THE PASSING OF BLACK MORAN
A string of curses that consigned all Indians to regions
_infra-mundane_, greeted Connie's knock upon the door of the cabin of
the free traders.
"I'm not an Indian!" answered the boy. "Open the door and let a fellow
in! What's the matter with you?"
Connie could hear muttered conversation, as one of the occupants
stumbled about the room. Presently a light was struck and the door flew
open. "Who be you, an' what d'ye want? An' what you doin' trailin' this
time o' night, anyway?"
The man who stood framed in the doorway was of huge build, and scowling
countenance, masked for the most part by a heavy black beard.
Connie smiled. "My partner and I are trapping over beyond the Injun
village, about forty miles southwest of here, and the Injuns told us
that there were some free traders up here some place. We're short of
grub and we thought that if we could get supplies from you it would save
us a trip clear to Fort Norman."
"Turn yer dogs loose an' come in," growled the man, as he withdrew into
the cabin and closed the door against the cold. If Connie could have
seen, as he unharnessed his dogs, the swift glances that passed between
the two occupants of the cabin, and heard their muttered words, he would
have hesitated a long time before entering that cabin alone. But he did
not see the glances, nor did he hear the muttered words.
As he stepped through the doorway, he was seized violently from behind.
For a moment he struggled furiously, but it was child's play for the big
man to hold him, while a small, wizened man sat in his underclothing
upon the edge of his bunk and laughed.
"Frisk him!" commanded the big man, and the other rose from the bunk and
removed the service revolver from its holster. Then, with a vicious
shove, the big man sent Connie crashing into a chair that stood against
the opposite wall. "Sit there, you sneakin' little pup! Thought you
could fool us, did you, with yer lies about trappin'? Thought we
wouldn't know Constable Morgan, of the Mounted, did you? You was some
big noise on the Yukon, couple years back, wasn't you? Most always goin'
it alone an' makin' grandstand plays. Thought you was some stuff, didn't
you?" The man paused for breath, and Connie scrutinized his face, but
could not remember to have seen him before. He shifted his glance to the
other, who had returned to the edge of the bunk, and was regarding him
with a sneering smirk.
"Hello, Mr. Squigg," he said, in a voice under perfect control. "Still
up to your old crookedness, are you? It's a wonder to me they've let you
live this long."
The big man interrupted. "Know him, do you? But you don't know me. Well,
I'll tell you who I be, and I guess you'll know what yer up against. I'm
Black Moran!"
"Black Moran!" cried the boy. "Why, Black Moran was----"
[Illustration: "As he stepped through the doorway he was seized
violently from behind."
Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover]
"Was drounded when he tried to shoot them Pelly Rapids about three
jumps ahead of the police boat, was he? Well, that's what they said but
he wasn't, by a long sight. When the canoe smashed I went under all
right but the current throw'd me into a eddy, an' when the police boat
went down through the chute I was hangin' by my fingers to a rock. The
floater they found later in the lower river an' said was me, was someone
else--but I didn't take the trouble to set 'em right--not by a jug full,
I didn't. It suited me to a T."
"So you're the specimen that murdered old man Kinney for his dust
and----"
"Yup, I'm the party. An' they's a heft of other stuff they've got
charged up agin me--over on the Yukon side. But they ain't huntin' me,
'cause they think I'm dead." There was a cold glitter in the man's eye
and his voice took on a taunting note. "Still playin' a lone hand, eh?
Well, it got you at last, didn't it? Guess you've saw the handwritin' on
the wall by this time. You ain't a-goin' no place from here. You've
played yer string out. This here country ain't the Yukon. They ain't
nobody, nor nothin' here to prevent a man's doin' just what he wants to.
The barrens don't tell no tales. Yer smart, all right--an' you've got
the guts--that's why we ain't a-goin' to take no chances. By tomorrow
night it'll be snowin'. An' when the storm lets up, they won't be no
cabin here--just a heap of ashes in under the snow--an' you'll be part
of the ashes."
Connie had been in many tight places in his life, but he realized as he
sat in his chair and listened to the words of Black Moran that he was at
that moment facing the most dangerous situation of his career. He knew
that unless the man had fully made up his mind to kill him he would
never have disclosed his identity. And he knew that he would not
hesitate at the killing--for Black Moran, up to the time of his supposed
drowning, had been reckoned the very worst man in the North. Escape
seemed impossible, yet the boy showed not the slightest trace of fear.
He even smiled into the face of Black Moran. "So you think I'm still
with the Mounted do you?" he asked.
