BOUND AND HELPLESS
"See here," said the man in front, stopping and turning about after
what had seemed hours to the exhausted and bruised Jamie, "I for one
ain't goin' to try to cross the Bay to-night in this here snow. It's
thicker'n mud, and there's a sea runnin' I won't take chances with,
not while I'm sober. We may's well bunk."
"Guess you're right, pardner, we better bunk. But pull farther away to
the west'ard before we put on a fire," agreed Jamie's captor with
evident relief. "That bunch'll be out huntin' this here kid, and they
may run on to us if we camp too close to 'em."
"We're a good two mile from 'em now. They'll never run on to us,"
argued the other.
"Go on a piece farther," insisted the man called Bill, who was
gripping Jamie's arm so hard that it ached.
"Let the kid go! What's the use of draggin' him along? He'll just be
in our way, and we've got troubles enough of our own," suggested the
other.
"He ain't goin' back and have a chance to give us away to that bunch,
not if I knows it. I've about made up my mind to croak him. He knows
too much. Go on and find a place to bunk. I'm follerin'."
"You won't croak anybody while I'm hangin' around! I'm tellin' you
I've got troubles enough on my hands already without chasin' a noose.
I'm goin' to save my neck anyhow, and I ain't goin' to be mixed up in
any croakin'," muttered the one called Hank, as he turned and plunged
forward again through the darkness.
What "croaking" meant Jamie did not in the least know, but he
suspected that it referred to something not in the least pleasant for
himself. He was too tired, however, to think or care a great deal as
he was dragged on, stumbling in the darkness over fallen logs, and
bumping into trees.
It seemed an interminable time to Jamie before the man ahead again
stopped, and said decisively:
"We'll camp here. We've gone far enough, and I ain't goin' another
rod. We're a good five mile from them fellers you're afraid of."
"All right, I'm satisfied. You've got the axe, go ahead and make a
cover," said Bill. "Kid, you come with me and help break branches for
the bed. Don't you loaf neither. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jamie timidly.
It was a relief to stop walking and to feel the man relax the
relentless grip upon his arm, and Jamie, meekly enough, began breaking
boughs with the man always within striking distance, as though afraid
that he might run away and make his escape, though Jamie was quite too
tired for that.
The man with the axe cut a stiff pole and trimmed it. Then he lopped
off the lower branches of two spruce trees that stood a convenient
distance apart, and laid the pole on a supporting limb of each tree,
about four feet from the ground. This was to form the ridge of a
lean-to shelter. Poles were now cut and formed into a sloping roof by
resting one end upon the ridge pole, the other upon the ground, and
the poles covered with a thick thatch of branches to exclude the snow.
When this was completed a quantity of dry wood was cut, and in front
of the lean-to a fire was lighted.
While the man with the axe was engaged in thatching the roof and
lighting the fire and gathering wood, the other turned his attention
to the preparation of the bed.
"Don't you try to break away, now!" he growled at Jamie. "I'll shoot
you like I would a rat if you do. Just stand there and hand me them
branches, and shake the snow off'n 'em first, too."
Running was the last thing that Jamie contemplated doing, even though
there had been no danger of the man executing his threat. He was so
tired he could scarcely stand upon his feet, and he had eaten nothing
since the hurried meal at midday.
At length the bed was laid, and the men sat down within the shelter of
the lean-to, and Bill ordered:
"Git down here, you kid, and set still too. Don't you try to leave
here. You know what's comin' to you if you do."
As Jamie meekly and thankfully complied, Bill ran his arm into the bag
that had been cached in the tree, and which had been the cause of all
of Jamie's trouble, and drawing forth a bottle removed the cork and
took a long pull from its contents. Making a face as though it did not
taste good, he handed it over to Hank, remarking:
"Have a nip, Hank. It'll warm you up and make you feel good. I don't
like this cruisin' in the dark."
Hank accepted the bottle and after drinking from it returned it to the
bag. Then each drew a pipe and a plug of black tobacco from his
pocket, and cutting some of the tobacco with the knife rolled it
between the palms of his hands, stuffed it into his pipe and lighted
it with a brand from the fire. For several minutes they sat and smoked
in silence.
