Stains on the Snow
Marion was glad to leave the lean-to and follow her father. She
started aside and gave voice to a slight cry of fear as the toe of her
moccasined foot touched the body of a wolf stiffening upon the snow.
The forest seemed filled with horrible things, dead and alive. And
somewhere in their secret depths was Zell, the beautiful girl to whom
she had become so deeply attached. Was she alive? or was she, too,
lying upon the cold snow like the wolves around her? But perhaps she
was alive, and longing to die. The thought was terrible. Why were base
men allowed to roam at large, to prey upon helpless and innocent women
and girls? She knew that it was permitted in towns and cities, so could
it be otherwise on the ragged edge of civilisation? How she longed for
the strength of a man, her father’s, for instance, that she might go
about redressing human wrongs.
She thought of these things as she struggled bravely along the trail.
She had no snow-shoes, and she could have made very little progress
without her father’s strong supporting arm. She did not wish to give
up, but ere long she felt that she could go no farther. A great
weakness swept upon her, which forced her to sink down upon the snow
with a weary gasp. For a second Hugo hardly knew what to do. Then
without a word he stooped, picked her up boldly and bore her speedily
forward. Like a tired child she lay in those strong encircling arms.
How often he had carried her when she was a child, and she had often
admired his strength then. But now he seemed a veritable giant as he
strode among the trees, crossed the wild meadow, and ascended the hill
to the cabin.
In a few minutes Marion was lying upon the bunk. How good it was to
be there, and how restful. She felt that she could sleep forever. It
did not take Hugo long to stir up the few live coals in the stove,
boil some water, and prepare a cup of tea. This, together with some
ptarmigan broth he also warmed, proved most refreshing. The heat of the
room was conducive to sleep, and before long she was in a sound slumber.
An expression of satisfaction shone upon Hugo’s face as he watched
his sleeping daughter. He filled and lighted his pipe, and sat down
upon a block of wood and leaned back against the wall on the opposite
side of the stove. He could not see the girl’s face, as the one candle
which was burning gave but a feeble flickering light. But he kept his
eyes fixed in her direction, and his thoughts were deep. He was really
happier than he had been for years. His own daughter was with him, the
one for whom his heart had been crying out in all his lonely wanderings.
Throughout the rest of the night Hugo kept watch. He prepared and ate
his frugal breakfast, and fed the dog. As daylight was stealing over
the land, he left the cabin and made his way back to the encampment.
The dogs were still there, huddled upon the robes in the lean-to. The
wolves were lying just where they had fallen. Hugo glanced at the gaunt
brutes as if appraising their worth.
“If I had time,” he mused, “I would take you to the cabin and strip
off your pelts. But I’ve got other matters of more importance now.” He
then touched the nearest wolf with his foot. “You didn’t expect this,
I reckon, when you made the attack last night. It was mighty lucky I
happened to come along when I did. It’s a pity I wasn’t on hand when
that two-legged devil was around. There may have been more than one,
though, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. I guess I could
have settled the whole bunch. I hope to goodness I’ll run across them
before long.”
The dogs snarled as he approached the lean-to. But he drove them back,
and gathered up the robe and blankets. He left them there and began to
examine the environs of the camping-place, especially in the direction
the half-breed girl had gone after the dry wood. The wolves had beaten
down the snow so it was difficult for him to find any clue. Several
times he encompassed the place, moving in a wider circle each time
until he came to the edge of the untrampled snow. He had almost reached
the trail when his attention was arrested by several dry sticks which
had evidently been dropped in a hurry.
And right here he saw moccasined footprints, large and small. Close
by, the snow was trampled down, as if a struggle had taken place. This
spot he examined most carefully, hoping to obtain some clue to aid
him in his search for the missing girl. He was about to abandon his
search when his right foot upturned a piece of cloth which had been
hidden by the snow. Eagerly he seized this and inspected it closely.
It was merely a small fragment, and as near as he could make out it
had belonged to the flap of a man’s cap for the protection of his
ears. To Hugo it had a world of meaning. He pictured the half-breed
girl struggling furiously in the arms of her assailant, tearing at
the man’s face and head, and ripping away a portion of his cap in her
desperation. A growl of rage rumbled up in Hugo’s throat as he thought
of the foul attack upon a helpless girl. Suppose it had been his own
daughter! What if Marion were now in the clutches of that inhuman
brute, whoever he might be! He turned and looked off toward the right.
Placing the piece of cloth carefully in a pocket of his jacket, he
walked slowly toward the trail, keeping his eyes fixed intently upon
the footprints, which here were only a man’s size. Reaching the trail,
he saw that the steps led in the direction of Big Chance. How far had
the villain gone? he asked himself. No doubt he had a team of dogs
near, and by now he was far away with his captive. It was most unlikely
that he would take the girl back to the little mining camp where
her father was living. He knew Siwash Sam, a man who minded his own
business, but when once aroused his wrath was terrible. Only a devil or
a madman would think of interfering with his only daughter, the pride
of his life. But Bill, the Slugger, was both, he was well aware. He
was a devil in badness, and his passion for the beautiful half-breed
girl had turned his brain. Hugo knew of other deeds of infamy he had
committed, and had so cleverly covered up his trail as to escape the
far-reaching hands of the Police. But now he should not escape, was
the trapper’s determination. He himself would be the avenger of the
innocent if the Law did not get him first.
