THE BATTLE IN THE WILD
The woman shrank back. The last trace of levity had vanished from her
eyes. Their blue depths gazed out upon the strange scene with horror and
dread. In that moment she understood the power she had wielded with
these two men, and a thrill of regret shook her frame. She saw in the
eyes of both the cruel purpose which was in their hearts. It was death
for one of them. Even in that moment of suspense, she found herself
speculating which of them it would be.
There was no sentiment in her thoughts. These two were nothing to her.
She would regret the death of either as she would regret the death of
any strong, healthy man; but that was all. Her horror was a natural
revulsion at the prospect of seeing death dealt out in the ruthless
manner that these men contemplated.
Just for one instant the desire to stay the combatants rose uppermost in
her mind. She stepped forward again and raised a protesting hand.
"Are you brothers or wolves of the forest that you'd kill each other? If
you fight for Aim-sa, she'll have neither of you."
Her words rang out clear and incisive. In her excitement she had
forgotten the halting phrases of the White Squaw, and spoke fluently
enough. Nick was ominously silent. Ralph answered her.
"Stand back, an' remember ye're the squaw of him as wins ye in fair
fight."
Then he cried out to his brother:
"Are ye ready?"
Nick made no audible reply. His face looked the words his lips did not
frame. He was ready, and the passion in him was more than willing. Once,
before he closed with his opponent, he glanced round at Aim-sa. It may
have been that he sought one look of encouragement, one smile; it may
have been. But the beautiful face he looked upon had no smile for
either. It was dead white under its tanning, and the blue eyes were
widely staring. Ralph did not take his eyes from his brother's face, and
the fierce light in them was as the gleam in the eyes of the timber-wolf
prowling at night around a camp-fire in the forest.
For a moment a heavy cloud spread itself over the face of the sun, and
the grey daylight of winter again covered the mountains. Instantly the
forest lost its look of spring, and the air returned to the chill of the
darker months. The bald break in the forest looked more cheerless than a
waste ground in a city, and those who stood about to fight for life
became savage images that looked something less than human. Nick, larger
than his brother, was a tower of thew and muscle. As he stood there,
clad in a cotton shirt and trousers belted at the waist, he was the
figure of a perfect man. His shaggy head was thrown back, but his
handsome face was distorted by its expression of hate. Ralph was the
smaller by inches, but his muscles were as fine-tempered steel. There
was even more of the wild in his expression than in that of his brother.
The ferocity in his face was wolfish, and not good to look upon.
Both had bared their hunting-blades, long knives at once vicious and
coldly significant.
There was no further word. The men bent low and moved circling round
each other. Their attitudes were much those of wrestlers seeking an
advantageous "holt." By common consent they avoided the tree, keeping to
the oozing soil of the open.
Ralph displayed the more activity. His lesser stature inclined to a
quickness his brother did not possess. He sought to use art to draw the
impetuosity of the other, and kept up a series of feints. But strangely
enough Nick displayed a control which was surprising. He had a full
appreciation of the life and death struggle. He had faced it too often
with the dumb adversaries of the forest. It was Ralph who became
incautious. His fury could not long be held in check, and his cunning at
the start of the fight soon gave place to a wild and slashing onslaught,
while Nick fought on the defensive, reading in his brother's eyes the
warning of every contemplated attack.
But Ralph's swift movements harassed Nick; they pressed him sorely, and
often drove him to extremity in his defence. For long he kept distance,
knowing that while the other was wasting strength his own was being
carefully husbanded.
Ten minutes passed. Still they had not come together. Ralph charged in
with upraised knife; the blow was warded, and he passed on only to swing
round on the instant and repeat the attack from the opposite direction.
But always Nick faced him, grim, determined, and with deadly purpose.
Once the latter slipped; the footing was none too secure. Instantly
Ralph hurled himself upon him and his blade scored his brother's arm,
leaving a trail of blood from elbow to wrist. That one touch let loose
Nick's pent-up fury and he allowed himself to be drawn.
The two came together with a terrific impact. Nick slipped again. This
time he could not save himself. His feet shot from under him and he went
down backwards. In his fall he seized Ralph's knife-arm at the wrist,
and the same time aimed a slashing blow at his face. But Ralph's agility
was as furious as it was full of force. In turn he caught Nick by the
wrist, and, with a great wrench, sought to dislocate his shoulder.
As well try to tear a limb from the parent oak. Ralph's effort died out,
and they lay upon the ground fighting to free their weapons. Now the
life and death struggle had begun. It was a hideous battle, silent,
ominous. But the horror of it lay, not in the deadly intent, the
flashing steel, the grim silence. These men were brothers; brothers
whose affection had stood them through years of solitary labours,
trials, and privations, but which had changed to a monstrous hatred
because a woman had come into their lives.
