Pardners by Rex Beach (books to read for 12 year olds .txt) 📕

With a cry Captain leaped from his bunk, and took his face between his hands.

"Great God! George!"

He pushed back the lips. Livid blotches met his gaze—the gums swollen and discoloured. He dropped back sick and pale, staring at his bulky comrade, dazed and uncomprehending.

Carefully replacing the lamp, George continued:

"I felt it comin' quite a while back, pains in my knees an' all that—thought mebbe you'd notice me hobblin' about. I can't git around good—feel sort of stove up an' spavined on my feet."

"Yes, yes, but we've lived clean, and exercised, and drank spruce tea, and—everything," cried the other.

"I know, but I've had a touch before; it's in my blood I reckon. Too much salt grub; too many winters on the coast. She never took me so sudden an' vicious though. Guess the stuff's off."

"Don't talk that way," said Captain, sharply. "You're not going to die—I won't let you."

"Vat's the mattaire?" came a leering voice and, turning they beheld Klusky, the renegade. He had entered silently, as usual, and now darted shrewd inquiring glances at them.

"George has the scurvy."

"Oi! Oi! Oi! Vat a peety." He seemed about to say more but refrained, coming forward rubbing his hands nervously.

"It ain't possible that a 'sour dough' shall have the scoivy."

"Well, he has it—has it bad but I'll cure him. Yes, and I'll save this whole —— camp, whether they want it or not." Captain spoke strongly, his jaws set with determination. Klusky regarded him narrowly through close shrunk eyes, while speculation wrinkled his low forehead.

"Of course! Yes! But how shall it be, eh? Tell me that." His eagerness was pronounced.

"I'll go to St. Michaels and bring back fresh grub."

"You can't do it, boy," said George. "It's too far an' there ain't a dog in camp. You couldn't haul your outfit alone, an' long before you'd sledded grub back I'd be wearin' one of them gleamin' orioles, I believe that's what they call it, on my head, like the pictures of them little fat angelettes. I ain't got no ear for music, so I'll have to cut out the harp solos."

"Quit that talk, will you?" said Captain irritably. "Of course, one man can't haul an outfit that far, but two can, so I'm going to take Klusky with me." He spoke with finality, and the Jew started, gazing queerly. "We'll go light, and drive back a herd of reindeer."

"By thunder! I'd clean forgot the reindeer. The government was aimin' to start a post there last fall, wasn't it? Say! Mebbe you can make it after all, Kid." His features brightened hopefully. "What d' ye say, Klusky?"

The one addressed answered nervously, almost with excitement.

"It can't be done! It ain't possible, and I ain't strong enough to pull the sled. V'y don't you and George go together. I'll stay—"

Captain laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"That'll do. What are you talking about? George wouldn't last two days, and you know it. Now listen. You don't have to go, you infernal greasy dog, there are others in camp, and one of them will go if I walk him at the muzzle of a gun. I gave you first chance, because we've been good to you. Now get out."

He snatched him from his seat and hurled him at the door, where he fell in a heap.

Klusky arose, and, although his eyes snapped wildly and he trembled, he spoke insidiously, with oily modulation.

"Vait a meenute, Meestaire Captain, vait a meenute. I didn't say I vouldn't go. Oi! Oi! Vat a man! Shoor I'll go. Coitenly! You have been good to me and they have been devils. I hope they die." He shook a bony fist in the direction of the camp, while his voice took on its fanatical shrillness. "They shall be in h—— before I help them, the pigs, but you—ah, you have been my friends, yes ?"

"All right; be here at daylight," said Captain gruffly. Anger came slowly to him, and its trace was even slower in its leaving.

"I don't like him," said George, when he had slunk out. "He ain't on the level. Watch him close, boy, he's up to some devilment."

"Keep up your courage, old man. I'll be back in twelve days." Captain said it with decision, though his heart sank as he felt the uncertainties before him.

George looked squarely into his eyes.

"God bless ye, boy," he said. "I've cabined with many a man, but never one like you. I'm a hard old nut, an' I ain't worth what you're goin' to suffer, but mebbe you can save these other idiots. That's what we're put here for, to help them as is too ornery to help theirselves." He smiled at Captain, and the young man left him blindly. He seldom smiled, and to see it now made his partner's breast heave achingly.

"Good old George!" he murmured as they pulled out upon the river. "Good old George!" As they passed from the settlement an Indian came to the door of the last hovel.

"Hello. There's a Siwash in your cabin," said Captain. "What is he doing there ?"

"That's all right," rejoined Klusky. "I told him to stay and vatch t'ings."

"Rather strange," thought the other. "I wonder what there is to watch. There's never been any stealing around here."

