AT NINE-MILE POINT
The camp at Nine-Mile Point was suffering from an attack of nerves. A
party of strong men, suddenly condemned in the heat of their labours
to complete inaction, had become a burden to themselves and to each
other.
Being new to the silent North, they had yet to learn the virtue of
filling the long days with small, self-imposed tasks. They had no
resources, excepting a couple of dog-eared magazines--of which they
knew every word by heart, even to the advertisements--and a pack of
cards. There was no zest in the cards, because all their cash had been
put into a common fund at the start of the expedition, and they had
nothing to wager.
It was ten o'clock at night, and they were loafing indoors. Above the
high tops of the pines the sky was still bright, but it was night in
the cabin. They were lighted by the fire and by a stable lamp on the
table. They had gradually fallen into the habit of lying abed late,
and consequently they could not sleep before midnight. These evening
hours were the hardest of all to put in.
Big Jack Skinner, the oldest and most philosophic of the party--a
lean, sandy-haired giant--sat in a rocking chair he had contrived from
a barrel and stared into the fire with a sullen composure.
Husky Marr and Black Shand Fraser were playing pinocle at the table,
bickering over the game like a pair of ill-conditioned schoolboys.
On the bed sprawled young Joe Hagland, listlessly turning the pages of
the exhausted magazine. The only contented figure was that of Sam
Gladding, the cook, a boyish figure sleeping peacefully on the floor
in the corner. He had to get up early.
It was a typical Northern interior: log walls with caked mud in the
interstices, a floor of split poles, and roof of poles thatched with
sods. Extensive repairs had been required to make it habitable.
The door was in the south wall, and you had to walk around the house
to reach the lake shore. There was a little crooked window beside it,
and another in the easterly wall. Opposite the door was a great
fire-place made out of the round stones from the lake shore.
Of furniture, besides Jack's chair, there was only what they had found
in the shack, a rough, home-made bed and a table. Two shared the bed,
and the rest lay on the floor. They had some boxes for seats.
Something more than discontent ailed the four waking men. Deep in each
pair of guarded eyes lurked a strange uneasiness. They were prone to
start at mournful, unexpected sounds from the pine-tops, and to glance
apprehensively toward the darker corners. Each man was carefully
hiding these evidences of perturbation from his mates.
The game of pinocle was frequently halted for recriminations.
"You never give me credit for my royal," said Shand.
"I did."
"You didn't."
Husky snatched up the pencil in a passion. "Hell, I'll give it to you
again!" he cried.
"That's a poor bluff!" sneered Shand.
Big Jack suddenly bestirred himself. "For God's sake, cut it out!" he
snarled. "You hurt my ears! What in Sam Hill's the use of scrapping
over a game for fun?"
"That's what I say," said Shand. "A man that'll cheat for nothing
ain't worth the powder and shot to blow him to hell!"
"Ah-h! What's the matter with you?" retorted Husky. "I only made a
mistake scoring. Anybody's liable to make a mistake. If it was a real
game I'd be more careful like."
"You're dead right you would," said Black Shand grimly. "You'd get
daylight let through you for less."
"Well, you wouldn't do it!" snarled Husky.
Shand rose. "Go on and play by yourself," he snarled disgustedly.
"Solitaire is more your style. Idiot's delight. If you catch yourself
cheating yourself, you can shoot yourself for what I care!"
"Well, I can have a peaceful game, anyhow," Husky called after him,
smiling complacently at getting the last word.
He forthwith dealt the cards for solitaire. Husky was a burly,
red-faced, red-haired ex-brakeman, of a simple and conceited
character. He was much given to childish stratagems, and was subject
to fits of childish passion. He possessed enormous physical strength
without much staying power.
Black Shand carried his box to the fire and sat scowling into the
flames. He was of a saturnine nature, in whom anger burned slow and
deep. He was a man of few words. Half a head shorter than big Jack, he
showed a greater breadth of shoulders. His arms hung down like an
ape's.
"How far did you walk up the shore to-day?" big Jack asked.
"Matter of two miles."
"How's the ice melting?"
