ABANDONED
All through the dark hours of the night Keith kept watch, with the
anxious dog growling intermittently at his feet. He knew there were
wolves still in the vicinity, for at times he could hear their ugly
snarls near the spot where their companion had fallen.
Slowly the hours wore away, and at length the dawn began to steal over
the land. It needed but a little light to show the dim forms of three
wolves squatting on the snow some distance off. Bringing his rifle to
his shoulder, Keith sent a ball straight through the heart of the
largest, which bounded into the air, and then rolled over on the snow
dead. The other two started up in surprise, but a second shot brought
one of them to the ground, while his companion, bold brute though he
was, turned and fled. Thus the weary watch and the fight were over,
and Keith breathed a prayer of thankfulness at his escape from the
blood-thirsty foe.
Long before the sun had made its appearance, man and dog were retracing
their steps over the trail they had traversed the previous evening. It
meant much to turn back and thread their way across that desolate waste
of snow, through dreary forests, level plains, and sweeping lakes.
Hour after hour they moved, Keith all the time keeping a sharp look-out
for signs to show where the dog had taken his trail. Tracks of various
kinds were plentiful, crossing and re-crossing one another in the most
confusing manner. It was certainly a puzzling task to choose the ones
which would lead him to his destination.
Slowly he proceeded, peering here and there for some solution of the
mystery. In this manner he had advanced a considerable distance, when
the whining of the dog caused him to glance back. The animal had
stopped, and seemed to be in trouble, looking first at the man, and
then away to the left. Wondering what was the matter, Keith returned
to the spot.
"Well, doggie," he exclaimed, "what's wrong?"
But the cur continued to whine, looking alternately to the left and up
into the man's face.
Suddenly a thought flashed into Keith's mind. Perhaps the brute was
calling his attention to the right trail. It was worth investigating
at any rate.
The dog seemed to read his thoughts, and, weak though he was, gave a
joyful bark, and bounded off in the direction toward which he had been
looking.
"There's something in this after all," mused Keith, as he followed hard
after.
Away in the distance a range of mountains stood out bold and austere
against the sky. At a certain place a break appeared, one of Nature's
vast passes, and toward this the dog made his way. Ahead lay a large,
open plain, devoid of trees. Across this they travelled to a forest
beyond, which clothed the base of the mountains. The trees were large
and resembled a vast, silent army wedged into the valley, as if
forbidding any progress that way.
But the dog was not thinking of the trees, nor how grand they looked in
their soft, snowy mantle. He had something else on his mind, and with
firm assurance he nosed his way into their sombre depths.
For two hours they threaded the forest, up the long, winding valley,
when at length a log cabin burst suddenly into view. It was small,
low, and evidently had been built for some time. A stream of smoke,
curling into the frosty air, betokened life within. Around the
building many tracks of animals were visible, while here and there
human footprints could be discerned.
There was no window to the shack, and the door was small and low. At
this he knocked, while the dog scratched in his eagerness to gain
admittance. No sound coming from within, Keith cautiously opened the
rough barrier and entered, the cur leaping in ahead. The room was
quite light from a fire burning in a rude stone fire-place, before
which crouched a weird form, with knees drawn up to the chin in Indian
fashion. Hair, long and unkempt, fell down over his neck, and a beard,
months old, was rough and straggling. The cheeks were hollow, and the
weary, sunken eyes, turned toward the door, were filled with alarm. It
was only the dog he saw, which had rushed forward, and was leaping
around him in the wildest excitement, licking his hands and face with
intense fondness.
The man, however, did not recognize the animal, but drawing his blanket
more closely around his body, huddled down in a terrified manner.
"Back, back!" he moaned. "Don't come near! For God's sake, spare me!
Don't touch me! Help! Father! Connie!"
The tears streamed down the poor creature's cheeks, as he crouched
there on the floor, pleading with an imaginary foe. The scene was
pitiable to behold, and Keith hastened to his side.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "The dog won't hurt you."
The man started and looked up in a dazed manner. Then he reached
forward with his long, bony fingers.
"Save me!" he moaned. "Drive them away! They will kill me!"
"Why, there's nothing to harm you," Keith replied. "It's your own dog
come back to you, and he's licking your hands and face in his delight."
A gleam of intelligence stole into the man's eyes, as he looked slowly
around, somewhat relieved.
"My dog?" he continued. "Brisko? Not wolves?"
"No, not a wolf near. You are safe."
The man trembled. He caught Keith by the hand. He looked up into his
face, and then, throwing his arms around the dog's neck, wept like a
child.