"Oh, no, we don't think nothin' like that," sneered the man. "Sure, we
don't. That there ain't no service revolver we tuk offen you. That
there's a marten trap, I s'pose. 'Course you're trappin', an' don't know
nothin' 'bout us tradin' _hooch_. What we'd ort to do is to sell you
some flour an' beans, an' let you go back to yer traps."
"Dangerous business bumping off an officer of the Mounted," reminded
the boy.
"Not over in here, it ain't. Special, when it's comin' on to snow. No.
They ain't no chanct in the world to git caught fer it--or even to git
blamed fer it, 'cause if they ever find what's left of you in the ashes
of the cabin, they'll think it got afire while you was asleep. Tomorrow
mornin' yo git yourn. In the meantime, Squigg, you roll in an' git some
sleep. You've got to take the outfit an' pull out early in the mornin'
an' unload that _hooch_ on to them Injuns. I'll ketch up with you 'fore
you git there, though. What I've got to do here won't take me no longer
than noon," he glanced meaningly at Connie, "an' then, we'll pull out of
this neck of the woods."
"Might's well take the kid's dogs an' harness, they might come in
handy," ventured Mr. Squigg.
"Take nothin!" roared Black Moran, angrily. "Not a blame thing that he's
got do we take. That's the trouble with you cheap crooks--grabbin' off
everything you kin lay yer hands on--and that's what gits you caught.
Sometime, someone would see something that they know'd had belonged to
him in our possession. Then, where'd we be? No, sir! Everything, dogs,
gun, sled, harness an' all goes into this cabin when she burns--so, shut
up, an' git to bed!" The man turned to Connie, "An' now, you kin roll up
on the floor in yer blankets an' pertend to sleep while you try to
figger a way out of this mess, or you kin set there in the chair an'
figger, whichever you want. Me--I'm a-goin' to set right here an' see
that yer figgerin' don't 'mount to nothin'--see?" The evil eyes of Black
Moran leered, and looking straight into them, Connie deliberately raised
his arms above his head and yawned.
"Guess I'll just crawl into my blankets and sleep," he said. "I won't
bother to try and figure a way out tonight--there'll be plenty of time
in the morning."
The boy spread his blankets and was soon fast asleep on the floor, and
Black Moran, watching him from his chair, knew that it was no feigned
sleep. "Well, of all the doggone nerve I ever seen, that beats it a
mile! Is he fool enough to think I ain't a-goin' to bump him off? That
ain't his reputashion on the Yukon--bein' a fool! It ain't noways
natural he should take it that easy. Is he workin' with a pardner, that
he expects'll git here 'fore mornin', or what? Mebbe that Injun comin'
here after _hooch_ a while back was a plant." The more the man thought,
the more uneasy he became. He got up and placed the two rifles upon the
table close beside him, and returned to his chair where he sat,
straining his ears to catch the faintest night sounds. He started
violently at the report of a frost-riven tree, and the persistent
rubbing of a branch against the edge of the roof set his nerves
a-jangle. And so it was that while the captive slept, the captor worried
and fretted the long night through.
Long before daylight, Black Moran awoke Squigg and made him hit the
trail. "If they's another policeman along the back trail, he'll run on
to Squigg, an' I'll have time fer a git-away," he thought, but he kept
the thought to himself.
When the man was gone, Black Moran turned to Connie who was again seated
in his chair against the wall. "Want anything to eat?" he asked.
"Why, sure, I want my breakfast. Kind of a habit I've got--eating
breakfast."
"Say!" exploded the man, "what ails you anyway? D'you think I'm
bluffin'? Don't you know that you ain't only got a few hours to
live--mebbe only a few minutes?"
"So I heard you say;" answered the boy, dryly. "But, how about
breakfast?"
"Cook it, confound you! There it is. If you figger to pot me while _I'm_
gittin' it, you lose. I'm a-goin' to set right here with this gun in my
hand, an' the first move you make that don't look right--out goes yer
light."
Connie prepared breakfast, while the other eyed him closely. And, as he
worked, he kept up his air of bravado--but it was an air he was far from
feeling. He knew Black Moran by reputation, and he knew that unless a
miracle happened his own life was not a worth a gun-wad. All during the
meal which they ate with Black Moran's eyes upon him, and a gun in his
hand, Connie's wits were busy. But no feasible plan of escape presented
itself, and the boy knew that his only chance was to play for time in
hope that something might turn up.
