MONCROSSEN
They found LaFranz waiting in fear and trembling. The heavy snow-plow
was left in readiness for the morrow's trail-breaking, and the horses
hitched to a rough sled and headed for camp.
"An' ye say Misther Appleton sint ye up to wor-rk in Moncrossen's
camp?" The two were seated on the log bunk at the back of the sled
while the Frenchman drove, keeping a fearful eye on the white wolf. For
old man Frontenelle had been his uncle.
"Yes, he told me to report here."
"D'ye know Moncrossen?"
"No."
"Well, ye will, ag'in' shpring," Irish replied dryly.
"What do you mean?" asked Bill.
Irish shrugged. "Oi mane this," he answered. "Moncrossen is a har-rd
man altogether. He hates a greener. He thinks no wan but an owld hand
has any business in th' woods, an' 'tis his boast that in wan season
he'll make a lumberjack or a corpse out av any greener.
"An' comin' from Appleton hisself he'll hate ye worse'n ever, f'r he'll
think ye'll be afther crimpin' his bird's-eye game. Take advice, Bill,
an' kape on th' good side av um av ye can. He'll t'row ut into ye wid
all manner av dhirty thricks, but howld ye're timper, an' maybe ye'll
winter ut out--an' maybe ye won't."
"What is a bird's-eye game?"
Fallon glanced at him sharply. "D'ye mane ye don't know about th'
bird's-eye?" he asked.
"Not a thing," replied Bill.
"Thin listen to me. Don't ye niver say bird's-eye in this camp av ye
expect to winter ut out."
Bill was anxious to hear more about the mysterious bird's-eye, but the
sled suddenly emerged into a wide clearing and Irish was pointing out
the various buildings of the log camp.
Bright squares of light showed from the windows of the bunk-house,
office, and grub-shack, with its adjoining cook-shack, from the iron
stovepipe of which sparks shot skyward in a continuous shower.
Fallon shouldered the wolf and, accompanied by Bill, made toward the
bunk-house, while the Frenchman turned the team toward the stable.
"Ag'in' we git washed up, supper'll be ready," announced Irish, as he
deposited the wolf carcass beside the door and entered.
Inside the long, low room, lined on either side by a double row of
bunks, were gathered upward of a hundred men waiting the supper call.
They were big men, for the most part, rough clad and unshaven. Many
were seated upon the edges of the bunks smoking and talking, others
grouped about the three big stoves, and the tobacco-reeking air was
laden with the rumble of throaty conversation, broken here and there by
the sharp scratch of a match, a loud laugh, or a deep-growled,
good-natured curse.
Into this assembly stepped Irish Fallon, closely followed by Bill, the
sight of whose blood-stained face attracted grinning attention. The two
men passed the length of the room to the wash-bench, where a few
loiterers still splashed noisily at their ablutions.
"I heard it plain, I'm tellin' you," some one was saying. "'Way off to
the south it sounded."
"That ain't no lie," broke in another, "I hearn it myself--jest before
dark, it was. An' I know! Didn't I hear it that night over on Ten Fork?
The time she got Jack Kane's woman, four year ago, come Chris'mus. Yes,
sir! I tell you the werwolf's nigh about this camp, an' it's me in off
the edges afore dark!"
"They say she never laughs but she makes a kill," said one.
"God! I was at Skelly's when they brought old man Frontenelle in,"
added a big man, whose heavy beard was shot with gray, as he turned
from the stove with a shudder.
"They's some Injuns trappin' below; she might of got one of them,"
opined a short, stockily built man who, catching sight of the
newcomers, addressed Fallon:
"Hey, Irish, you was down on the tote-road; did you hear Diablesse?"
Fallon finished drying his face upon the coarse roller-towel and turned
toward the group who waited expectantly. "Yis, Oi hear-rd her, all
roight," he replied lightly. "An' thin Oi _see'd_ her."
Others crowded about, hanging upon his words. "An' thin, be way av
showin' me contimpt," he added, "Oi dhrug her a moile or more t'rough
th' woods be th' tail."
Loud laughter followed this assertion; but not a few, especially among
the older men, shook their heads in open disapproval, and muttered
curses at his levity.
"But me frind Bill, here," Irish continued, "c'n tell ye more about
her'n phwat Oi kin. He's new in th' woods, Bill is; an' so damned green
he know'd nayther th' manein' nor use av th' rackets. So, be gad, he
come widout 'em. Mushed two whole days t'rough th' shnow.
"But, listen; no mather how ignorant, nor how much he don't know, a
good man's a man--an' to pr-rove ut he jumps wid his axe roight into
th' middle av th' werwolf's own an' kills noine, countin' th' three
cripples Oi finished.
"But wid D'ablish herself, moind, he t'row'd away his axe an' goes to a
clinch wid his knoife in his fisht. An' phwin 'tis over an' he picks
himsilf up out av th' shnow an' wipes th' blood from his eyes--her
blood--f'r he comes out av ut widout scratch nor scar--D'ablish lays at
his feet dead as a nit."