As the moments swept by, the brothers rolled and writhed, with every
faculty at terrible tension. Now Ralph was uppermost; now Nick sought to
drive the downward blow. Now Ralph strained to twist his knife-arm free
from the iron grip that held it; now Nick slashed vainly at the air,
seeking to sever the sinewy limb that threatened above his face.
It required only the smallest slip, the briefest relaxation of the
tense-drawn muscles on the part of either, and death awaited the
unfortunate. For long neither yielded one iota, but the struggle was too
fierce to last. Human strength has but narrow limits of endurance when
put forth to its uttermost. Given no slip, no accident, there could be
only one conclusion to the battle. Victory must inevitably be with the
man of superior muscle. Neither fought with a fine skill; for, used as
they both were to the knife, their antagonists of the forest only
possessed Nature's weapons, which left the hunter with the balance of
power.
Already the breathing of the combatants had become painfully heavy; but
while Ralph struggled with all the fierceness of his passion, and put
forth his whole strength, Nick reserved a latent force for the moment
when opportunity arrived. And that moment was nearing.
Ralph was under and Nick's great weight held him down, for the sinuous
struggles of the other had lost their vim. Suddenly, with a mighty
effort, the younger man wrenched his knife-arm free, and a cry, hoarse,
fierce, sounded deep in his throat. But his effort had cost him his hold
upon his brother. There was a wicked gleam of steel as both men struck.
Ralph, striking upwards, was at a disadvantage. His blade, aimed at the
neck and shoulder, struck Nick's cheek, laid the flesh open to the lower
jaw, glanced, and buried itself in the muscle of the shoulder. Nick's
blade smote with a fearful gash into the side of his brother's throat.
It was over.
Ralph lay quivering and silent upon the ground. Nick rose staggering and
dazed.
He moved away like a man in a dream. His arms hung limply at his sides,
and his eyes looked out across the wide woodland valley with an
uncomprehending stare. His face was almost unrecognizable under the flow
of blood from his wound. Once, as he stood, one hand went up
mechanically to his face, then it dropped again without having
accomplished its purpose. And all the while his vacant eyes stared out
upon--nothing.
Presently he sat down. His actions were almost like collapse, and he
remained where he sat, still, silent, like an image. The moments passed.
The quiet was intense. A faint murmur of flowing waters came up from the
river beyond.
Suddenly he moved. Then in a moment he seemed to break out into
passionate life. The stony stare had gone from his eyes. Intelligence
looked out; intelligence such as one might find in one whose mind is on
the verge of losing its balance; a fearful, anxious, hunted
intelligence, face to face with an unending horror.
He moved to where his brother was lying, and stood shaking in every
limb; he had realized the work of his hands. He dashed the blood from
his face. The vivid stain dyed his fingers and the touch of the warm
tide only seemed to add to his terror. He went up to the still form and
looked down. Then he backed away, slowly, step by step, but still unable
to withdraw his fascinated gaze.
Suddenly a cry broke from his lips. It was bitter, heartrending. Then a
quick word followed.
"Wher's--"
His question remained uncompleted. His head turned swiftly, and he
looked stupidly about him. The clearing was empty of all save himself
and that other lying upon the ground at his feet, and, beyond, the
carcass of the dead grizzly. A dreadful fear leapt to his brain; he
moved tottering. His action gained swiftness suddenly. He ran to the
forest edge, and, with hungry eyes, gazed in beyond the sparse fringe of
scrub. There was nothing there. He moved away to the right and ran in
amongst the low-growing bush, only to reappear with more feverish haste,
and eyes whose fiery glance seemed to shoot in every direction at once.
On he went, round the edge of the entire clearing; in and out, like some
madman running purposelessly in search of some phantasy of his brain.
There was no one there but himself, and the two still forms upon the
ground. Aim-sa was gone!
But he did not pause. His brain was in a tumult, there was no
reasoning in it. He searched everywhere. Bush that could conceal
nothing bigger than a beetle was examined; to his distorted fancy the
lightning-stricken tree presented a hiding-place. Further he
penetrated into the woods, but always only to return to his brother's
side, distraught, weary from loss of blood.
Gone! Aim-sa was gone!
At last he stood, an awesome figure, bloodstained, dishevelled. He was
at his brother's side as he had been a dozen times during his mad
search. It was as though he returned to the dead for company. But now,
at last, he moved away no more. He looked upon the pallid face and
staring, sightless eyes, and the red pool in which the body weltered.
There was a long pause, and the quiet set his pulses beating and his
ears drumming. Presently he turned away. But as by a magnet drawn, he
turned quickly again and his eyes once more rested upon his brother's
body. Then all in a moment a stifled cry broke from his lips, and,
throwing himself upon his knees, he thrust his arms about the dead.
Suffering as he was, he raised the body and nursed the almost severed
head. He muttered hoarsely, and his face was bent low till his own
dripping wound shed its sluggish tide to mingle with the blood of the
man he had slain.
