A BUSHMAN'S SATISFACTION
Andrew reached the Landing physically exhausted and troubled by a
heavy depression. The long-continued strain had left its mark on him,
for, having proposed the expedition, he felt responsible for the
safety of his friends; and his strength and endurance deserted him
shortly after the arrival of the rescue party. Relief had been
followed by a severe reaction, which left him limp and nerveless; and
the homeward march proved long and toilsome. As they had food, there
was no longer the same necessity for haste, but the rigor of the
weather forced the men to push on as fast as possible, and Andrew
found it difficult to emulate his rescuers' pace. Moreover, he was
seriously troubled about Graham, whose foot appeared to be getting
worse, and he was deeply disappointed with the result of his search.
He had found the lode, but, so far as he had been able to test it, the
ore did not promise much.
Dusk was falling when they saw the lights of the settlement, and as
they passed the first house a man greeted them. After a word or two,
he ran on ahead; and the party, following slowly, worn with the march,
found most of the inhabitants gathering in the street. Eager helpers
took their packs from them and seized the traces of the sled;
questions and congratulations were showered on them, and, to Andrew's
annoyance, they entered the town in a triumphal procession. He was
plodding along, too tired and listless to notice the remarks of the
curious and sympathetic crowd, when Carnally touched his arm.
"You can go straight to the hotel," he said. "I'll take Graham home."
"No," said Andrew firmly; "that's my business and it can't be shirked.
You might send the doctor."
Carnally disappeared among the crowd and Andrew went on, shrinking
from the meeting with his comrade's wife, though when the time came he
found it less trying than he had feared. As they turned into a side
street there was a shout:
"Make room; let her pass! It's Mrs. Graham!"
The men in the traces stopped and Graham spoke to them.
"You might help me up, boys."
They got him on his feet and fell back as a woman hurried toward him.
She flung her arms about his neck and it was several moments before
she saw Andrew.
"We have brought him back, but I'm afraid he's a little the worse for
wear," he said.
"You have brought him back!" she cried. "That is the greatest thing."
Graham walked along with her for a few yards, and then stopped, his
face contorted.
"If you don't mind, I'll finish the journey on the sled. My foot's
rather sore."
When they reached his house, he insisted on getting up, and after
telling Andrew to follow, limped in unhelped, but he sat down heavily
on a couch.
"I suppose this moccasin had better come off now, though it's going to
give me trouble," he said with a rueful smile.
"No," advised Andrew, "not until the doctor comes; he should be here
directly. I'd like to see him, Mrs. Graham, but you'll want to talk to
your husband. May I wait in the other room?"
She let him go and he spent an anxious half-hour. He heard the doctor
arrive and Mrs. Graham hurry about the house--getting water and
bandages, he thought. Then there was silence for a while, until the
doctor entered the room where he was sitting.
"His foot's in a very bad state," he reported. "There's some risk of
mortification, though I think it can be averted. I'll be able to tell
you more in a day or two."
"Do you know of any surgeon in Winnipeg or Toronto you would like to
bring out?"
"There's a good man in Winnipeg, which is much nearer. On the whole,
it might be advisable to get his opinion."
"Then wire for him," said Andrew, "and send for a trained nurse if one
can be had."
The doctor left and Andrew rose as Mrs. Graham came in.
"I'm afraid you'll find it hard to forgive me," he said.
Mrs. Graham looked troubled.
"I must try to be fair. You are really not to blame; even if he hadn't
met you, he would have gone to look for the lode some day. Then I'm
confident you took every care of him. But, after all----"
"I know," Andrew sympathized. "He was well and strong when I took him
away, and I have brought him back disabled. That can't be got over."
He paused and resumed in a diffident tone: "I feel responsible. There
are things I can't put right--your distress, the pain your husband
suffers, his regret at being laid up helpless while his foot gets
better--but I must insist on making what amends are in my power. I
think you understand."
"Yes." Mrs. Graham gave him a grateful glance. "But we'll talk of that
later." Then she smiled. "He sent you a message--you are to mail the
specimens to an assayer the first thing."
"I'll do so," Andrew promised, turning toward the door. "I'll come
back and see how he's getting on early to-morrow."
On reaching the hotel he sought Carnally.
"Jake," he said, "you might fix things with the packers; give them any
bonus you think fit over regulation wages. Then, because we owe them
more than we can pay in money, you had better get up a supper and
dance they could bring their wives to."
"It's a good idea! They'll like that. I'll see about it to-morrow. I
need a rest to-night, and there's a job I want to be fit for in the
morning."