In the meantime Jamie sat timidly upon the boughs next the man Bill.
As the fire blazed, the chill of the storm and night was driven out,
and a cozy, comfortable warmth filled the lean-to. Jamie's eyes became
heavy, and in spite of his unhappy position he dozed.
"See here," said the man, "you may's well sleep, but I ain't goin' to
take any chances on you. I'm goin' to tie you so's you won't be givin'
us the slip."
"Oh, leave the kid be, Bill! He's all right!" the other man objected.
"I ain't takin' chances," growled Bill. "I'm goin' to have some say
about it, too."
He fumbled in his pocket, and drawing forth some stout twine proceeded
to tie Jamie's hands securely behind his back. Then he tied Jamie's
feet, and gave him a push to the rear.
"Now I guess you'll stay with us all right," he grinned.
"Aw, leave the kid be! What you want to tie him for?" Hank protested.
"He can't get away. Better let him go anyhow."
"You leave me be to do what I wants to do and I'll leave you be to do
what you wants to," growled Bill. "I'm goin' to keep this kid fast.
This is my business."
"I don't know as it's all your business," snapped Hank. "I'm mixed up
in it too, seems to me."
"Well, I caught the kid, and I'm goin' to have my say about what I do
with him," Bill retorted. "I ain't goin' to let him make trouble for
us, not if I knows what I'm about."
Hank made no reply, but puffed silently at his pipe.
Jamie was wide awake again. This man Bill meant some evil, and the
little lad wondered vaguely what it could be that was to be done to
himself, and what his fate was to be. He was vastly uncomfortable,
too, with his hands tied behind his back, though he was glad enough to
be permitted to lie down. He could scarcely keep the tears back, as he
thought of the happy time in camp that had been planned, of the snug
tent where he was to have slept with Doctor Joe, and of his own warm
bed at home, and he wondered whether he would ever see The Jug again.
"The boss'll be sore at us, Hank, if we ain't back to camp to-morrow,"
remarked Bill presently, breaking the silence. "He can be sore though
if he wants to. He can't fire us fellers for bein' away even if he
does get sore and cuss us out. He needs us bad, and he can't get any
more men now. I don't mind his cussin'. Cussin' don't hurt a feller."
"If the wind don't get worse and the snow lets up some so we can make
out our way we better go back though as soon as it's light enough in
the mornin'," answered Hank. "I wish I was out'n this business
anyhow."
"We can get across the Bay even if it does snow some in the mornin',
long's there ain't too much sea," said Bill. "I'm for gettin' away
from here too. We've got the swag all right and nobody'll know about
it, if we don't let this kid loose to blab. It was lucky we caught
this feller before he found it, but he heard too much."
"What you goin' to do with him, Bill?"
"Croak him. I ain't goin' to take chances with him. It ain't my way to
take chances I don't have to take."
"You better not do any croakin', Bill. I won't stand for _that_. I'm
tough, and I've done plenty of tough things in my day, but I never
croaked a little kid like him, and I won't stand for it."
"Don't you go and get soft now. 'Tain't any worse to croak a kid than
a man. You'd croak a man if you had to, and this is a time when we've
got to do it to save ourselves."
"Well, I won't stand for it while I'm sober, and I'm sober now even if
I have had a drink or two." Hank reached for a firebrand with which to
relight his pipe.
"Well, you've got to stand for this. I'm mixed up in it just as much
as you be, and I'm goin' to have some say. I ain't goin' to take
chances on him goin' back to his gang and givin' us away."
"How you goin' to do it?"
"Take him along in the boat and drop him overboard. That's the easiest
way. There ain't much chance of anybody findin' him, and if they do
they'll just think he got drowned some way hisself. Dead folks don't
talk."
"That's somethin' I won't stand for! You can't go droppin' anybody
overboard while I'm in the boat! Not if I know it!"
"What you goin' to do, play the sucker?" Bill turned angrily toward
his companion. "Maybe you'll go and peach!"
"Don't you call me a sucker! Don't you say I'm a peacher!" Hank rose
to his feet and faced Bill menacingly.
For a moment Jamie thought the men were going to fight, but Bill
remained seated and his manner suddenly changed. Jamie thought he
acted as though he were afraid.