"Slow. It'll be a week before we can move on." Jack swore under his
breath. "And this the 22nd of May!" he cried. "We ought to have been
on our land by now and ploughing. We're like to lose the whole season.
"Ill luck has dogged us from the start," Jack went on. "Our
calculations were all right. We started the right time. Any ordinary
year we could have gone right through on the ice. But from the very
day we left the landing we were in trouble. When we wasn't broke down
we was looking for lost horses. When we wasn't held up by a blizzard
we was half drowned in a thaw!
"To cap all, the ice went out two weeks ahead, and we had to change to
wheels, and sink to the hubs in the land trails. Now, by gad, before
the ice on the shore is melted, it'll be time for the lake to freeze
over again!"
"No use grousing about it," muttered Shand.
Big Jack clamped his teeth on his pipe and fell silent. For a while
there was no sound in the shack but Husky muttering over his game, the
licking of the wood fire, and faint, mournful intimations down the
chimney from the pines. The man on the bed shuddered involuntarily,
and glanced at his mates to see if they had noticed it.
This one, Joe Hagland, was considerably younger than the other three.
He was a heavy, muscular youth with curling black hair and comely
features, albeit somewhat marked by wilfulness and self-indulgence.
Back in the world outside he had made a brief essay in the prize-ring,
not without some success. He had been driven out, however, by an
epithet spontaneously applied by the fraternity: "Crying Joe
Hagland."
The trouble was, he could not control his emotions.
"For God's sake, say something!" he cried at the end of a long
silence. "This is as cheerful as a funeral!"
"Speak a piece yourself if you feel the want of entertainment,"
retorted Jack, without looking around.
"I wish to God I'd never come up to this forsaken country!" muttered
Joe. "I wish I was back this minute in a man's town, with lights
shining and glasses banging on the bar!"
This came too close to their own thoughts. They angrily silenced him.
Joe buried his face in his arms, and another silence succeeded.
It was broken by a new sound, a soft sound between a whisper and a
hum. It might have come from the pine-trees, which had many strange
voices, but it seemed to be right there in the room with them. It held
a dreadful suggestion of a human voice.
It had an electrical effect on the four men. Each made believe he had
heard nothing. Big Jack and Shand stared self-consciously into the
fire. Husky's hands holding the cards shook, and his face changed
colour. Joe lifted a livid white face, and his eyes rolled wildly. He
clutched the blankets and bit his lip to keep from crying out.
They moved their seats and shuffled their feet to break their hideous
silence. Joe began to chatter irrelevantly.
"A funeral, that's what it is! You're like a lot of damn mutes. Who's
dead, anyhow? The Irish do it better. Whoop things up! For God's sake,
Jack, dig up a bottle, and let's have one good hour!"
The other three turned to him, oddly grateful for the interruption.
Big Jack made no move to get the suggested bottle, nor had Joe
expected him to. The liquor was stored with the rest of the outfit in
the stable. None desired to have the door opened at that moment.
Young Joe's shaking voice rattled on: "I could drink a quart myself
without taking breath. Lord, this is enough to give a man a thirst!
What would you give for an old-fashioned skate, boys? I'd welcome a
few pink elephants, myself, after seeing nothing for days. What's the
matter with you all? Are you hypnotized? For the love of Mike, start
something!"
The pressure of dread was too great. The hurrying voice petered out,
and the shack was silent again. Husky made a bluff of continuing his
game. Jack and Shand stared into the fire. Joe lay listening, every
muscle tense.
It came again, a sibilant sound, as if out of a throat through
clenched teeth. It had a mocking ring. It was impossible to say whence
it came. It filled the room.
Young Joe's nerves snapped. He leaped up with a shriek, and, springing
across the room, fell beside Shand and clung to him.
"Did you hear it?" he cried. "It's out there! It's been following me!
It's not human! Don't let it in!"
They were too much shaken themselves to laugh at his panic terror.
Both men by the fire jumped up and turned around. Husky knocked over
his box, and the cards scattered broadcast. He sidled towards the
others, keeping his eyes on the door.
