"It's in the pack, Andy. But for Heaven's sake don't notice the bacon
until you explain how you happen to be here."
"Been waitin' for you," replied Duggan in an affectionate growl. "Knew
you'd have to come down this valley to hit the Little Fork. Been
waitin' six weeks."
Keith dug his fingers into Duggan's arm.
"How did you know I was coming HERE?" he demanded. "Who told you?"
"All come out in the wash, Johnny. Pretty mess. Chinaman dead. Johnny
Keith, alias Conniston, alive an' living with Conniston's pretty
sister. Johnny gone--skipped. No one knew where. I made guesses. Knew
the girl would know if anyone did. I went to her, told her how you'n me
had been pals, an' she give me the idee you was goin' up to the river's
end. I resigned from the Betty M., that night. Told her, though, that
she was a ninny if she thought you'd go up there. Made her believe the
note was just a blind."
"My God," breathed Keith hopelessly, "I meant it."
"Sure you did, Johnny. I knew it. But I didn't dare let HER know it. If
you could ha' seen that pretty mouth o' hern curlin' up as if she'd
liked to have bit open your throat, an' her hands clenched, an' that
murder in her eyes--Man, I lied to her then! I told her I was after
you, an' that if she wouldn't put the police on you, I'd bring back
your head to her, as they used to do in the old times. An' she bit.
Yes, sir, she said to me, 'If you'll do that, I won't say a word to the
police!' An' here I am, Johnny. An' if I keep my word with that little
tiger, I've got to shoot you right now. Haw! Haw!"
Keith had turned his face away.
Duggan, pulling him about by the shoulders, opened his eyes wide in
amazement.--"Johnny--"
"Maybe you don't understand, Andy," struggled Keith. "I'm sorry--she
feels--like that."
For a moment Duggan was silent. Then he exploded with a sudden curse.
"SORRY! What the devil you sorry for, Johnny? You treated her square,
an' you left her almost all of Conniston's money. She ain't no kick
comin', and she ain't no reason for feelin' like she does. Let 'er go
to the devil, I say. She's pretty an' sweet an' all that--but when
anybody wants to go clawin' your heart out, don't be fool enough to
feel sorry about it. You lied to her, but what's that? There's bigger
lies than yourn been told, Johnny, a whole sight bigger! Don't you go
worryin'. I've been here waitin' six weeks, an' I've done a lot of
thinkin', and all our plans are set an' hatched. An' I've got the
nicest cabin all built and waitin' for us up the Little Fork. Here we
are. Let's be joyful, son!" He laughed into Keith's tense, gray face.
"Let's be joyful!"
Keith forced a grin. Duggan didn't know. He hadn't guessed what that
"little tiger who would have liked to have bit open his throat" had
been to him. The thick-headed old hero, loyal to the bottom of his
soul, hadn't guessed. And it came to Keith then that he would never
tell him. He would keep that secret. He would bury it in his burned-out
soul, and he would be "joyful" if he could. Duggan's blazing, happy
face, half buried in its great beard, was like the inspiration and
cheer of a sun rising on a dark world. He was not alone. Duggan, the
old Duggan of years ago, the Duggan who had planned and dreamed with
him, his best friend, was with him now, and the light came back into
his face as he looked toward the mountains. Off there, only a few miles
distant, was the Little Fork, winding into the heart of the Rockies,
seeking out its hidden valleys, its trailless canons, its hidden
mysteries. Life lay ahead of him, life with its thrill and adventure,
and at his side was the friend of all friends to seek it with him. He
thrust out his hands.
"God bless you, Andy," he cried. "You're the gamest pal that ever
lived!"
A moment later Duggan pointed to a clump of timber half a mile ahead.
"It's past dinner-time," he said. "There's wood. If you've got any
bacon aboard, I move we eat."
An hour later Andy was demonstrating that his appetite was as voracious
as ever. Before describing more of his own activities, he insisted that
Keith recite his adventures from the night "he killed that old skunk,
Kirkstone."
It was two o'clock when they resumed their journey. An hour later they
struck the Little Fork and until seven traveled up the stream. They
were deep in the lap of the mountains when they camped for the night.
After supper, smoking his pipe, Duggan stretched himself out
comfortably with his back to a tree.
"Good thing you come along when you did, Johnny," he said. "I been
waitin' in that valley ten days, an' the eats was about gone when you
hove in sight. Meant to hike back to the cabin for supplies tomorrow or
next day. Gawd, ain't this the life! An' we're goin' to find gold,
Johnny, we're goin' to find it!"
"We've got all our lives to--to find it in," said Keith.
Duggan puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and heaved a great sigh of
pleasure. Then he grunted and chuckled. "Lord, what a little firebrand
that sister of Conniston's is!" he exclaimed. "Johnny, I bet if you'd
walk in on her now, she'd kill you with her own hands. Don't see why
she hates you so, just because you tried to save your life. Of course
you must ha' lied like the devil. Couldn't help it. But a lie ain't
nothin'. I've told some whoppers, an' no one ain't never wanted to kill
me for it. I ain't afraid of McDowell. Everyone said the Chink was a
good riddance. It's the girl. There won't be a minute all her life she
ain't thinkin' of you, an' she won't be satisfied until she's got you.
That is, she thinks she won't. But we'll fool the little devil, Johnny.
We'll keep our eyes open--an' fool her!"
"Let's talk of pleasanter things," said Keith. "I've got fifty traps in
the pack, Andy. You remember how we used to plan on trapping during the
winter and hunting for gold during the summer?"
