Part 57 (1/2)
”Who are you?” he blurted, and the words rasped hollow and dry.
Bill turned to the men.
”Do _you_ know?” he asked. ”An old Indian woman--did he bring her to this camp?”
The men stared blankly from the speaker to Moncrossen and into each other's faces. Suddenly, one stepped forward.
”Look in the storeroom!” he cried. ”A little while back--it was at night--I seen 'em drag somethin' in--him an' Larson of the van.” At the words, Moncrossen sprang toward the speaker with an inarticulate growl of rage.
”You lie!” he screamed; but before he reached the man, who shrank back into the crowd, Bill stepped in front of him. He raised his arm and pointed toward the clearing.
”To the storehouse,” he said in the same low voice. For a fleeting second Moncrossen glared into his eyes, and without a word, turned and led the way, closely followed by Bill and Jeanne, while the crowd of wondering lumber-jacks brought up the rear.
At the storehouse Moncrossen paused. ”I'll fetch the key from the office,” he leered; but Bill turned to a man who stood leaning upon his axe.
”Smash that door!” he commanded; and a half-dozen men sprang to the task. The next instant the door flew inward, and the men crowded into the building to return a few moments later bearing the old squaw, gagged, bound, and wrapped tightly in a blanket, but with the undimmed black eyes glaring upon them like a hawk's.
The cords were cut and the gag removed by willing hands. Someone held a bottle to her lips, and she drank greedily. Jeanne dropped to her knees by the old woman's side.
”He has come,” she whispered. ”M's'u' Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, has come to you.” Wa-ha-ta-na-ta nodded her understanding, and her beady black eyes flashed.
”She must have water!” cried the girl; ”and food!”
At the words a half-dozen men rushed toward the cook-shack, returning a few minutes later laden as to victual a regiment.
CHAPTER LI
THE PROMISE FULFILLED
Again the interest centered upon the two big men who faced each other on the trodden ground of the clearing. Other men came--the ones who had fled from the rollway, their curiosity conquering their fear at the sight of the dead man.
And now the greener was speaking, and the tone of his voice was gentle in its velvety softness. His lips smiled, and his gray eyes, narrowed to slits, shone cold--with a terrible, steely coldness, so that men looked once, and shuddered as they looked.
”And, now, Moncrossen,” he was saying, ”_we will fight_. It is a long score that you and I have to settle. It starts with your dirty schemes that Stromberg wouldn't touch.
”Then, the well-laid plan to have Creed b.u.mp me off that night at Melton's No. 9; and the incident of the river, when you broke the jam.
You thought you had me, then, Moncrossen. You thought I was done for good and all, when I disappeared under the water.
”There are other things, too--little acts of yours, that we will figure in as we go. The affair on Broken Knee, when you attacked this young girl; the shooting of Blood River Jack, from ambush; the second attack on the girl at the foot of the rapid--and the brutal starving of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta.
”Oh, yes; and the little matter of the bird's-eye. I have the logs, Moncrossen, all safely cached--the pile of ashes you found was a blind.
Quite a long score, take it first and last, isn't it, Moncrossen?”
The silence, save for the sound of the voice, was almost painful. Men strained to listen, looking from one to the other of the two big men, with white, tense faces.
At the words, the blood rushed to the boss's face. His little, swinish eyes fairly blazed in their sockets. He was speechless with fury. The cords knotted in his neck, and a great blue vein stood out upon his forehead. The breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the goading words fell in the voice of purring softness.