Andrew was too weary to ask him what it was and after sending a
message to Frobisher and getting supper he went off to bed. Rising
late the next day, he went to Graham's and then took a sleigh drive,
and by doing so missed a scene which caused some sensation in the
town.
About the middle of the morning Mappin was sitting in his office,
which was situated above a store opposite the second-class hotel. The
hotel was full, for some loggers had come in the previous night, and a
number of railroad carpenters, whose work had been interfered with by
a snowstorm, were staying there. Mappin had heard of Andrew's return
and he was in a thoughtful mood, though he had so far avoided meeting
with any of the party. He could not, however, continue to do so, and
he felt that he might as well get the interview with Allinson over as
soon as possible. Even if Allinson suspected treachery, he had no
proof, and the worst charge he could make would be one of
carelessness. On the whole, it had been a relief to see that the man
had escaped: he had acted in the heat of passion when he cut off his
supplies and had afterward experienced a twinge of remorse. Mappin
felt that he was a match for the fellow, and he had gone a needless
length in plotting to destroy him.
He was thinking over the matter when he heard some one ask for him in
the store, through which it was necessary to pass to reach his office.
Then there were footsteps on the stairs and he looked up in surprise
as Carnally came in. It was Allinson he had expected to see.
Carnally was smartly dressed, and though his face was thin and worn it
wore a look of satisfaction that puzzled Mappin.
"Where's your boss this morning?" Mappin inquired. "I've been waiting
for him."
"At Graham's," said Carnally, sitting down. "I've come instead. Mr.
Allinson's got into a habit of leaving matters to me. There are things
I do better than he can. I'm not so fastidious as he is."
"Then let me know what you want."
"It's about those provisions you sent up. Mr. Allinson told you where
to make the caches?"
"Yes; I carefully put it down."
"Got the paper or the notebook?"
"I can't say where the notebook is, but I believe I could find it."
Carnally smiled, as if he were enjoying the situation.
"If you produce the book, it will be because it doesn't agree with
what Mr. Allinson says he told you; but that wouldn't prove much.
You're capable of writing down what you meant to do and not what he
said. If you're not able to find it, the reason is that you thought of
the trick you played us after you saw him."
"Then you didn't find the provisions I sent as easily as you
expected?"
"No; you know we didn't."
Mappin had plenty of courage.
"Well, what about it?" he asked with a little smile of scorn.
"I know the hand you're playing from; it's a pretty good one. Mr.
Allinson believes he gave you orders to make the caches in certain
places; you contend he told you somewhere else, and there was nobody
about when you were talking to decide the thing. Somehow an
unfortunate mistake was made."
"It looks like that," said Mappin, feeling uneasy at the man's ready
acquiescence in the situation.
"Sure thing!" Carnally cheerfully assented. "You fixed it all so
neatly that you left only one way of getting after you; but I won't
grumble, because it's the one I like." He rose and his expression
changed. "The mistake you meant to make came mighty near starving
three men to death. Stand up and answer for it, you blasted hog!"
"So that's your line?"
Mappin did not move as he rapidly considered his course. Overbearing
as he was, he did not often give way to anger unless his passions were
strongly roused. A brawl with Carnally could lead to no useful result,
and it would attract undesirable attention.
"You have hit it first time! Got feet, haven't you? You seem to want
some stirring up!" Carnally reached for an inkwell and flung it across
the office at Mappin's head. "Sorry I missed," he said. "But I've
spoiled your clothes."
Mappin rose with a savage frown.
"Do you mean to go on with this fooling?"
"Sure!" replied Carnally. "If I can't wake you any other way, I'll
fire your office fixings out of the window. Guess that will bring the
boys around and I'll be glad to tell them what the trouble's about."
A heavy account-book, deftly thrown, swept Mappin's desk, scattering
pens and papers across the room. Seeing that a struggle was
unavoidable, he sprang forward. Caution had hitherto held him back,
but his patience had its limits, and he was the heavier man. He missed
Carnally with his first two blows, but the third took effect with
sledge-hammer force, flinging him back upon the office-table, and
during the next few minutes Carnally gasped and dodged. He saw that he
must try to wear out his antagonist, and he watched his chance before
he clinched. For a while they grappled in the middle of the floor,
swaying, breaking ground with heavy feet, striking when they could;
and then as Mappin freed himself the door was flung open and the
storekeeper and several of his customers ran in.
"Hold on!" he cried. "What's the trouble? I thought you were coming
through my ceiling!"
Carnally looked around, flushed and breathless.
