Part 6 (1/2)
mor'--hondre poun' all way, eight dolla.”
”You're on!” agreed Brent, ”Thousand pounds, eighty dollars--all the way.”
The Indian nodded, and Brent produced a ten dollar gold piece which he handed to the man, indicated that he would get the rest when they reached Lake Lindermann.
The Indian motioned to the smallest of his followers and pointing to the sack of flour, mumbled some words of jargon, whereupon the man stepped to the pack, removed Brent's straps and producing straps of his own swung the burden to his back and started off at a brisk walk.
As Brent led the way back to the beach at the head of his Indians he turned more than once to glance back at the solitary packer, but as far as he could see him, the man continued to swing along at the same brisk pace at which he had started, whereat he conceived a sudden profound respect for his hirelings. ”The littlest runt of the bunch has got me skinned a thousand miles,” he muttered, ”But I'll learn the trick. A year from now I'll hit the trail with any of 'em.”
Back at the beach the Indians were surrounded by thirty-nine clamoring, howling men who pushed and jostled one another in a frenzied attempt to hire the packers.
”No, you don't!” cried Brent, ”These men are working for me. When I'm through with them you can have them, and not before.”
Ugly mutterings greeted the announcement. ”Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?” ”Divide 'em up!” ”Give someone else a chanct.” Others advanced upon the Indians and shook sheaves of bills under their noses, offering double and treble Brent's price. But the Indians paid no heed to the paper money, and inwardly Brent thanked the lucky star that guided him into exchanging all his money into gold before leaving Seattle.
Despite the fact that he was next to useless as a packer Brent was no weakling. Ignoring the mutterings he led the Indians to his outfit and while they affixed their straps, he faced the crowding men.
”Just stay where you are, boys,” he said. ”This stuff here is my stuff, and for the time being the ground it's on is my ground.”
The man who had sneered at his attempt to pack the flour crowded close and quick as a flash, Brent's left fist caught him square on the point of the chin and he crashed backward among the legs of the others.
Brent's voice never changed tone, nor by so much as the flutter of an eye lash did he betray any excitement. ”Any man that crosses that line is going to find trouble--and find it d.a.m.ned quick.”
”He's bluffin',” cried a thick voice from the rear of the crowd, ”Let me up there. I'll show the d.a.m.n dude!” A huge hard-rock man elbowed his way through the parting crowd, his whiskey-reddened eyes narrowed to slits.
Three paces in front of Brent he halted abruptly and stared into the muzzle of the blue steel gun that had flashed into the engineer's hand.
”Come on,” invited Brent, ”If I'm bluffing I won't shoot. You're twice as big as I am. I wouldn't stand a show in the world in a rough-and-tumble. But, I'm not bluffing--and there won't be any rough-and-tumble.”
For a full half minute the man stared into the unwavering muzzle of the gun.
”You would shoot a man, d.a.m.n you!” he muttered as he backed slowly away.
And every man in the crowd knew that he spoke the truth.
Three of the Indians had put their straps to a hundred pounds apiece and were already strung out on the trail. Brent turned to see Joe Pete regarding him with approval, and as he affixed his straps to a fifty pound pack, the big Indian stooped and swung an extra fifty pounds on top of the hundred already on his back and struck out after the others.
At the end of a half-mile Brent was laboring heavily under his load, while Joe Pete had never for an instant slackened his pace. ”What's he made of? Don't he ever rest?” thought Brent, as he struggled on. The blood was pounding in his ears, and his laboring lungs were sucking in the air in great gulps. At length his muscles refused to go another step, and he sagged to the ground and lay there sick and dizzy without energy enough left at his command to roll the pack from his shoulders.
After what seemed an hour the pack was raised and the Indian who had gone ahead with his first pack swung the fifty pounds to his own shoulders and started off. Brent scrambled to his feet and followed.
A mile farther on they came to the others lying on the ground smoking and resting. The packs lay to one side, and Brent made mental note of the fact that these packers carried much of the weight upon a strap that looped over their foreheads, and that instead of making short hauls and then resting with their packs on they made long hauls and took long rests with their packs thrown off. They were at least three miles from the beach, and it was nearly an hour before they again took the trail.
In the meantime Joe Pete had rigged a tump-line for Brent, and when he again took the trail he was surprised at the difference the s.h.i.+fting of part of the load to his head made in the ease with which he carried it.
Two miles farther on they came upon the sack of flour where the Indian had left it and Joe Pete indicated that this would be their first day's haul. Six hundred pounds of Brent's thousand had been moved five miles, and leaving the small Indian to make camp, the others, together with Brent returned for the remaining four hundred.
This time they were not molested by the men on the beach, many of whom they pa.s.sed on the trail laboring along under packs which for the most part did not exceed fifty pounds weight.
On the return Brent insisted on packing his fifty pounds and much to his delight found that he was able to make the whole distance of three miles to the resting place. Joe Pete nodded grave approval of this feat and Brent, in whose veins flowed the bluest blood of the South, felt his heart swell with pride because he had won the approbation of this dark skinned packer of the North.
Into this rest camp came the erstwhile head barkeeper at Kelliher's, and to him Brent imparted the trail-lore he had picked up. Also he exchanged with him one hundred dollars in gold for a like amount in bills, and advised Joe Pete that when his present contract was finished this other would be a good man to work for.
Day after day they packed, and upon the last day of trail Brent made four miles under one hundred pounds with only one rest--much of the way through soft muskeg. And he repeated the performance in the afternoon.