To the unversed, a march by sled would seem simplicity. In reality there is no more discouraging test than to hit the trail, dogless and by strength of back. The human biped cannot drag across the snow for any distance more than its own weight; hence equipment is of the simplest. At that, the sledge rope galls one's neck with a continual, endless, yielding drag, resulting in back pains peculiar to itself. It is this eternal maddening pull, with the pitiful crawling gait that tells; horse's labour and a snail's pace. The toil begets a perspiration which the cold solidifies midway through the garments. At every pause the clammy clothes grow chill, forcing one forward, onward, with sweating body and freezing face. In extreme cold, snow pulverizes dryly till steel runners drag as though slid through sand. Occasional overflows bar the stream from bank to bank, resulting in wet feet and quick changes by hasty fires to save numb toes. Now the air is dead under a smother of falling flakes that fluff up ankle deep, knee deep, till the sled plunges along behind, half buried, while the men wallow and invent ingenious oaths. Again the wind whirls it by in grotesque goblin shapes; wonderful storm beings, writhing, whipping, biting as they pass; erasing bank and mountain. Yet always there is that aching, steady tug of the shoulder-rope, stopping circulation till the arms depend numbly; and always the weary effort of trail breaking.

Captain felt that he had never worked with a more unsatisfying team mate. Not that Klusky did not pull, he evidently did his best, but he never spoke, while the other grew ever conscious of the beady, glittering eyes boring into his back. At camp, the Jew watched him furtively, sullenly, till he grew to feel oppressed, as with a sense of treachery, or some fell design hidden far back. Every morning he secured the ropes next the sled, thus forcing Captain to walk ahead. He did not object to the added task of breaking trail, for he had expected the brunt of the work, but the feeling of suspicion increased till it was only by conscious effort that he drove himself to turn his back upon the other and take up the journey.

It was this oppression that warned him on the third day. Leaning as he did against the sled ropes he became aware of an added burden, as though the man behind had eased to shift his harness. When it did not cease he glanced over his shoulder. Keyed up as he was this nervous agility saved him.

Klusky held a revolver close up to his back, and, though he had unconsciously failed to pull, he mechanically stepped in the other's tracks. The courage to shoot had failed him momentarily, but as Captain turned, it came, and he pulled the trigger.

Frozen gun oil has caused grave errors in calculation. The hammer curled back wickedly and stuck. Waiting his chance he had carried the weapon in an outer pocket where the frost had stiffened the grease. Had it been warmed next his body, the fatal check would not have occurred. Even so, he pulled again and it exploded sharp and deafening in the rarefied morning air. In that instant's pause, however, Captain had whirled so that the bullet tore through the loose fur beneath his arm. He struck, simultaneously with the report, and the gun flew outward, disappearing in the snow.

They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope, Klusky fighting with rat-like fury, whining odd, broken curses. The larger man crushed him in silence, beating him into the snow, bent on killing him with his hands.

[Illustration: They grappled and fell, rolling in a tangle of rope.]

As the other's struggles diminished, he came to himself, however, and desisted.

"I can't kill him," he thought in panic. "I can't go on alone."

"Get up!" He kicked the bleeding figure till it arose lamely. "Why did you do that?" His desire to strangle the life from him was over-powering.

The man gave no answer, muttering only unintelligible jargon, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

"Tell me." He shook him by the throat but received no reply. Nor could he, try as he pleased; only a stubborn silence. At last, disgusted and baffled, he bade him resume the rope. It was necessary to use force for this, but eventually they took up the journey, differing now only in their order of precedence.

"If you make a move I'll knife you," he cautioned grimly. "That goes for the whole trip, too."

At evening he searched the grub kit, breaking knives and forks, and those articles which might be used as means of offence, throwing the pieces into the snow.

"Don't stir during the night, or I might kill you. I wake easy, and hereafter we'll sleep together." Placing the weapons within his shirt, he bound the other's wrists and rolled up beside him.

Along the coast, their going became difficult from the rough ice and soft snow, and with despair Captain felt the days going by. Klusky maintained his muteness and, moreover, to the anger of his captor, began to shirk. It became necessary to beat him. This Captain did relentlessly, deriving a certain satisfaction from it, yet marvelling the while at his own cruelty. The Jew feigned weariness, and began to limp as though foot-sore.

Captain halted him at last.

"Don't try that game," he said. "It don't go. I spared your life for a purpose. The minute you stop pulling, that minute I'll sink this into your ribs." He prodded him with his sheath knife. "Get along now, or I'll make you haul it alone." He kicked him into resentful motion again, for he had come to look upon him as an animal, and was heedless of his signs of torture—so thus they marched; master and slave. "He's putting it on," he thought, but abuse as he might, the other's efforts became weaker, and his agony more marked as the days passed.

The morning came when he refused to arise.

"Get up!"

Klusky shook his head.

"Get up, I say!" Captain spoke fiercely, and snatched him to foot, but with a groan the man sank back. Then, at last, he talked.

"I can't do it. I can't do it. My legs make like they von't vork.
You can kill me, but I can't valk."

As he ceased, Captain leaned down and pushed back his lips. The teeth were loose and the gums livid.

"Great Heavens, what have I done! What have I done!" he muttered.

Klusky had watched his face closely.

"Vat's the mattaire?