Part 9 (2/2)

One of the others laughed, but Nasmyth saw venomous hatred in the big axeman's face. It was, however, not his business, and Waynefleet was a man for whom he had no great liking. He was about to turn away when the chopper went on again.

”Waynefleet's a blamed old thief, as everybody knows,” he said. ”Him being what he is, I guess you couldn't blame his daughter----”

Nasmyth, whom they had not noticed yet, could not quite hear what followed; but when somebody flung a sharp, incredulous question at the speaker, he stood fast in the doorway, with one hand clenched.

”Well,” said the man, with a suggestive grin, ”what I mean's quite plain. Is there any other girl, round this settlement who'd make up to that dam-builder as she's doing, and slip quietly into his shanty alone?”

Nasmyth never learned what grievance against Waynefleet or his daughter had prompted this virulence, nor did it appear to matter.

There was just sufficient foundation for the man's insinuation to render it perilous if it was once permitted to pa.s.s unchallenged, and Nasmyth realized that any attempt to handle the affair delicately was not likely to be successful. He was afterwards greatly astonished that he could think clearly and impose a certain command upon himself; but he understood exactly what it was most advisable for him to do, and he set about it with a curious cold quietness which served his purpose well.

There was a gasp of astonishment from one of the group as he stepped forward into the light and looked with steady eyes at the man who had spoken.

”Jake,” he said, ”you are a d---- liar.”

It was what the others had expected, and they rose and stood back a little from the pair, watching expectantly; for they recognized that the affair was serious, and, though Nasmyth had their sympathy, an impartial att.i.tude was the correct one now. Jake was tall and lean and muscular; but perhaps the dam-builder's quietness disconcerted him, or his bitterness had only extended to the rancher.

”Now,” Jake growled, ”you light out of this. I don't know that I've anything against--you.”

Nasmyth had his back to the door, and he did not see the grizzled Mattawa, who was supposed to be one of the strongest choppers about the settlement, standing a little behind him, and watching him and Jake attentively. Still, one of the others did, and made a sign to Mattawa that any support he might feel disposed to offer his employer would not be tolerated in the meanwhile. Nasmyth, however, realized that there was only one course open to him, and he drew back one hand as he met the uneasy eyes of the man in front of him.

”You are going to back down on what you said?” he asked, with incisive quietness.

”Not a d---- word,” the other man a.s.sured him.

”Then,” said Nasmyth, ”you must take the consequences.”

He swung forward on his left foot, and there was a thud as his scarred knuckles landed heavily in the middle of the detractor's face. He struck with an unexpected swiftness and all the force that was in him, for he had learned that the rules of the trial by combat are by no means so hard and fast in British Columbia as they are in England. As a matter of fact, it is not very frequently resorted to there; but when men do fight, their one object is to disable their opponents as soon as possible and by any means available.

Jake reeled backwards a pace or two, and the spectators said afterwards there was no reason why Nasmyth should have permitted him to recover himself, as he did. Two axes which the carpenters had been using stood against the wall, and Jake caught up the nearest of them.

He swung the gleaming blade high, while the blood trickled from his cut lips and the swollen veins rose on his forehead. This, however, was going further than the others considered admissible, and there was a protesting shout, while one st.u.r.dy fellow cautiously slid along the wall to get in behind the man who had the axe.

Still, for a second or two, which might have proved fatal to him, Nasmyth had only his own resources to depend upon, and he did the one thing that was possible. The Canadian axe-haft is long, and he sprang straight in at the man. As he did so, the big blade came down, and flashed by a hand's breadth behind his shoulders. He felt a burning pain on the outside of his thigh, but that did not seem to matter, and he was clutching at his opponent's throat when he was bodily flung aside. Then, as he fell against the log wall, he had a momentary glimpse of Jake bent backwards in Mattawa's arms. There was a brief floundering scuffle as the two men reeled towards the black opening in the wall, and after that a splash in the darkness outside, and Mattawa stepped back into the room alone.

”The d---- hog is in the flume,” he said.

That did not appear to trouble any of the others. The sluice was not deep, and, though it was certainly running hard, it was scarcely likely that a stalwart Bushman would suffer greatly from being washed along it.

”Guess it will cool him off,” said one of them. ”If it doesn't, and he comes back to make a fuss, we'll heave him in again.”

Then they turned and looked at Nasmyth, who sat down somewhat limply on a cider keg. The blood, which was running down his leg, made a little pool at his feet. Mattawa, who crossed over to him, asked for a knife, and when a man produced one, he slit Nasmyth's trousers up to the hip. Then he nodded.

”Boys,” he said, ”one of you will slip out kind of quiet and bring Mr.

Gordon along. Two more of you will stand in the door there and not let anybody in.”

They obeyed him, and Mattawa looked down at Nasmyth again.

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