"Stop your yelling!" Shand hoarsely commanded.
"Did you hear it? Did you hear it?" Joe continued to cry.
"Yes, I heard it," growled Shand.
"Me, too," added the others.
Joe's rigid figure relaxed. "Thank God!" he moaned. "I thought it was
inside my head."
"Listen!" commanded Jack.
They stood close together, all their late animosities forgotten in a
common fear. There was nothing to be heard but the wind in the
tree-tops.
"Maybe it was a beast or a bird--some kind of an owl," suggested Husky
shakily.
"No; like a voice laughing," stammered Joe.
"Right at the door like--trying to get in," added Shand.
"Open the door!" said big Jack.
No one made a move, nor did he offer to himself.
As they listened they heard another sound, like a stick rattling
against the logs outside.
"Oh, my God!" muttered Joe.
The others made no sound, but the colour slowly left their faces. They
were strong men and stout-hearted in the presence of any visible
danger. It was the supernatural element that turned their breasts to
water.
Big Jack finally crept toward the door.
"Don't open it!" shrieked Joe.
"Shut up!" growled Jack.
They perceived that it was not his intention to open it. He dropped
the bar in place. They breathed easier.
"Put out the light!" said Husky.
"Don't you do it!" cried Shand. "It's nothing that can shoot in!"
Their flesh crawled at the unholy suggestion his words conveyed.
They stood elbow to elbow, backs to the fire, waiting for more. For a
long time all was quiet except the trees outside. They began to feel
easier. Suddenly something dropped down the chimney behind them and
smashed on the hearth, scattering the embers.
The four men leaped forward as one, with a common grunt of terror.
Facing around, they saw that it was only a round stone such as the
chimney was built of. But that it might have fallen naturally did not
lessen the fresh shock to their demoralized nerves. Their teeth
chattered. They stuck close together, with terrified and sheepish
glances at each other.
"By God!" muttered Big Jack. "Ice or no ice, to-morrow we move on from
here!"
"I never believed in--in nothing of the kind," growled Shand. "But
this beats all!"
"We never should have stopped here," said Husky. "It looked bad--a
deserted shack, with the roof in and all. Maybe the last man who lived
here was mur--done away with!"
Young Joe was beyond speech. White-faced and trembling violently, the
big fellow clung to Shand like a child.
"Oh, hell!" said Big Jack. "Nothing can happen to us if we stick
together and keep the fire up!" His tone was less confident than the
words.
"All the wood's outside," stammered Husky.
"Burn the furniture," suggested Big Jack.
Suiting the action to the words, he put his barrel-stave rocker on the
embers. It blazed up generously, filling every corner of the shack
with light, and giving them more confidence. There were no further
untoward sounds.
Meanwhile the fifth man had been sleeping quietly in the corner. The
one who goes to bed early in camp must needs learn to sleep through
anything. The other men disregarded him.
The table and the boxes followed the chair on the fire. The four
discussed what had happened in low tones.
"I noticed it first yesterday," said Big Jack.
"Me, too," added Husky. "What did you see?"
"Didn't see nothing." Jack glanced about him uneasily. "Don't know as
it does any good to talk about it," he muttered.
"We got to know what to do," said Shand.
"Well, it was in the daytime, at that," Jack resumed. "I set a trap
for skunks beside the trail over across the creek, and I went to see
if I got anything. I was walkin' along not two hundred yards beyond
the stable when something soft hit me on the back of the head. I was
mad. I spun around to see who had done it. There wasn't nobody. I
searched that piece of woods good. I'm sure there wasn't anybody
there. At last I thought it was a trick of the senses like. Thought I
was bilious maybe. Until I got the trap."
"What was it hit you?" asked Husky.
"I don't know. A lump of sod it felt like. I was too busy looking for
who threw it to see."
"What about the trap?" asked Shand.
"I'm comin' to that. It was sprung, and there was a goose's quill
stickin' in it. Now, I leave it to you if a wild goose ain't too smart
to go in a trap. And if he did, he couldn't get a feather caught by
the butt end, could he?"
