The Trail of
The Golden Horn
H. A. CODY
By H. A. CODY
THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN
THE KING’S ARROW
JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL
GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH
THE TOUCH OF ABNER
THE UNKNOWN WRESTLER
UNDER SEALED ORDERS
IF ANY MAN SIN
THE CHIEF OF THE RANGES
THE FOURTH WATCH
THE LONG PATROL
ROD OF THE LONE PATROL
THE FRONTIERSMAN
THE TRAIL OF
THE GOLDEN HORN
BY
H. A. CODY
McCLELLAND AND STEWART
PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1923,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
[Illustration]
THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN. III
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1 The Smokeless Cabin 9
2 A Night Vision 17
3 The _Tell-tale_ Lock 27
4 To be Continued 37
5 Face to Face 47
6 Zell 57
7 Terrors of the Night 67
8 Hugo to the Rescue 76
9 Stains on the Snow 84
10 Lost 92
11 Where Strength Counts 99
12 Confession 109
13 The Rush of Doom 118
14 Life for Life 126
15 The Truce of the Storm 136
16 The Man of The Gap 145
17 The Trapper Arrives 155
18 A Cowardly Deed 166
19 Anxious Waiting 176
20 United Forces 186
21 Helping Hands 194
22 The Messenger 206
23 Rejected 213
24 The Wages of Sin 221
25 Maintien le Droit 229
26 The Night Struggle 241
27 An Unfolded Record 251
28 Waiting 261
29 Good News 270
30 His Message of Farewell 279
31 Plans 287
The Trail of the Golden Horn
THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN
CHAPTER 1
The Smokeless Cabin
“No Smoke!”
Hugo, the trapper, rasped forth these words upon the stinging air as he
paused abruptly upon the brow of a steep hill. He was puzzled, and he
rubbed the frost from his eyelids with his mittened right hand. Perhaps
he had not seen aright. But no, he had not been mistaken. There, close
to the river, stood the little cabin, nestling amidst a grove of young
firs and jack-pines. But no smoke poured from the pipe stuck up through
the roof.
“Strange! strange!” Hugo muttered. “There should be smoke. Bill Haines
hasn’t moved overnight, that’s certain. Something must be wrong.”
His eyes swept the landscape to right and left. Everywhere stretched
the vast wilderness of glistening snow, dark forests, and towering
mountains. That long white streak, winding like a serpent, was the
river, now frozen from bank to bank. From a few open places where the
current was exceptionally swift vapour rose like dense clouds of smoke.
Near one of these stood the cabin, for running water was a luxury in
the Yukon when winter gripped the land in its icy embrace.
Hugo hated the river, and always kept as far away as possible. To him
it was a treacherous demon, and the great dark breathing-places seemed
like yawning mouths ever open for new victims. That curling vapour
appeared more sinister now than ever. He glanced again at the lonely
cabin. Why was there no smoke rising above its squat roof? Had Bill
Haines slipped while drawing water? Such a thing was not unlikely. But
what about his wife? Surely she would keep the fire burning for the
sake of herself and child. But had she gone, too, in attempting to
rescue her husband?
For a few minutes Hugo stood there, his great form drawn to its full
height. His long beard, covered with frost, swept his breast. His keen
eyes peered out from beneath the big fur cap drawn well down over
ears and forehead. He resembled a patriarch of Hebrew days who had
stepped suddenly out upon one of nature’s mighty stages. The dark,
sombre trees formed a fitting background to the lonely figure, while
the valley below and the limitless region beyond made a magnificent
audience-chamber. But none witnessed the silent form upon the hill
save, perhaps, a few shy, furry creatures of the wild, and ghosts of
miners, prospectors, trappers and Indians, who once roamed the land and
made the Yukon River their chief highway of travel.
Hugo, however, thought nothing of all this. His mind was agitated by
conflicting thoughts. He longed to be off and away upon the trail,
headed for the log abode of which he alone knew. But that smokeless
cabin down by the river fascinated him.
