Part 42 (2/2)
The little miner took the words triumphantly out of his mouth. He leaned forward and threw them into the face of the man he hated. ”I mean that while you was dancin' and philanderin' with other women, Gordon Elliot was buckin' a blizzard to save the life of the girl you both claimed to love. He was mus.h.i.+n' into fifty miles of frozen h.e.l.l while you was fillin' up with potted grouse and champagne. Simultaneous with the lame goose and the monkey singlestep you was doin,' this lad was windjammin'
through white drifts. He beat you at your own game, man. You're a bear for the outdoor stuff, they tell me. You chew up a blizzard for breakfast and throttle a pack of wolves to work up an appet.i.te for dinner. It's your specialty. All right. Take your hat off to that chechacko who has just whaled you blind. He has outgamed you, Colby Macdonald. You don't run in his cla.s.s. I see he is holding his haid up again. Give him another half-hour and he'd be ready to go to the mat with you again.”
The big Alaskan pushed away a fear that had been lingering in his mind ever since he had stumbled on that body buried in the snow yesterday afternoon. Was his enemy going to escape him, after all? Could Holt be telling the true reason why they had left town so hurriedly? He would not let himself believe it.
”You ought to work up a better story than that,” he said contemptuously.
”You can throw a husky through the holes in it. How could Elliot know, for instance, that Miss O'Neill was not safe?”
”The same way you could' a' known it,” snapped old Gideon. ”He 'phoned to Smith's Crossin' and found the stage hadn't got in and that there was a h.e.l.l of a storm up in the hills.”
Macdonald set his face. ”You're lying to me. You stumbled over the stage while you were making your getaway. Now you're playing it for an alibi.”
Elliot had risen. Sheba stood beside him, her hand in his. She spoke quietly.
”It's the truth. Believe it or not as you please. We care nothing about that.”
The stab of her eyes, the carriage of the slim, pliant figure with its suggestion of fine gallantry, challenged her former lover to do his worst.
On the battered face of Gordon was a smile. So long as his Irish sweetheart stood by him he did not care if he were charged with high treason. It was worth all it cost to feel the warmth of her brave, impulsive trust.
The deep-set eyes of Macdonald clinched with those of his rival. ”You cached the rest of the gold, I suppose,” he said doggedly.
With a lift of his shoulders the younger man answered lightly. ”There are none so blind as those who will not see, Mr. Macdonald.” He turned to Sheba. ”Come. We must make breakfast.”
”You're going to Kusiak with me,” his enemy said bluntly.
”After we have eaten, Mr. Macdonald,” returned Elliot with an ironic bow. ”Perhaps, if you have not had breakfast yet, you will join us.”
”We start in half an hour,” announced the mine-owner curtly, and he turned on his heel.
The rifle lay where Sheba had dropped it when she ran to gather her stricken lover into her arms. Macdonald picked it up and strode over the brow of the hill without a backward look. He was too proud to stay and watch them. It was impossible to escape him in the deep snow that filled the hill trails, and he was convinced they would attempt nothing of the kind.
The Scotchman felt for the first time in his life old and spent. Under tremendous difficulty he had mushed for two days and had at last run his men down. The l.u.s.t of vengeance had sat on his shoulders every mile of the way and had driven him feverishly forward. But the salt that had lent a savor to his pa.s.sion was gone. Even though he won, he lost. For Sheba had gone over to the enemy.
With the fierce willfulness of his temperament he tried to tread under foot his doubts about the guilt of Holt and Elliot. Success had made him arrogant and he was not a good loser. He hated the man who had robbed him of Sheba, but he could not escape respecting him. Elliot had fought until he had been hammered down into unconsciousness and he had crawled to his feet and stood erect with the smile of the unconquered on his lips. Was this the sort of man to murder in cold blood a kindly old gentleman who had never harmed him?
The only answer Macdonald found was that Milton had taken him and his partners by surprise. They had been driven to shoot the cas.h.i.+er to cover up their crime. Perhaps Holt or another had fired the actual shots, but Elliot was none the less guilty. The heart of the Scotchman was bitter within him. He intended to see that his enemies paid to the last ounce.
He would harry them to the gallows if money and influence could do it.
None the less, his doubts persisted. If they had planned the bank robbery, why did they wait so long to buy supplies for their escape? Why had they not taken the river instead of the hill trail? The story that his enemies told hung together. It had the ring of truth. The facts supported it.
One piece of evidence in their favor Macdonald alone knew. It lay buried in the deep snows of the hills. He shut his strong teeth in the firm resolve that it should stay there.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
SHEBA DIGS
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