"You needn't mind to clean up them dishes," grinned the man. "They'll
burn dirty as well as clean. Git yer hat, now, an' we'll git this
business over with. First, git them dogs in the cabin, an' the sled an'
harness. Move lively, 'cause I got to git a-goin'. Every scrap of stuff
you've got goes in there. I don't want nothin' left that could ever be
used as evidence. It's clouded up already an' the snow'll take care of
the tracks." As he talked, the two had stepped out the door, and Connie
stood beside his sled about which were grouped his dogs. The boy saw
that Leloo was missing, and glanced about, but no sign of the great
wolf-dog was visible. "Stand back from that sled!" ordered the man, as
he strode to its side. "Guess I'll jest look it over to see if you've
got another gun." The man jerked the tarp from the pack, and seizing the
rifle tossed it into the cabin. Then he slipped his revolver into its
holster and picked up Connie's heavy dog-whip. As he did so Connie
caught just a glimpse of a great silver-white form gliding noiselessly
toward him from among the tree trunks. The boy noted in a flash that the
cabin cut off the man's view of the wolf-dog. And instantly a ray of
hope flashed into his brain. Leloo was close beside the cabin, when with
a loud cry, Connie darted forward and, seizing a stick of firewood from
a pile close at hand, hurled it straight at Black Moran. The chunk
caught the man square in the chest. It was a light chunk, and could not
have possibly harmed him, but it did exactly what Connie figured it
would do--it drove him into a sudden rage--_with the dog-whip in his
hand._ With a curse the man struck out with the whip, and as its lash
bit into Connie's back, the boy gave a loud yell of pain.
At the corner of the cabin, Leloo saw the boy throw the stick. He saw it
strike the man. And he saw the man lash out with the whip. Also, he
heard the boy's cry of pain. As the man's arm drew back to strike again,
there was a swift, silent rush of padded feet, and Black Moran turned
just in time to see a great silvery-white shape leave the snow and
launch itself straight at him. He saw, in a flash, the red tongue and
the gleaming white fangs, and the huge white ruff, each hair of which
stuck straight out from the great body.
A single shrill shriek of mortal terror resounded through the forest,
followed by a dull thud, as man and wolf-dog struck the snow together.
And then--the silence of the barrens.
It was long past noon. The storm predicted by Black Moran had been
raging for hours, and for hours the little wizened man who had left the
cabin before dawn had been plodding at the head of his dogs. At
intervals of an hour or so he would stop and strain his eyes to pierce
the boiling white smother of snow that curtained the back-trail. Then he
would plod on, glancing to the right and to the left.
The over-burden of snow slipping from a spruce limb brushed his parka
and he shrieked aloud, for the feel of it was a feel of a heavy hand
upon his shoulder. Farther on he brought up trembling in every limb at
the fall of a wind-broken tree. The snapping of dead twigs as the spruce
wallowed to earth through the limbs of the surrounding trees sounded in
his ears like--the crackling of flames--flames that licked at the dry
logs of a--burning cabin. A dead limb cracked loudly and the man
crouched in fear. The sound was the sound of a pistol shot from
behind--from the direction of Black Moran.
"Why don't he come?" whispered the wizened man. "What did he send me
alone for? Thought I didn't have the nerve fer--fer--what he was goin'
to do. An' I ain't, neither. I wisht I had--but, I ain't." The man
shuddered: "It's done by this time, an'--why don't he come? What did I
throw in with him fer? I'm afraid of him. If he thought I stood in his
way he'd bump me off like he'd squ'sh a fly that was bitin' him. If I
thought I could git away with it, I'd hit out right now--but I'm afraid.
If he caught me--" The wizened man shuddered and babbled on, "An' if he
didn't, the Mounted would. An' if they didn't--" again he paused, and
glanced furtively into the bush. "They _is_ things in the woods that men
don't know! I've heered 'em--an' seen 'em, too. They _is_ ghosts! And
they _do_ ha'nt men down. They're white, an--it's beginnin' to git dark!
Why don't Moran come? I'd ruther have him, than _them_--an' now there's
another one of 'em--to raise out of the ashes of a fire! I'd ort to
camp, but if I keep a pluggin' along mebbe I kin git to the Injun
village. 'Taint fur, now--acrost this flat an' then dip down onto the
river--What's that!" The man halted abruptly and stared. "It's one of
'em now!" he faltered, with tongue and lips that felt stiff. "An' it's
covered with fine white ashes!" He knew that he was trembling in every
limb, as he stared at the snow-covered object that stood stiffly beside
the trail only a few yards ahead. "Nuthin' but a stump," he said, and
laughed, quaveringly. "Sure--it's a stump--with snow on it. I remember
that stump. No--it wasn't here where the stump was. Yes, it was. It
looks different with the snow on it. Gosh, a'mighty, it's a ghost! No
'taint--'taint moved. That's the stump. I remember it. I says to Moran,
'There's a stump.' An' Moran says, 'Yup, that's a stump.'" He cut
viciously at his dogs with the whip. "Hi yu there! Mush-u!"
