." They looked at each other a moment, and thelook was both agreement and pledge. They began the ascent, quarteringthe snowy slope. The dogged persistence of the veteran woodsman animatedthe old man; love and desperation spurred the younger. The climb frombench to bench among the trees was an heroic struggle. The passageacross the bare poll of the mountain in the teeth of the bitter blastwas torture indescribable. And they staggered to the fire station onlyto find its open doors drifted with snow, its two rooms empty andechoing.

  "I was in hopes--in hopes!" sighed the old man, stroking the frozensweat from his cheeks. "But I ain't agoin' to give up hopes here,sonny." Even Wade's despair felt the soothing encouragement in the oldman's tone.

  "We've got to fetch Barnum Withee's camp on 'Lazy Tom' before we sleep,"said the guide. "There'll be something to eat there. There may be news.We've got to do it!" And they plodded on wearily over the ledges anddown the west descent.

  They made the last two miles by the light of their lantern, draggingtheir snow-shoes, one over the other, with the listlessness ofexhaustion. The cook of Withee's camp stared at them when they stumbledin at the door of his little domain, their snow-shoes clattering on thefloor. He was a sociable cook, and he remarked, cheerily, "Well, gents,I'm glad to see that you seem to be lookin' for a hotel instead of ahorsepittle."

  Not understanding him, they bent to untie the latchets of their shoeswithout reply.

  "T'other one is in the horsepittle," said the cook, jerking his thumbover his shoulder in the direction of his bunk in the lean-to. "He wasbrought in. I've been lookin' for something of the sort ever since heskipped from the Jerusalem station. Lunatics ain't fit to fool 'round inthe woods," he rambled on.

  "Who've you got in there?" demanded Christopher, snapping up from hisfumbling at the rawhide strings.

  "Old 'Ladder' Lane," replied the cook, calmly. "Murphy's down-toterbrought him here just before dark. He's pretty bad. Froze upconsiderable. Toter heard him hootin' out in the swirl of snow on theDickery pond and toled him ashore by hootin' back at him. No businesstryin' to cross a pond on a day like this! 'Tain't safe for a young manwith all his wits, let alone an old man who has beat himself all outslam-bangin' round these woods this winter.

  "Yes, he's pretty bad. Done what I could for him, me and cookee, byrubbin' on snow and ladlin' ginger-tea into him, but when it come tosupper-time them nail-kags of mine had to be 'tended to, and here'sbread to mix for to-morrow mornin'. We don't advertise a horsepittle,gents, but you wait a minute and I'll scratch _you_ up somethin' forsupper. The horsepittle will have to run itself for a little while."

  Wade and the old man stared at each other stupidly while the cookbustled about his task. For the moment their thoughts were too busy forwords. Even Christopher's whitening face showed the fear that had comeupon him.

  "Guess old Lane was comin' out to get a letter onto the tote team,"gossiped the cook. "I was lookin' through his coat after I got it offand found that one up there."

  He nodded at a grimy epistle stuck in a crevice of the log, and wentdown into a barrel after doughnuts which he piled on a tin plate.

  Noiselessly Christopher strode to the log and took down the letter andstared at the superscription, and without a word displayed the writingto Wade. It was addressed to John Barrett at his city address.

  The cook was busy at the table.

  "By Cephas, this is _our_ business!" muttered the old man. And, turninghis back on the cook, he ripped open the envelope. On a wrinkled leaftorn from an account-book was pencilled this message:

  "_You stole my wife. I've got your daughter. Now, damn you, crawl andbeg!_"

  "Look here, cook," called Straight, sharply, "there's bad business mixedup with Lane. Don't ask me no questions." He flapped the open letterinto the astonished face of the man to check his words. "We've got tospeak to Lane, and speak mighty quick."

  "He was in a sog when I put him to bed," said the cook. "Didn't knowwhat, who, or where. They say lunatics want to be woke up careful. Youlet me go." He took a doughnut from the plate and started for thelean-to, grinning back over his shoulder. "He may be ready to set up,take notice, and brace himself with a doughnut."

  The two men waited, eager, silent, hoping, fearing--each framing suchappeal as might touch the heart of this revengeful maniac.

  They heard the cook utter a snort of surprise; then they saw the flameof a match shielded by his palm. A moment later he came out and stoodlooking at them with a singularly sheepish expression.

  "Gents," he blurted, "I'll be cussed if the joke ain't on me this time!I went in there to give the horsepittle patient a fresh-laid doughnut torevive his droopin' heart, and--"

  "Is that man gone?" bawled Christopher, reaching for his snow-shoes.

  "Yes," said the cook, grimly; "but you can't chase him on snow--notwhere he's gone. He's deader'n the door-knob on a hearse-house door."