"Safe, safe," he murmured. "Thank God! Oh, how they howled!" and a
shudder shook his frame. "They tore at the roof; they scratched at the
door. My God, it was awful! And to think that he left me to those
devils!"
Then he leaned eagerly forward. "Did you see him? Did you meet him on
the trail?"
"Meet whom?" demanded Keith, thinking the man was wandering in his mind.
"Bill; Bill, my partner."
"No, I have not met any one for days."
"Are you sure?" and the man crept near, and looked into the traveller's
face in a beseeching manner. "Think hard. A man with a long beard,
and the Devil's face."
"No, I tell you I have met no one. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, God, help me! You didn't see him, and he's got my gold! Yes,
_my_ gold," he cried, grinding his teeth in his rage. "Look, you.
Listen. We were partners, Bill and I. We struck gold. To find it we
struggled hard. We tore the flesh from our hands on the rocks. Our
feet bled. We suffered hunger and cold; but we found it. It was
awful, but we found it. The trail was long, but we didn't mind; we had
the gold. The wind howled down the mountain passes. We slept in the
snow. For days we had little to eat, but we laughed, and hugged our
pokes of gold, and kissed them as a mother kisses her babes. The dogs
died one by one, except the leader there, and we ate them raw, like the
wolves, which followed us and howled at night. But we laughed like
ghosts, always laughed, for the gold was safe. We reached this cabin.
Here we stayed, for we could go no further. We watched the gold,
counting it over and over. Then one day he left me,--left me to
die--and took my gold."
The man's rage was terrible. His sunken eyes shot fire. His emaciated
frame quivered with the intensity of his emotion. He staggered to his
feet. "I will find him!" he cried. "Let me go to him!" He tried to
walk to the door, but in vain. With a cry he fell upon the hard floor,
groped for an instant like a blind man, and then lay perfectly still.
The days that followed the man's collapse were fearful ones. Keith
would not leave him in such a condition, and he fought a hard battle to
save his life. With the aid of rabbits, a few ptarmigan, grouse, and
the little food he had brought with him, he managed to exist. Twice he
left the cabin and scoured the forest for moose or deer, but the
animals had deserted the locality. The wolves surrounded the shack at
night, uttering their dreary cries, but kept warily out of gun-shot.
At times the sick man moaned and raved pitifully. As Keith sat hour
after hour by his side he tried to piece together something of his past
life from the broken words which fell from his lips. Often it was of
the trail, the gold, and Bill. But again he wandered to other scenes
in which "Connie," "the violin," and various pieces of music played
important parts.
"Connie. Connie," he would say, over and over again. "Where is my
violin? Bring it to me."
At such moments his poor, gaunt fingers would search eagerly over the
blanket to reach the imaginary instrument. So often did he mention
"Connie," that Keith felt quite sure she must be his sister, and in his
mind he pictured a sweet-faced maiden, far away in some comfortable
home, wondering, perhaps, when her brother would return.
One night, as he sat wearily at his post, something attracted his
attention. It was a string fastened around the man's neck. Hoping to
obtain some clue to his identity, he examined it closely, and found it
held a small locket, hidden beneath the rough shirt. Opening the
trinket, the beautiful face of a young woman was exposed to view. Long
and earnestly he studied it, and, notwithstanding the wasted condition
of the man lying before him, he could easily trace a marked resemblance
between the two faces. Two letters, "K. R.," were neatly engraven upon
the gold cover, but nothing else could he find which would reveal the
man's name.
Carefully, almost reverently, he closed the locket, and restored it to
its former position. But the sweet eyes which had looked forth at him
still remained in his mind. The face burned itself into his soul, and
twice during the night he again opened the locket, and studied the
features most earnestly.
For ten long years he had not looked upon such a face, and to see this
one before him brought back scenes of by-gone days. He remembered one,
how pretty she looked on his graduation day, and what a thrill of
pleasure he had experienced as she placed her delicate hand into his,
and uttered words of congratulation. The future looked very bright
then, and in all his visions that little woman stood out sweet and
clear. But that was years ago, and now--she had been married long
since to a portly, wealthy merchant, while he, no doubt, was forgotten.
At length, wearied out with watching, he threw several sticks upon the
fire and lay down in front of it for a short nap. He awoke with a
start, to find the fire low, and the form wrapped in the wolf-skin robe
very still. A sense of dread crept over him, and, going to his side,
he peered into that haggard face. Yes, it was still. The expression
was one of peace, the awful peace of death. His right hand, firmly
clutching the string of the little locket, was lying upon his breast.
For him, at least, the long trail was ended.