“It’s none of my business,” he growled. “Bill Haines is nothing to me,
so why should I worry about him? And yet, I wonder--”
He ceased abruptly, unslung a rope from his right shoulder, and
turned swiftly around. At his heels lay the small toboggan he had
been drawing, loaded with a couple of blankets, food, rifle, and a
large lynx he had taken from one of his snares. He looked at these
thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then reached for his rifle. This he
carefully examined to be sure that the magazine was full. Picking up
the dropped rope, he threw it again over his shoulder, and with rifle
in hand, he sped rapidly down to the valley below. The long narrow
snow-shoes creaked beneath his powerful strides, and the light snow
flew from their curved points like spray from a cutter’s bow.
Reaching the forest, he threaded his way among the trees and came out
at length into the open space where stood the cabin. Here he stopped
and looked carefully around. Seeing nothing, he once more advanced, and
only slowed down when within a few yards from the building. He walked
warily now, listening intently for any sound from within. Hearing
nothing, he was about to place his ear close to the door when the faint
wail of a child arrested his attention. Presently the cry subsided to a
fretful whimper, and then all was still.
Feeling certain now that something was seriously wrong, Hugo glanced
cautiously around. The snow near the cabin was beaten down hard, and
a well-worn trail led to the river. He looked off to the place where
the vapour was rising into the air, and shuddered. Why he did so he
could not tell. Then he lifted the rude latch, pushed open the door
and entered. The sun shining in through the window on the south side
of the building brightened the room. Hugo recalled the last time he
had been there, and the pleasant welcome he had received. How clean
and cosy the place was then, notwithstanding the meagre furniture and
the bare floor. But now what a change! Everything was in disorder, the
table overturned, the few rough, homemade chairs battered to pieces,
and broken dishes lying on all sides. What did it mean? He stared
around, greatly puzzled.
“Mam-ma! Mam-ma!”
The call came from a corner on the right. Turning quickly toward a bunk
against the wall, Hugo saw the movement of a gray four-point blanket.
Stepping forward, he stooped and beheld the face of a little child,
its cheeks wet with tears. Big blue eyes looked expectantly up, and
two small dimpled hands reached eagerly out, while a gurgle of delight
rippled from soft, rosy lips. Instantly it realized its mistake.
An expression of fear leaped into its eyes, the outstretched hands
dropped, and the happy gurgle gave place to a cry of fright. Hugo was
in despair.
“Queer mess I’ve got into,” he muttered. “What am I to do with the kid?
Pity it hadn’t gone with its parents. I wonder what has happened to
them, anyway?”
He looked around and noted more carefully the sad havoc which had
been wrought. He was sure now that a terrible tragedy had been
enacted there, either during the night or early that morning. Again
he shuddered, and realized for the first time how cold was the room.
In a few minutes he had a good fire burning in the sheet-iron heater,
which fortunately had escaped destruction. Then he searched for some
suitable food for the child. But not a scrap could he find--every
morsel had been taken from the house. Hugo uttered an angry oath
and registered a solemn vow. Going outside he was about to draw his
toboggan into the room when his eyes caught sight of peculiar marks
upon the beaten snow. That they were blood-stains he was certain, and
there were others on the trail leading to the river.
Leaving the toboggan, and forgetting for a time the sobbing child,
Hugo walked slowly along, keeping his eyes fixed upon the narrow
path. At every step more stains appeared, which increased in number
and vividness as he neared the shore. Out upon the ice he moved, and
stopped only when close to the long, wide, yawning gulf. Here the river
was exposed to view like a great artery from which the flesh has been
torn. The water raced by like a mill-sluice, leaping forth from beneath
its icy covering upstream to dash out of sight with a swish and a swirl
half a mile or more farther down. Its murmur resembled the snarl of an
angry beast when suddenly surprised or cheated of its prey. And yet
Hugo felt certain that but a short time before it had been fed, when
two victims had been enwrapped in its cold, merciless embrace. And one
of them was a woman, whose little helpless child was now calling to her
from the lonely cabin--and calling in vain!