"Stand back! This business has to be got through, with! It's pretty
well known that the fellow's smart at stealing his boys' time, but he
took on too big a contract when he played a low-down trick on me." He
turned to Mappin. "Are you ready, you fat swine, or must I fire you
down the stairs?"
"Leave them to it," advised a big logger with an appreciative grin.
"I'll put a dollar on the bushman!"
"You're wrecking the place!" objected the storekeeper, indicating the
dislodged stove, from which thick smoke was pouring, and a broken
chair.
"That doesn't matter," Carnally replied. "Mappin can meet the bill. He
seems a bit slow in moving: they've been too liberal with the corn."
One or two of the men laughed; but Mappin looked dangerous. The
struggle that occupied the next few minutes was a determined and
strenuous one, and the spectators watched it with frank delight.
Mappin was powerful and could use his strength, but he had lived
indulgently, a prey to his appetites. Carnally lived for the most part
in the wilds, and hard toil and plain fare had toughened him.
Moreover, as a matter of necessity, he frequently taxed his endurance
to the limit, and this stood him in good stead now. He was quicker
than his enemy, and recovered sooner; when they broke away from a
grapple he was the fresher.
Mappin began to show distress. He panted hard, his face grew suffused,
the perspiration dripped from him. His collar had burst open, and his
torn sleeve hung loose about his arm; he looked strangely brutish and
his eyes had a murderous expression. By comparison, Carnally seemed
cool. His thin, brown face was quietly intent, resolute without
passion; he fought cautiously, avoiding his antagonist's furious
rushes, breaking away from an occasional grapple. Endurance was his
strongest point, and he meant to tire his man. Mappin, guessing this,
saw the advisability of bringing the struggle to a speedy conclusion.
He clinched again, trying to throw his agile opponent by sheer force,
and for a moment or two Carnally seemed helpless in his grasp. He
could not get free and Mappin drove him backward across the narrow
floor, while the spectators, who had increased in number, looked on in
tense excitement.
In the West personal combat is hampered by few of the rules of the
boxing ring; but there is a rough notion of fair play and there are
limits which may not be exceeded. Thus when Carnally, driven hard
against the edge of the table, seemed to grow limp, there was a shout
of protest as Mappin, reaching out with free right arm, seized a heavy
poker from the wood-box. He was ready to strike when Carnally,
realizing his peril, rallied his strength for a decisive effort. The
poker struck the table with a resounding crash. Carnally secured a
firm hold before Mappin recovered his shaken balance, and lifted him
from his feet. He lurched forward, while the spectators scattered, and
reeling through the doorway plunged down the stairs.
Mappin was undermost. He struck the steps half-way down, but it did
not stop them. They rolled into the store amid a confused outcry. None
of those who watched could tell whether Mappin scrambled up or
Carnally lifted him from the floor, but in a moment they were on their
feet, Carnally driving the other toward the door. With a last effort
he hurled him backward, and Mappin went down headlong into the snow.
He got up in a half-dazed manner and Carnally leaned against the
doorpost, breathing hard and regarding him with a grim smile.
"You can do what you like about it, but if you're wise, you'll keep
out of my sight," he said. "It won't hurt me to let people know what
made the trouble."
Carnally turned back into the store and sat down on a barrel, hot,
disheveled, and generally the worse for wear.
"It's a long while since I felt so good, boys," he grinned.
Mappin slunk away to his hotel, knowing that a grave misfortune had
befallen him. He was a hard master and accustomed to get more than the
full equivalent of their wages out of his men, but in this his
overbearing manner had assisted his cunning. In logging camps and on
new roads, courage and muscular strength command respect; but now that
he had been ignominiously thrown out of the store before a derisive
crowd, his prestige had gone. Henceforward there would be serious risk
of his mutinous subordinates following Carnally's example.
The man, however, was far from a coward. It would be pleasanter to
leave the town, where he was not held in much esteem, until the matter
blew over, and he had work going on in other places; but he did not
mean to run away from Allinson. The latter, of course, now understood
that he had been tricked over the location of the food caches, and
Mappin wondered what he would do. It was, however, obvious that there
was no really effective course open to Allinson. Carnally had been
shrewd enough to take the only possible means of obtaining redress,
but his primitive methods were not likely to be adopted by his
employer.
After removing the signs of battle, so far as he could, from his
clothes and person, Mappin returned to his office and spent the day
there, waiting for a visit from his rival. Allinson, however, did not
come; it looked as though he meant to do nothing, and this caused
Mappin some uneasiness. The man was cleverer and perhaps, more to be
feared than he had thought.