The thought of the Law caused Hugo to look quickly around. Then he gave
a sarcastic grunt as he hurried along the trail.
“Hugo, you fool,” he muttered, “you better look after your own skin.
If you’re not careful something may happen to you.”
His mind turned to his daughter and an anxious expression overspread
his face. What was he to do with her? He longed to have her with him,
but under the circumstances that was out of the question. He thought
of the missionary at The Gap. If he could get there, perhaps she could
live in the mission house for a time, at least. He was sure he could
make it worth while for the missionary to look after his daughter. He
raised his right hand and pressed it against his breast. Yes, the ring
was safe, and it would help him if necessary. He recalled the day he
had found it in the crack of the floor in that cabin on the bank of the
river. How differently matters had turned out from what he had planned.
Thinking thus as he hurried forward, he ere long came to a heavy clump
of trees. He had gone part way through when he came upon the site of
an abandoned camping-place. He felt the ashes, and found them cold.
He next examined the beaten-down snow and saw where the dogs had been
lying. He studied a number of moccasined footprints, and saw again
several small impressions, together with large ones. He was certain
now that they were made by the half-breed girl, and that her captor
had camped with her here. His eyes suddenly rested upon the peculiar
marks upon the packed-down snow a few feet from the fire. Stooping,
he saw that it was blood. A chip lying near was also stained with
frozen drops. Was it human blood? he asked himself, or was it from the
bleeding feet of the dogs? He banished this latter idea, however, after
he had looked carefully around where the dogs had been lying. There
were no signs of blood there, so he knew that the stains near the fire
were made by the blood of human beings. What had happened? he wondered.
Had a tragedy been enacted there in the night? What had become of the
campers?
For a while Hugo remained there, searching for some further clue.
But nothing could he find to aid him in his search. Silence reigned
around him. Far off the peaks of the great mountains were aglow with
the morning sun. Above him the Golden Horn was agleam with surpassing
glory. The entire landscape seemed fresh and joyous after its bath
of night. But Hugo noticed none of these wonders. His thoughts dwelt
upon more serious things. He was thinking deeply, and his brow knit
with perplexity. There was a certain course he wished to pursue, yet
he felt unable to carry it out. A restraining influence overshadowed
him, pressing hard upon his very soul. It was no new battle he was
fighting, as he had been contending fiercely for long years. It was a
struggle between the brute nature within him, and the call to higher
things. At times the former had seemed to sway his entire being, and
on such occasions he had been a terror to man and beast. But alone
in the silence of the great wilderness the nobleness within him had
always risen to battle with the demon that would drag him down. And now
another element in the person of his daughter had come to strengthen
his manhood and his desire for a new mode of life. Would it not be
better to leave the trails, he reasoned, face the world boldly, and
if punishment according to the legal code were necessary, to bear it
without a murmur?
As he thus stood there battling with these conflicting emotions, his
keen ears caught a disturbing sound up the trail. He listened intently,
his entire body now fully alert. That it was a dog-team, he soon
became certain, and it was rapidly approaching. Forgotten in an instant
was Hugo’s half-formed resolve to face the world boldly, and begin
life anew. The habits of years had taken too firm a grip upon him to
be shuffled off at will like a suit of clothes. Like a subtle poison
the spirit of determined antagonism had permeated his entire being,
affecting his every thought and action.
With an angry growl he sprang from the trail, crashed through the
trees, and made his way to the base of the hill not far away. Here he
paused and looked back. Not being able to see anything owing to the
intervening trees, he ascended the hill until he came to a large rock
behind which he crouched. From this place of concealment he could see
fairly well all that took place on the trail below. Neither did he have
long to wait, for in a few minutes a dog-team hove in sight, and pulled
up near the abandoned camping-place. The two men who accompanied the
dogs he at once recognized as Sergeant North and Constable Rolfe. He
shrank back a little more behind the great rock, fearful lest he should
be observed. His respect for the Police was now greater than ever.
The day before he had watched them as they sped along the main trail
between Big Chance and The Gap. He had smiled grimly then, satisfied
that they were on the wrong scent. Now, however, they were right before
him, and but for his keenness of hearing and quickness of action they
would have been upon him before he could escape. To accomplish that
journey they must have travelled all night. But why had they changed
their course? That thought filled him with an intense uneasiness. His
heart throbbed with hatred as he watched them. How easily he could
pick them off. Only two shots would be necessary, for he knew that
he could not miss. He clutched hard his rifle, and the forefinger of
his mittenless right hand toyed with the trigger. One firm pressure,
then the snick of the breech-bolt, a second reverberating report and
all would be over. It was a tempting situation. But Hugo hesitated. He
might kill those two men, but what would be gained? There were others
to take their place, for back of them was the entire Force, together
with the strength of the whole British Empire if necessary. He thought,
too, of Marion. Why should he bring more disgrace upon her? If he had
only himself to consider it would be different. It did not matter much
what happened to himself. He felt that he was of little use in the
world, anyway.
Slowly his grasp lessened upon the rifle, and he replaced the mitten
upon his uncovered hand. Then fearful lest the Police should notice his
tracks and follow him, he moved cautiously from the rock, slipped among
the thicket of jack-pines, and sped rapidly away.