And standing there, Hugo’s soul suddenly became charged with an intense
anger. Mingled with his hatred of the river was an overwhelming
revulsion at the foul crime which had been committed. And who were
the perpetrators? What reason could anyone have for committing such a
diabolical deed? Haines and his wife were quiet reserved people, given
to hospitality, who never refused a meal or a lodging for the night to
a passing traveller. During the summer Bill had rocked out gold from
the river bars, and in winter had cut wood for steamers plying between
Whitehorse and Dawson. That he made but a bare living Hugo was well
aware, and he had often wondered why he was content to remain in such a
lonely place.
Hugo turned these things over in his mind as he walked slowly away from
the river. Reaching the cabin, he drew his toboggan into the building.
The fire had been doing good work and the room was warm. The child,
unable to cry more, was lying uncovered upon the blankets. It watched
Hugo’s every movement with wide, unblinking eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, little chap,” the man said. “I won’t hurt you. I’m
going to give you something to eat. Maybe that will make you friendly.
I wonder how old it is, anyway,” he mused. “It can’t eat meat, that’s
certain. Liquids and soft food are the only thing for babies. Now, what
in time can I give it! Ah, I know. Just the thing.”
He turned and walked over to the toboggan. Throwing aside the blankets,
he lifted a tin can, blackened from numerous campfires. This he placed
upon the stove, removed the cover and looked in.
“Ptarmigan soup should be good for the little fellow,” he remarked.
“It’s mighty lucky I didn’t eat it all for breakfast. My! it’s hot
here.”
He raised his hand as if to remove his fur cap, but suddenly desisted.
Then he stepped outside and looked carefully around. Seeing no one, he
went back into the cabin, took off his cap, and hung it upon one of
the legs of the overturned table. The head thus exposed was covered
with a wealth of hair, thickly streaked with gray. The startling and
outstanding feature, however, was one lock as white as snow, crowning
the right temple. This was not due to age nor to any outward cause, but
was evidently a family characteristic. Such a lock would have singled
out the owner in any gathering for special and curious attention.
When the soup was warm enough, Hugo dipped out a portion into a tin cup
which he carried over to where the child was lying.
“Come, little chap,” he began, “here’s something nice.”
Forced by hunger the lad scrambled quickly to its knees, and drank
eagerly from the cup held to its lips.
“More,” he demanded when the last drop had been drained.
“Ho, ho, that’s good!” Hugo chuckled, as he went back to the stove and
dipped out another helping. “There’s nothing like ptarmigan soup for an
appetizer. I guess, my little man, you’re older than I thought.”
When the child had been fed to its satisfaction, Hugo sat down upon
the edge of the bunk and gave himself up to serious thoughts. What was
he to do with the boy? That was the question which agitated his mind.
He could not keep him, that was certain. He must hand him over to
someone who knew more about children than he did. But where could he
take him? To whom could he turn for assistance? Swift Stream was out of
the question. Besides being too far away it was the last place where
he wanted to go. But what about Kynox? He did not want to go there,
either. But it was nearer than Swift Stream, and less dangerous. Yes,
it must be Kynox, and the sooner he got there the better.
He was staring straight before him as he thus made up his mind. His
eyes were fixed upon the rough whip-sawn planks which formed the floor.
But he did not see anything in particular there. His thoughts were
far away, so the cabin and all that it contained were for the time
forgotten.
At length he became partially aware of a peculiar glitter upon the
floor. The sun shining through the little window struck for a few
minutes upon the spot where his eyes were resting. Gradually his
interest became aroused. Something was there which caused that intense
sparkle. Perhaps it was only a portion of a broken dish which had
caught the sun’s ray. But, no, it could not be. A piece of ordinary
cup, saucer, or plate could not throw such a wonderful light. It was a
sparkle such as he had once seen flashing from a jewelled finger of a
woman of great wealth. He had never beheld the like since until now.
Only one thing he knew could produce such a radiant effect.
Slipping from the bunk, he stepped quickly forward, dropped upon his
knees, and peered keenly down. What he saw there caused him to reach
swiftly out, seize and draw forth something wedged in a narrow crack
between two of the floor planks. As he clutched this with the fingers
of his trembling right hand, an exclamation of surprise burst from his
lips.
It was a woman’s diamond ring!