Fallon gazed triumphantly into the incredulous faces of the men, and,
with a smile, added, "'Twas thin Oi dhrug her be th' tail to th' sled,
afther shmashin' her head wid th' axe to make sure."
"An' where is she now, Irish?" mocked one. "Did she jump off the sled
an' make a get-away?"
Over at the grub-shack the cook's half-breed helper beat lustily upon
the discarded saw-blade that hung suspended by a wire, and the men
crowded noisily out of the doors.
"Oi'll show ye afther supper, ye damned shpalpeen, how much av her got
away!" shouted Irish, who waited for Bill to remove the evidence of his
fight before piloting him to the grub-shack.
A single table of rough lumber covered with brown oilcoth extended the
full length of the center of the room. Above this table six huge
"Chicago burners" lighted the interior, which, as the two men entered,
was a hive of noisy activity.
Men scuffled for places upon the stationary benches arranged along
either side of the table. Heavy porcelain thumped the board, and the
air was filled with the metallic din of steel knives and forks being
gathered into bearlike hands.
Up and down the wide alleys behind the benches hurried flunkies bearing
huge tin pots of steaming coffee, and the incessant returning of thick
cups to their saucers was like the rattle of musketry.
But the thing that impressed the half-famished Bill was the profusion
of food; never in his life, he thought, had he beheld so tempting an
array of things to eat. Great trenchers of fried pork, swimming in its
own grease, alternated the full length of the table with huge pans of
baked beans.
Mountains of light, snowy bread rose at short intervals from among
foot-hills of baked potatoes, steaming dishes of macaroni and stewed
tomatoes, canned corn, peas, and apple sauce, and great yellow rolls of
butter into which the knives of the men skived deeply.
The two passed behind the benches in search of vacant places when
suddenly an undersized flunky stumbled awkwardly, dropping the
coffee-pot, which sent a wash of steaming brown liquid over the floor.
Instantly a great, hulking man with a wide, flat face and low forehead
surmounted by a thick thatch of black hair, below which two swinish
eyes scintillated unevenly, paused in the act of raising a great
calk-booted foot over the bench.
The thick, pendulous lips under his ragged mustache curled backward,
exposing a crenate row of jagged brown teeth. He stepped directly in
front of the two men and, reaching out a thick hand caught the
unfortunate flunky by the scruff as he regained his balance.
From his lips poured an unbroken stream of vile epithets and
soul-searing curses while he shook the whimpering wretch with a
violence that threatened serious results, and ended by pinning him
against the log wall and drawing back his huge arm for a terrific
shoulder blow.
The vicious brutality of the attack following so trivial an offense
aroused Bill Carmody's anger. The man's back was toward him, and Bill
grasped the back-drawn arm at the wrist and with an ungentle jerk
whirled the other in his tracks.
The man released the flunky and faced him with a snarl. "Who done
that?" he roared.
"I did. Hit me. I tripped him."
Bill's voice was dead level and low, but it carried to the farthest
reaches of the room, over which had fallen a silence of expectation.
Men saw that the hard gray eyes of the stranger narrowed ominously.
"An' who the hell are _you_?" The words whistled through the bared
teeth and a flush of fury flooded the man's face.
"What do you care? I tripped him. Hit me!" and the low, level tone
blended into silence. It seemed a _thing_--that uncanny silence when
noise should have been.
There were sounds--sounds that no one heeded nor heard--the heavy
breathing of a hundred men waiting for something to happen--the thin
creak of the table boards as men leaned forward upon hands whose
knuckles whitened under the red skin, and stared, fascinated, at the
two big men who faced each other in the broad aisle.
The swinish eyes of the brutish man glared malignantly into the gray
eyes of the stranger, in which there appeared no slightest flicker of
rage nor hate, nor any other emotion.
Only a cold, hard stare which held something of terrible intensity,
accentuated by the little fans of whitening wrinkles which radiated
from their corners.
In that instant the other's gaze wavered. He knew that this man had
lied; and he knew that every man in the room knew that he had lied.
That he had deliberately lied into the row and then, without raising
his guard, had dared him to strike.
It was inconceivable.
Had the man loudly shouted his challenge or thrown up his guard when he
dared him to strike, or had his eye twitched or burned with anger, he
would have unhesitatingly lunged into a fight to the finish.
But he found himself at a disadvantage. He was up against something he
did not understand. The calm assurance of the stranger--his fists were
not doubled and his lips smiled--disconcerted him.
A strange, prickly chill tingled at the back of his neck, and in his
heart he knew that for the first time in his life he dared not strike a
man. He cast about craftily to save his face and took his cue from the
other's smile. With an effort his loose, thick lips twisted into a
grin.
"G'wan with yer jokin', stranger," he laughed.
"Y'u damn near made me mad--fer a minute," and he turned to the table.
Instantly a clatter of noise broke forth. Men rattled dishes nervously
in relief or disappointment, and the room was filled with the rumble of
voices in unmeaning chatter. But in the quick glances which passed from
man to man there was much of meaning.
"God, man, that was Moncrossen!" whispered Fallon, when the two found
themselves seated near the end of the table. Bill smiled.
"Was it?" he asked. "I don't like him."