Duggan rubbed his hands until they made a rasping sound; he talked of
lynx signs he had seen, and of marten and fox. He had panned "colors"
at a dozen places along the Little Fork and was ready to make his
affidavit that it was the same gold he had dredged at McCoffin's Bend.
"If we don't find it this fall, we'll be sittin' on the mother lode
next summer," he declared, and from then until it was time to turn in
he talked of nothing but the yellow treasure it had been his lifelong
dream to find. At the last, when they had rolled in their blankets, he
raised himself on his elbow for a moment and said to Keith:
"Johnny, don't you worry about that Conniston girl. I forgot to tell
you I've took time by the forelock. Two weeks ago I wrote an' told her
I'd learned you was hittin' into the Great Slave country, an' that I
was about to hike after you. So go to sleep an' don't worry about that
pesky little rattlesnake."
"I'm not worrying," said Keith.
Fifteen minutes later he heard Duggan snoring. Quietly he unwrapped his
blanket and sat up. There were still burning embers in the fire, the
night--like that first night of his flight--was a glory of stars, and
the moon was rising. Their camp was in a small, meadowy pocket in the
center of which was a shimmering little lake across which he could
easily have thrown a stone. On the far side of this was the sheer wall
of a mountain, and the top of this wall, thousands of feet up, caught
the glow of the moon first. Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked
to the lake. He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly
lower over the face of the mountain. He could see it move like a great
flood. And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he
turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between
the low shoulders of a mountain to the east. The world about him became
all at once vividly and wildly beautiful. It was as if a curtain had
lifted so swiftly the eye could not follow it. Every tree and shrub and
rock stood out in a mellow spotlight; the lake was transformed to a
pool of molten silver, and as far as he could see, where shoulders and
ridges did not cut him out, the moonlight was playing on the mountains.
In the air was a soft droning like low music, and from a distant crag
came the rattle of loosened rocks. He fancied, for a moment, that Mary
Josephine was standing at his side, and that together they were
drinking in the wonder of this dream at last come true. Then a cry came
to his lips, a broken, gasping man-cry which he could not keep back,
and his heart was filled with anguish.
With all its beauty, all its splendor of quiet and peace, the night was
a bitter one for Keith, the bitterest of his life. He had not believed
the worst of Mary Josephine. He knew he had lost her and that she might
despise him, but that she would actually hate him with the desire for a
personal vengeance he had not believed. Was Duggan right? Was Mary
Josephine unfair? And should he in self-defense fight to poison his own
thoughts against her? His face set hard, and a joyless laugh fell from
his lips. He knew that he was facing the inevitable. No matter what had
happened, he must go on loving Mary Josephine.
All through that night he was awake. Half a dozen times he went to his
blanket, but it was impossible for him to sleep. At four o'clock he
built up the fire and at five roused Duggan. The old river-man sprang
up with the enthusiasm of a boy. He came back from the lake with his
beard and head dripping and his face glowing. All the mountains held no
cheerier comrade than Duggan.
They were on the trail at six o'clock and hour after hour kept steadily
up the Little Fork. The trail grew rougher, narrower, and more
difficult to follow, and at intervals Duggan halted to make sure of the
way. At one of these times he said to Keith:
"Las' night proved there ain't no danger from her, Johnny. I had a
dream, an' dreams goes by contraries an' always have. What you dream
never comes true. It's always the opposite. An' I dreamed that little
she-devil come up on you when you was asleep, took a big bread-knife,
an' cut your head plumb off! Yessir, I could see her holdin' up that
head o' yourn, an' the blood was drippin', an' she was a-laughin'--"
"SHUT UP!" Keith fairly yelled the words. His eyes blazed. His face was
dead white.
With a shrug of his huge shoulders and a sullen grunt Duggan went on.
An hour later the trail narrowed into a short canon, and this canon, to
Keith's surprise, opened suddenly into a beautiful valley, a narrow
oasis of green hugged in between the two ranges. Scarcely had they
entered it, when Duggan raised his voice in a series of wild yells and
began firing his rifle into the air.
"Home-coming," he explained to Keith, after he was done. "Cabin's just
over that bulge. Be there in ten minutes."
In less than ten minutes Keith saw it, sheltered in the edge of a thick
growth of cedar and spruce from which its timbers had been taken. It
was a larger cabin than he had expected to see--twice, three times as
large.
"How did you do it alone!" he exclaimed in admiration. "It's a wonder,
Andy. Big enough for--for a whole family!"
"Half a dozen Indians happened along, an' I hired 'em," explained
Duggan. "Thought I might as well make it big enough, Johnny, seein' I
had plenty of help. Sometimes I snore pretty loud, an'--"
"There's smoke coming out of it," cried Keith.
"Kept one of the Indians," chuckled Duggan. "Fine cook, an' a
sassy-lookin' little squaw she is, Johnny. Her husband died last
winter, an' she jumped at the chance to stay, for her board an' five
bucks a month. How's your Uncle Andy for a schemer, eh, Johnny?"
A dozen rods from the cabin was a creek. Duggan halted here to water
his horse and nodded for Keith to go on.
"Take a look, Johnny; go ahead an' take a look! I'm sort of sot up over
that cabin."
Keith handed his reins to Duggan and obeyed. The cabin door was open,
and he entered. One look assured him that Duggan had good reason to be
"sot up." The first big room reminded him of the Shack. Beyond that was
another room in which he heard someone moving and the crackle of a fire
in a stove. Outside Duggan was whistling. He broke off whistling to
sing, and as Keith listened to the river-man's bellowing voice chanting
the words of the song he had sung at McCoffin's Bend for twenty years,
he grinned. And then he heard the humming of a voice in the kitchen.
Even the squaw was happy.