At the door of the little cabin Connie Morgan stared wide-eyed at the
thing that lay in the snow. Schooled as he was to playing a man's part
in the drama of the last great frontier, the boy stood horror-stricken
at the savage suddenness of the tragedy that had been enacted before his
eyes. A few seconds before, he had been in the power of Black Moran,
known far and wide as the hardest man in the North. And, now, there was
no Black Moran--only a grotesquely sprawled _thing_--and a slush of
crimson snow. The boy was conscious of no sense of regret--no thought of
self-condemnation--for he knew too well the man's record. This man who
had lived in open defiance of the laws of God and of man had met swift
death at the hand of the savage law of the North. The law that the men
of the outlands do not seek to explain, but believe in
implicitly--because they have seen the workings of that law. It is an
inexorable law, cruel, and cold, and hard--as hard as the land it
governs with its implacable justice. It is the law of retribution--and
its sentence is PAY.
Black Moran had paid. He had played his string out--had come to the end
of his trail. And Connie knew that justice had been done. Nevertheless,
as the boy stood there in the silence of the barrens and stared down at
the sprawling form, he felt strangely impressed--horrified. For, after
all, Black Moran had been a human being, and one--the boy shuddered at
the thought--who, with murder in his heart, had been ill equipped for
passing suddenly into the presence of his God.
With tight-pressed lips the boy dragged the body into the cabin and
covered it with a blanket, and then, swiftly, he recovered his rifle and
revolver, harnessed his dogs, and struck out on the trail of Squigg. An
hour after the storm struck, the trail was obliterated. Here and there,
where it cut through thick spruce copses, he could make it out but by
noon he knew he was following only its general direction. He knew also
that by bearing slightly to the southward he would strike the river that
led to the village of the Indians.
It was nearly dark when he came out upon a flat that even in the gloom
and the whirling snow he recognized as the beaver meadow from which the
trail dipped to the river. Upon the edge of it he halted to examine the
spruce thickets along its western side, for signs of the trail of
Squigg, and it was while so engaged that he looked up to see dimly in
the white smother the form of the man and his dog-team. The man halted
suddenly and seemed to be staring at him. Connie stood motionless in his
tracks, waiting. For a long time the man stood peering through the
flying snow, then the boy saw his arm raise, heard the crack of his
whiplash, and then the sound of his voice--high-pitched and unnatural it
sounded coming out of the whirling gloom: "Hi yu, there! Mush-u!"
Not until Squigg was within ten feet of him did the boy move, then he
stepped directly into the trail. A low, mewling sound quavered from the
man's lips, and he collapsed like an empty bag.
"Stand up!" ordered the boy, in disgust. But instead of obeying, the
man grovelled and weltered about in the snow, all the while emitting an
incoherent, whimpering wail. Connie reached down to snatch the man to
his feet, when suddenly he started back in horror. For the wailing
suddenly ceased, and in his ears, high and shrill, sounded a peal of
maniacal laughter. The eyes of the man met his own in a wild glare,
while peal after peal of the horrible laughter hurtled from between the
parchment-like lips that writhed back to expose the snaggy, gum-shrunken
teeth.
Horrible as had been the sight of Black Moran lying in the
blood-reddened snow, the sight of Squigg wallowing in the trail and the
sound of his weird laughter, were far more horrible. The laughter
ceased, the man struggled to his feet and fixed Connie with his
wild-eyed stare, as he advanced toward him with a peculiar loose-limbed
waddle: "I know you! I know you!" he shrilled. "I heard the flames
cracklin', an' snappin'! An' now you've got me, an' Moran's comin' an'
you'll git him, an' we'll all be ghosts together--all of us--an' we'll
stand like stumps by the trail! I'm a stump! I'm a stump! Ha, ha, ha.
He, he, he! I'm a stump! I'm a stump!"
"Shut up!" cried Connie in desperation, as he strove to master an
almost overwhelming impulse to turn and fly from the spot. "Crazy as a
loon," thought the boy, with a shudder, "and I've got to take him clear
to Fort Norman, alone!" "I'm a stump, I'm a stump," chanted the man,
shrilly, and the boy saw that he had come to a rigid stand close beside
the trail.
With a final effort Connie pulled himself together. "I've got it to do,
and I'll do it," he muttered between clenched teeth. "But, gee whiz! It
will take a week to get to Fort Norman!"
"I'm a stump, I'm a stump," came the monotonous chant, from the rigid
figure beside the trail.