"See here, Hank," Bill's voice was modified and conciliatory. "I ain't
callin' you a sucker, and I ain't sayin' you'll peach. What's the use
of us fellers fightin' about it? We're in this together and we're
pardners. We've got to hang together. What's the use of us fallin'
out?"
"I'm willin' to hang together but I won't be called a sucker or
peacher by anybody, and I ain't goin' to stand for any croakin'
neither while I've got a gun! Hear me?"
"What we goin' to do about this here kid then? We can't let him go.
He'll up and run back and blab. He's heard too much about our
business. We don't want to go huntin' trouble, do we? Well, we'll be
huntin' trouble if we let him go. He knows too much and he knows all
about who we be too."
"What does he know, now? He don't know anything except what you've
gone and blabbed yourself. We just caught him tryin' to swipe our
cache. The stuff is our'n. 'Tain't his'n. Our stuff is our'n, ain't
it? What can he blab about? That's what I want to know!"
"He'll go and tell folks we've got this here swag from the ship, and
it'll go to the boss. That's what he knows, and that's what he'll
blab."
"Well, what we've got is our'n. He can't prove we've got that there
swag, and we'll hide it where the boss can't find it. He hain't seen
any swag around, has he? He can't say he has neither, and he won't. He
just thought maybe we had that there fox skin. What's that got to do
with us? We don't care what he thinks, and what he thinks won't hurt
us as I knows of. What we've got and what we ain't got don't make any
difference to these fellers. What they don't know won't hurt 'em. It
ain't theirs, and nobody better go meddlin' in what I has and does.
Let that there kid go now, Bill, and get him off'n our hands."
"You just leave him to me, Hank. I ain't goin' to let him go and blab,
I say, and get both of us in a hole. I've got _some_ say, hain't I,
Hank?"
"Well, don't do any croakin' when I'm around to see, that's all I've
got to say. He's your'n to do the way you want to with. I won't have
any finger in it. It's your job, it ain't mine."
"Well, I'll do the croakin' some other way. You needn't have anything
to do about it if you're afraid. I'll do it all by myself."
"Afraid or no afraid I ain't goin' to be mixed up in any croakin', and
that ends it as far as I go."
Hank knocked the ashes from his pipe, refilled it from the black
plug, and lifting a red hot coal from the fire placed it upon the
bowl, and puffed for a moment. When the tobacco was glowing to his
satisfaction, he flicked the coal back into the fire, and sat silently
smoking.
Jamie, lying quiet, had listened to the conversation of the two men.
He was wide awake now. He did not understand the significance of
"croaking," but the word had an ominous sound. It referred to
something the man called Bill wished to do to him and something to
which the man called Hank objected. He understood, however, the threat
to throw him into the Bay. The fellow Bill wished to do this while
Hank was determined to prevent it.
Instinctively Jamie felt that Hank was only defending him in order to
protect himself. He had no personal interest in him, but did not
propose to be involved in any trouble that might arise through some
action that Bill wished to take. He was glad when, finally, it
appeared settled that he was not to be thrown into the sea.
Bill arose and replenished the fire, and following Hank's example
refilled and lighted his pipe, then reseated himself.
Neither of the men spoke. Beyond their great hulking figures the fire
gleamed and sent a circle of radiance. Beyond the circle the forest
lay as black as a tomb. The snow fell steadily, and the wind sighed
and moaned ominously through the tree tops.
What were Doctor Joe and the lads doing? Were they searching for him
through the blackness of the night and the storm? If he had only
followed Doctor Joe's instructions and returned to camp in season!
Would these men kill him? Would he ever see the dear old home at The
Jug again?
With these thoughts flashing through his mind Jamie prayed a silent
little prayer:
"Dear Lord, don't let un kill me! Take me back to The Jug again!"
Many times he repeated this to himself. Then there came to him
something Thomas had once said when the mist was clouding his eyes:
"Have plenty o' grit, lad, and a stout heart like a man."
This comforted and strengthened him, and, like the prayer, he repeated
it over and over again to himself as he lay watching the silent men.
For a long time he watched them and the fire beyond, and the falling
snow and the black wall of the forest. Finally tired nature came to
his relief. His eyes closed and he fell into a troubled sleep.