They murmured in astonishment.
"Me," began Husky; "yesterday I was cuttin' wood for the fire a little
way back in the bush, and I got het up and took off my sweater, the
red one, and laid it on a log. I loaded up with an armful of wood and
carried it to the pile outside the door here. I wasn't away two
minutes, but when I went back to my axe the sweater was gone.
"I thought one of you fellows took it. Remember, I asked you? I looked
for it near an hour. Then I came in to my dinner. We was all here
together, and I was the first to get up from the table. Well, sir,
when I went back to my axe, there was the sweater where I first left
it. Can you beat it? It was so damn queer I didn't like to say
nothing."
"What about you?" Jack asked of Shand.
Shand nodded. "To-day when I walked up the shore there was something
funny. I had a notion I was followed all the way. Couldn't shake it.
Half a dozen times I turned short and ran into the bush to look.
Couldn't see nothing. Just the same I was sure. No noise, you
understand, just pad, pad on the ground that stopped when I stopped."
"What do you know?" Jack asked in turn of Joe.
"W--wait till I tell you," stammered Joe. "It's been with me two days.
I couldn't bring myself to speak of it--thought you'd only laugh. I
saw it a couple of times, flitting through the bush like. Once it
laughed----"
"What did it look like?" demanded Jack.
"Couldn't tell you; just a shadow. This morning I was shaving outside.
Had my mirror hanging from a branch around by the shore. I was nervous
account of this, and I cut myself. See, there's the mark. I come to
the house to get a rag.
"You was all in plain sight--cookee inside, Jack and Husky sittin' at
the door waitin' for breakfast, Shand in the stable. I could see him
through the open door. He couldn't have got to the tree and back
while I was in the house. When I got back my little mirror was hangin'
there, but----"
"Well?" demanded big Jack.
"It was cracked clear across."
"Oh, my God, a broken mirror!" murmured Husky.
"I--I left it hanging," added Joe.
Meanwhile the chair, the table, and the boxes were quickly consumed,
and the fire threatened to die down, leaving them in partial
obscurity--an alarming prospect. The only other movable was the bed.
"What'll we do?" said Joe nervously. "We can't break it up without the
axe, and that's outside."
Husky's eye, vainly searching the cabin, was caught by the sleeping
figure in the corner.
"Send cookee out for wood," he said. "He hasn't heard nothing."
"Sure," cried Joe, brightening, "and if there's anything out there
we'll find out on him."
"He'll see we've burned the stuff up," objected Shand, frowning.
"What of it?" asked Big Jack. "He's got to see when he wakes. 'Tain't
none of his business, anyhow."
"Ho, Sam!" cried Husky.
The recumbent figure finally stirred and sat up, blinking. "What do
you want?" Sam demanded crossly.
As soon as this young man opened his eyes it became evident that a new
element had entered the situation. There was a subtle difference
between the cook and his masters, easier to see than to define. There
was no love lost on either side.
Clearly he was not one of them, nor had he any wish to be. Sam's eyes,
full of sleep though they were, were yet guarded and wary. There was a
suggestion of scorn behind the guard. He looked very much alone in
the cabin--and unafraid.
He was as young as Joe, but lacked perhaps thirty pounds of the other
youth's brawn. Yet Sam was no weakling either, but his slenderness was
accentuated in that burly company.
His eyes were his outstanding feature. They were of a deep, bright
blue. They were both resolute and prone to twinkle. His mouth, that
unerring index, matched the eyes in suggesting a combination of
cheerfulness and firmness. It was the kind of mouth able to remain
closed at need. He had thick, light-brown hair, just escaping the
stigma of red.
There was something about him--fair-haired, slender, and
resolute--that excited kindness. There lay the difference between him
and the other men.
"We want wood," said Husky arrogantly. "Go out and get it."
An honest indignation made the sleepy eyes strike fire. "Wood!" he
cried. "What's the matter with you? It's just outside the door. What
do you want to wake me for?"
"Ah!" snarled Husky. "You're the cook, ain't you? What do we hire you
for?"