"Sure, you're a stump," the boy encouraged, "and if you'll only stick to
it till I get the tent up and a fire going, you'll help like the
dickens."
Hurrying to his dogs the boy swung them in, and in the fast gathering
darkness and whirling snow he worked swiftly and skillfully in pitching
the little tent and building a fire. When the task was finished and the
little flames licked about his blackened teapot, he sliced some fat
pork, threw a piece of caribou steak in the frying pan, and set it on
the fire. Then he walked over to where Squigg stood repeating his
monotonous formula.
"Grub's ready," announced the boy.
"I'm a stump. I'm a stump."
"Sure you are. But it's time to eat."
"I'm a stump, I'm a stump," reiterated the man.
Connie took hold of him and essayed to lead him to the fire, but the man
refused to budge.
"As long as you stay as stiff as that I could pick you up and carry you
to the tent, but suppose you change your mind and think you're a buzz
saw? Guess I'll just slip a _babiche_ line on you to make sure." The man
took not the slightest notice as the boy wound turn after turn of line
about his arms and legs and secured the ends. Then he picked him up and
carried him to the tent where he laid him upon the blankets. But try as
he would, not a mouthful of food would the man take, so Connie ate his
supper, and turned in.
In the morning he lashed Squigg to the sled and with both outfits of
dogs struck out for Fort Norman. And never till his dying day will the
boy forget the nightmare of that long snow-trail.
Two men to the sled, alternating between breaking trail and handling the
dogs, and work at the gee-pole, is labour enough on the trail. But
Connie had two outfits of dogs, and no one to help. He was in a
snow-buried wilderness, back-trailing from memory the route taken by the
Bear Lake Indians who had guided him into the country. And not only was
he compelled to do the work of four men on the trail, but his camp work
was more than doubled. For Squigg had to be fed forcibly, and each
morning he had to be lashed to the sled, where he lay all day, howling,
and laughing, and shrieking. At night he had to be unloaded and tended
like a baby, and then put to bed where he would laugh and scream, the
whole night through or else lie and whimper and pule like a beast in
pain.
On the fifth day they came suddenly upon the noon camp of the party from
Fort Norman, and before Connie could recognize the big man in the
uniform of an Inspector of the Mounted he was swung by strong arms clear
of the ground. The next moment he was sobbing excitedly and pounding the
shoulders of Big Dan McKeever with both his fists in an effort to break
the bear-like embrace.
"Why, you doggone little _tillicum_!" roared the man, "I know'd you'd do
it! Didn't I tell you, Mac? Didn't I tell you he'd out-guess 'em? An'
he's got the evidence, too, I'll bet a dog! But, son--what's the matter?
Gosh sakes! I never seen you _cryin'_ before! Tell me quick, son--what's
the matter?"
Connie, ashamed of the sobs that shook his whole body, smiled into the
big man's face as he leaned heavily against his shoulder:
"It's--nothing, Dan! Only--I've been five days and nights on the trail
with--_that_!" He pointed toward the trussed figure upon the sled, just
as a wild peal of the demoniacal laughter chilled the hearts of the
listeners. "And--I'm worn out."
"For the love of Mike!" cried the big Inspector, after Connie lay asleep
beside the fire. "Think of it, Mac! Five days an' five nights! An' two
outfits!"
"I'm sayin' the lad's a man!" exclaimed the Scotchman, as he shuddered
at an outburst of raving from Squigg. "But, why did he bring the other
sled? He should have turned the dogs loose an' left it."
For answer McKeever walked over to Squiggs' sled and threw back the
tarp. Then he pointed to its contents. "The evidence," he answered,
proudly. "I knew he'd bring in the evidence."
"Thought they was two of 'em, son," said McKeever, hours later when
they all sat down to supper. "Did the other one get away?"
The boy shook his head. "No, he didn't get away. Leloo, there, caught
him. He couldn't get away from Leloo."
"Where is he?"
Connie glanced at the big officer curiously: "Do you know who the other
one was?" he asked.
"No. Who was it?"
"Black Moran."
"Black Moran! What are you talkin' about! Black Moran was drowned in the
Pelly Rapids!"
"No, he wasn't," answered the boy. "He managed to get to shore, and then
he skipped to the other side of the mountains. The body they pulled out
of the river was someone else."
"But--but, son," the big Inspector's eyes were serious, "if I had known
it was _him_--Black Moran--he was the hardest man in the North--by all
odds."
"Yes--I know," replied the boy, thoughtfully. "But, Dan, he PAID. His
score is settled now. I forgot to tell you that when Leloo caught
him--he cut him half in two."