The Barrier by Rex Beach (finding audrey .txt) 📕

and was relieved to see the two emerge upon the river-bank again farther on, for she had feared for an instant that Poleon might forget. There seemed to be no danger, however, for he was crashing through the brush in advance of the other, who followed laboriously. Once Runnion gained the high point, he would be able to command a view of both reaches of the river, and could make signals to attract the first steamboat that chanced to come along. Without doubt a craft of some sort would pass from one direction or the other by to-morrow at latest, or, if not, she and Poleon could send back succor to him from the first habitation they encountered. The two men disappeared again, and her fears had begun to prey on her a second time when she beheld the big Canadian returning. He was hurrying a bit, apparently to be rid of the mosquitoes that swarmed about him; and she marked that, in addition to whipping himself with a handful of blueberry bushes, he wore Runnion's coat to protect his shoulders.

"Woof! Dose skeeter bug is hongry," he cried. "Let's we pass on de river queeck."

"You didn't touch him again?"

"No, no. I'm t'rough wit' 'im."

She was only too eager to be away from the spot, and an instant later they were afloat in the Peterborough.

"Dis nice batteau," Poleon remarked, critically. "I mak' it go fas'," and began to row swiftly, seeking the breeze of the open river in which to shake off the horde of stinging pests that had risen with the sun. "I come 'way queeck wit'out t'inkin' 'bout gun or skeeter net or not'in'. Runnion she's len' me dis coat, so mebbe I don' look so worse lak' I do jus' now, eh?"

"How did you leave him? Is he badly injured?"

"No, I bus' it up on de face an' de rib, but she's feelin' good now. Yes. I'm leave 'im nice place for stop an' wait on de steamboat—plaintee spruce bough for set on."

She began to shudder again, and, sensitive to her every motion, he asked, solicitously, if she were sick, but she shook her head.

"I—I—was thinking what—supposing you hadn't come? Oh, Poleon! you don't know what you saved me from." She leaned forward and laid a tiny, grateful hand on the huge brown paw that rested on his oar. "I wonder if I can ever forget?"

She noted that they were running with the current, and inquired:

"Where are we going?"

"Wal, I can't pull dis boat 'gainst dat current, so I guess we pass on till I fin' my shirt, den bimebye we pick it up some steamboat an' go home."

Five miles below his quick eye detected his half-submerged "bark" lodged beneath some overhanging firs which, from the water's action, had fallen forward into the stream, and by rare good-fortune it was still upright, although awash. He towed it to the next sand-bar, where he wrung out and donned his shirt, then tipped the water from the smaller craft, and, making it fast astern of the Peterborough, set out again. Towards noon they came in sight of a little stern-wheeled craft that puffed and pattered manfully against the sweeping current, hiding behind the points and bars and following the slackest water.

"It's the Mission, boat!" cried Necia. "It's the Mission boat! Father Barnum will be aboard."

She waved her arms madly and mingled her voice with Poleon's until a black-robed figure appeared beside the pilot-house.

"Father Barnum!" she screamed, and, recognizing her, he signalled back.

Soon they were alongside, and a pair of Siwash deckhands lifted Necia aboard, Doret following after, the painter of the Peterborough in his teeth. He dragged both canoes out of the boiling tide, and laid them bottom up on the forward deck, then climbed the narrow little stairs to find Necia in the arms of a benignant, white-haired priest, the best-beloved man on the Yukon, who broke away from the girl to greet the Frenchman, his kind face alight with astonishment.

"What is all this I hear? Slowly, Doret, slowly! My little girl is talking too furiously for these poor old wits to follow. I can't understand; I am amazed. What is this tale?"

Together they told him, while his blue eyes now opened wide with wonder, now grew soft with pity, then blazed with indignation. When they had finished he laid his hand upon Doret's shoulder.

"My son, I thank God for your good body and your clean heart. You saved our Necia, and you will be rewarded. As to this—this—man Runnion, we must find him, and he must be sent out of the country; this new, clean land of ours is no place for such as he. You will be our pilot, Poleon, and guide us to the spot."

It required some pressure to persuade the Frenchman, but at last he consented; and as the afternoon drew to a close the little steamboat came squattering and wheezing up to the bar where Runnion had built his fire that morning, and a long, shrill blast summoned him from the point above. When he did not appear the priest took Poleon and his round-faced, silent crew of two and went up the bank, but they found no sign of the crippled man, only a few rags, a trampled patch of brush at the forest's edge, and—that was all. The springy moss showed no trail; the thicket gave no answer to their cries, although they spent an hour in a scattered search and sounded the steamboat's whistle again and again.

"He's try for walk it back to camp," said Doret. "Mebbe he ain' hurt so much, after all."

"You must be right," said Father Barnum. "We will keep the steamer close to this shore, so that he can hail us when we overtake him."

And so they resumed their toilsome trip; but mile after mile fell behind them, and still no voice came from the woods, no figure hailed them. Doret, inscrutable and silent, lounged against the pilot-house smoking innumerable cigarettes, which he rolled from squares of newspaper, his keen eyes apparently scanning every foot of their slow way; but when night fell, at last, and the bank faded from sight, he tossed the last butt overboard, smiled grimly into the darkness, and went below.

CHAPTER XVIII RUNNION FINDS THE SINGING PEOPLE

"No Creek" Lee came into the trading-post on the following morning, and found Gale attending store as if nothing unusual had occurred.

