Part 23 (1/2)
CHAPTER XV.
GLORIOUS NEWS.
”So you're the pelt thief, Ed Whitcomb, are you?” said Trapper Jim, gloomily, as he leaned on his rifle and looked down on the young fellow, at whom Ajax was sniffing as though he recognized an old friend.
Max caught the name. He recognized it, too. Trapper Jim had told them how he had brought a young fellow up from the railroad town two seasons before for company. His name had been Ed Whitcomb, too. They had seemed to get on for a time splendidly, but finally split on the subject of drinking, for Trapper Jim was very set against using liquor in any shape, and would not allow a drop of it in his cabin.
”Yes, I'm the thief, Uncle Jim,” said the man, trying to suppress a groan. ”The temptation when I happened on that silver was too much. I obeyed a sudden impulse and sole it. Reckon, just as you used to say, too much drink had warped my judgment, because there was a time when I'd sooner have cut my hand off than steal.”
”But you got sorry for it, I reckon,” said the trapper, a little more softly.
”Yes, something rose up in me and rebelled,” replied Ed. ”Perhaps it was the memory of the mother I had as a boy. Yes, it must have been only that. I reckoned she could see what I done and it'd make her feel bad.”
”You turned back?” Trapper Jim continued.
”I turned back, sure I did,” the wounded man went on, eagerly. ”I was going to find you and tell you what a fool thing I'd done, tempted by the devil, and how sorry I was. Then I slipped and went over the rocks up there. But I deserve all I've got, Uncle Jim. I was a scoundrel; and after all your kindness two years back, too.”
”But what were you coming up here for?” asked the trapper.
”Why, Mosher, the grocery man, said some letters had come in his care for you and these youngsters that were at your place. He told me you'd arranged to have a half-breed bring up any mail that arrived, but that the carrier was down on his back with malarial fever. So I said I didn't mind running up. Was so late starting I had to spend the night in the woods. And then this morning that temptation got me.”
”But you repented--you meant to do the right thing, Ed. Oh, I'm glad you turned around and faced the other way before this thing happened.”
”So am I,” groaned Ed, ”but I'm afraid my leg's broken, and I'm sore inside like I'd fractured some of my ribs. What's going to come of me I don't know. And perhaps I don't care much either, though you'll be glad to know, Uncle Jim, that me and strong drink have parted company forever.
Ain't tasted a drop these three months; but it shows what it did for me when I could stoop low enough to _steal_, and from one of the best friends I ever had.”
”That'll do for you, Ed,” said the trapper, dropping on his knees beside the wounded man; ”we're all weak and liable to give in to temptation. The fact that you repented is enough for me! We're going to carry you home with us.”
”Home--to your cabin, after I was so mean as to steal--”
”Don't ever mention that to me again,” ordered the trapper, sternly; ”forget it just as though it had never been. Yes, your leg is broken, Ed, the left one, and quite a bad fracture, too. But I know how to fix you up, and in three weeks you'll be hopping around on a crutch.”
Ed fairly devoured him with his eyes.
”They broke the model after they made you, Jim Ruggles,” he muttered, as he put his hand to his side, indicating great pain there.
”Now let's see what's wrong about your ribs, lad,” said the trapper, as he started to undo the other's coat, and then his heavy blue woolen s.h.i.+rt.
”I reckon you have got a rib cracked,” he said, after a careful examination; ”but nothing serious. Hurt for a while when you take a long breath, but it'll knit together again. And now--”
Trapper Jim stopped short in the middle of a sentence. He was staring hard at something he had seen all of a sudden.
”Where'd you get this, Ed Whitcomb?” he demanded, in a thick voice.
As he spoke he caught hold of a locket which hung about the neck of the other by a little gold chain. It had been burst open possibly by the fall, and as Trapper Jim started to draw the s.h.i.+rt of the wounded man together again he had disturbed this keepsake, which, turning about, disclosed the face of a pretty young woman.
”Why, she gave it to me,” replied the other, weakly; ”I've worn it that way ever since she died; and you're the first, right now, that's ever looked on it, Jim.”
The trapper's eyes filled up.