"You'd think you paid me wages to hear you," retorted Sam. "I get my
grub, and I earn it."
"You do what you're told with less lip," said Husky threateningly.
At this point Big Jack, more diplomatic, considering that a quarrel
might result in awkward disclosures, intervened. "Shut up!" he growled
to Husky. To Sam he said conciliatingly: "You're right. Husky hadn't
ought to have waked you. It was a bit of thoughtlessness. But now
you're awake you might as well get the wood."
"Oh, all right," said Sam indifferently.
He threw off his blanket. As they all did, he slept in most of his
clothes. He pulled on his moccasins. The other four watched him with
ill-concealed excitement. The contrast between his sleepy indifference
and their parted lips and anxious eyes was striking.
Sam was too sleepy and too irritated to observe at once that the table
and chair were missing. He went to the door rubbing his eyes. He
rattled the latch impatiently and swore under his breath. Perceiving
the bar at last, he flung it back.
"Were you afraid of robbers up here?" he muttered scornfully.
"Close the door after you," commanded Jack.
Sam did so, and simultaneously the mask dropped from the faces of the
men inside. They listened in strained attitudes with bated breath.
They heard Sam go to the wood-pile, and counted each piece of wood as
he dropped it with a click in his arm. When he returned they hastily
resumed their careless expressions. Sam dropped the wood on the
hearth.
"Better get another while you're at it," suggested Jack.
Sam, without comment, went back outdoors.
"Well," said Jack with a foolish look, "nothing doing, I guess."
"I thought there was nothing," boasted Husky.
"You----" began Jack indignantly. He was arrested by a gasp from Joe.
"My God! Listen!"
They heard a sharp, low cry of astonishment from Sam, and the armful
of wood came clattering to the ground. They heard Sam run, but away
from the cabin, not toward the door. Each caught his breath in
suspense. They heard a thud on the ground, and a confused, scrambling
sound. Then Sam's voice rose quick and clear.
"Boys, bring a light! Quick! Jack! Shand! Quick!"
The four wavered in horrible indecision. Each looked at the other,
waiting for him to make a move. There was no terror in the cries, only
a wild excitement.
Finally Big Jack, with an oath, snatched up the lantern and threw open
the door. The others followed in the order of their courage. Joe
bringing up the rear.
A hundred yards from the door the light revealed Sam struggling with
something on the ground. What it was they could not see--something
that panted and made sounds of rage.
"Boys! Here! Quick!" cried Sam.
To their amazement his voice was full of laughter. They hung back.
"What have you got?" cried Jack.
The answer was as startling as an explosion: "A girl!"
A swift reaction passed over the four. They sprang to his aid.
"Hold the light up!" Sam cried breathlessly. "Shand, grab her feet.
I've got her arms locked. God! Bites like a cat! Carry her in." This
ended in a peal of laughter.
Between them Shand and Sam carried her toward the door, staggering and
laughing wildly. Their burden wriggled and plunged like a fish. They
had all they could do, for she was both slippery and strong. They got
her inside at last. The others crowded after, and they closed the door
and barred it.
Sam, usually so quiet and wary in this company, was transformed by
excitement. "Now, let's see what we've got!" he cried. "Put her feet
down. Look out or she'll claw you!"
They set her on her feet and stood back on guard. But as soon as she
was set free her resistance came to an end. She did not fly at either,
but coolly turned her back and shook herself and smoothed her plumage
like a ruffled bird. This unexpected docility surprised them afresh.
They watched her warily.
"A woman!" they cried in amazed tones. "Where did she drop from?"
They instantly ascribed all the supernatural manifestations to this
human cause. Everything was made clear, and a load of terror lifted
from their breasts.
The suddenness of the reaction dizzied them a little. Each man blushed
and frowned, remembering his late unmanly terrors. They were amazed,
chagrined and tickled all at once.
Big Jack strode to her and held the lantern up to her face. "She's a
beauty!" he cried.
A silence succeeded that word. Four of the five men present measured
his mates with sidelong looks. Sam shrugged and, resuming his ordinary
circumspect air, turned away.