"Say! What's this about you and Stark? I hear you had a horrible run-in, and that you split him up the back like a quail."

"We had a row," admitted the trader. "It's been a long time working out, and last night it came to a head."

"Lord-ee! And to think of Ben Stark's bein' licked! Why, the whole camp's talkin' about it! They say he emptied two six-shooters at you, but you kept a-comin', and when you did get to him you just carved your initials on him like he was a bass-wood tree. Say, John, he's a goner, sure."

"Do you mean he's—passing out?"

"Oh no! I reckon he'll get well, from what I hear, though he won't let nobody come near him except old Doc; but he's lost a battle, and that ends him. Don't you savvy? Whenever a killer quits second best, it breaks his hoodoo. Why, there's been men laying for him these twenty years, from here to the Rio Grande, and every feller he ever bested will hear of this and begin to grease his holster; then the first shave-tail desperado that meets him will spit in his eye, just to make a name for himself. No, sir! He's a spent shell. He's got to fight all his battles over again, and this time the other feller will open the ball. Oh, I've seen it happen before. You killed him last night, just as sure as if you'd hung up his hide to dry, and he knows it."

"I'm a peaceable man," said Gale, on the defensive. "I had to do it."

"I know! I know! There was witnesses—this dress-maker at the fort seen it, so I hear."

The other acquiesced silently.

"Well! Well! Ben Stark licked! I can't get over that. It must 'a' been somethin' powerful strong to make you do it, John." It was as close to a question as the miner dared come, although he was avid with curiosity, and, like the entire town, was in a fret to know what lay back of this midnight encounter, concerning which the most exaggerated rumors were rife. These stories grew the more grotesque and ridiculous the longer the truth remained hidden, for Stark could not be seen, and neither Gale nor Burrell would speak. All that the people knew was that one lay wounded to death behind the dumb walls of his cabin, and that the other had brought him down. When the old man vouchsafed no more than a nod to his question, the prospector inquired:

"Where's Poleon? I've got news for him from the creek."

"I don't know; he's gone."

"Back soon?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"His laymen have give up. They've cross-cut his ground and the pay ain't there, so they've quit work for good."

"He drew a blank, eh?"

"Worse'n that—three of them. The creek is spotteder than a leopard. Runnion's men, for instance, are into it bigger than a house, while Poleon's people can't raise a color. I call it tough luck—yes, worse'n tough: it's hard-biled and pickled. To them as has shall it be given, and to them as hasn't shall be took even what they 'ain't got, as the poet says. Look at Necia! She'll be richer than a cream puff. Guess I'll step around and see her."

"She's gone," said the trader, wearily, turning his haggard face from the prospector.

"Gone! Where?"

"Up-river with Runnion. They got her away from me last night."

"Sufferin' snakes!" ejaculated Lee. "So that's why!" Then he added, simply, "Let's go and git her, John."

The trader looked at him queerly.

"Maybe I won't—on the first boat! I'm eating my heart out hour by hour waiting—waiting—waiting for some kind of a craft to come, and so is Burrell."

"What's he got to do with it?" said the one-eyed miner, jealously. "Can't you and me bring her back?"

"He'll marry her! God, won't there never be a boat!"

For the hundredth time that morning he went to the door of the post and strained his eyes down-stream.

"Well, well! Them two goin' to be married," said Lee. "Stark licked, and Necia goin' to be married—all at once. I hate to see it, John; he ain't good enough; she could 'a' done a heap better. There's a lot of reg'lar men around here, and she could 'a' had her pick. Of course, always bein' broke like a dog myself, I 'ain't kept up my personal appearance like I'd ought, but I've got some new clothes now, and you wouldn't know me. I bought 'em off a tenderfoot with cold feet, but they're the goods, and you'd see a big improvement in me."

"He's a good man," said Gale. "Better than you or me, and he's all torn up over this. I never saw a man act so. When he learned about it I thought he'd go mad—he's haunted the river-bank ever since, raging about for some means of following her, and if I hadn't fairly held him he'd have set out single-handed."

"I'm still strong in the belief that Necia could have bettered her hand by stayin' out awhile longer," declared Lee, stubbornly; "but if she wants a soldier, why, we'll get one for her, only I'd rather have got her somethin' real good and pronounced in the military line—like an agitant-gen'ral or a walkin' delegate."

While they were talking Burrell came in, and "No Creek" saw that the night had affected the youth even more than it had Gale, or at least he showed the marks more plainly, for his face was drawn, his eyes were sunken as if from hunger, and his whole body seemed to have fallen away till his uniform hung upon him loose, unkempt, and careless. It was as if hope had been a thing of avoirdupois, and when taken away had caused a shrinkage. He had interrogated Stark again after getting the doctor, but the man had only cursed at him, declaring that his daughter was out of reach, where he would take care to keep her, and torturing the lover anew by linking Runnion's name with the girl's till the young man fled from the sound of the monster's voice back to his own quarters. He strove to keep the image of Runnion out of his mind, for his reason could not endure it. At such times he cried aloud, cursing in a way that was utterly strange to a God-fearing man, only to break off and rush to the other extreme, praying blindly, beseechingly, for the girl's safe-keeping. At intervals an unholy impulse almost drove him to Stark's cabin