Now, in his paroxysm of awful remorse, the woman was forgotten, and he
only realized the dread horror he had committed. He had slain his
brother! He was a murderer! For what?
At the thought he almost threw the body from him as he sprang to his
feet.
"No, no! not murder," he cried, in a choking voice. "It was fair fight."
Then, still looking down, he drew his foot back as though to kick the
stiffening clay. But the blow did not come, and, instead, he wrung his
hands at his sides like a child in distress. Harsh sobs broke tearless
from his lips; his breast heaved with inexpressible agony. Then he flung
himself face downwards upon the sodden earth, and his fingers dug into
the carpet of dead matter, clawing aimlessly.
The afternoon was well advanced when he moved again. He rose to his feet
without any warning, and the change in him was staggering. Now a gaunt,
grey-faced man looked out upon the world through eyes which burned with
the light of fever. His movements were slow, deliberate. Only his eyes
betrayed his condition, telling a tale of a strange new life born within
him.
He moved off into the woods, striking down the slope towards the river.
He was gone some time; and when he returned his face was cleaned, and a
bandage was tied about it. The wound in his shoulder was not severe.
He came none too soon, for, as he neared the clearing, he heard a
succession of deep-toned wolf-howls. As he broke the forest fringe, he
saw two great timber-wolves steal swiftly back to the depths whence they
had just emerged.
Nick cursed them under his breath. Then he went to his brother's side.
Here he paused, and, after a moment of mental struggle, stooped and
lifted the corpse upon his unwounded shoulder. Then with his gruesome
freight he plunged into the forest.
He held the body firmly but tenderly, and walked as rapidly as his
burden permitted. He often talked to himself as he went, like a man in
deep thought and stirred by violent emotions. Sometimes he slowed his
gait, and, at others, he almost ran. His thoughts influenced him
strangely.
Once he set his burden down and rested. The forest was getting dark
about him, but it suited his mood; it formed a background for his gloomy
thoughts. And, while he rested, he fell to talking as though Ralph were
living, and merely rested with him. He talked and answered himself, and,
later, leaned over his dead, crooning like some woman over her child.
The time passed. Again he rose, and once more shouldering the body, now
stiff and cold, hastened on.
And as the evening shadows gathered, and the forest gloom deepened,
there came the sound of movement about him. At intervals wolfish throats
were opened and the dismal forest cries echoed and reechoed in the
hollow shadows.
His burden grew heavier. His mind suffered, and his nerves were tense as
the wires of a musical instrument. Every jolt found an echoing note upon
them, and each note so struck caused him exquisite pain. And now, too,
the wolves grew bolder; the scent of blood was in the air and taunted
their hungry bellies till they began to lose their fear of the man.
Nick stopped and looked about him. The evening shadows were fast closing
in. In the gloom he saw eyes looking out upon him, eyes in pairs, like
coals of fire surrounded by dark, lank, shadowy forms. One shadow stood
out more distinctly than the others, and he unslung his rifle and fired
pointblank at it. There was a howl of pain. Then followed several fierce
yelps, and stealing forms crowded thick and fast upon the creature that
had bitten the dust.
With a thrill of strange dread Nick shouldered his burden again and
proceeded on his way. His steps were no longer steady, but hurried and
uncertain. In his haste he frequently stumbled, but he was strong, and
he had a haunting fear of what lay behind him, and so he put forth a
great effort.
The twilight deepened; black shadows were everywhere about him. Hills
rose before him, and valleys sank away at his feet. His fancy now saw
the forest crowded with prying eyes. Every tree-trunk became a figure
which stood pointing and whispering words of denunciation. And as he
beheld this ghostly army of shadows his heart quailed, and the look in
his eyes grew more and more fevered. He lurched on under the cold,
clammy body without thought of his way, with nervous dews upon his
forehead, and shaking limbs.
The wolves still followed. Their cries, vicious, eager, came to him, and
he knew that the meal he had provided was devoured, and they hungered
yet, and thirsted for the blood they scented upon the air. He sped on,
staggering, and his mind grew dizzy. But he knew that he had entered his
valley, and beyond lay the dugout which henceforth was his alone.
His intolerable burden had worn him down. He feared it as he feared the
dark shadows of the woods, and the stealing forms which trailed behind
him. He longed to throw that which he carried to the ground and run
headlong to the shelter of his home. But something held him. It was as
if his brother's corpse were endowed with life, a ghostly life, and that
it clung with tenacious grip to the back of the living. And the thought
grew in his aching brain that he was no longer free to do as he chose,
but was being driven by the Thing he carried. At the river he bent to
rid himself of the corpse. He purposed to rest ere he bore it up the
last hill, but the stiff arms had somehow embraced his neck and clung to
him. With a cry of terror he moved forward at a run. Hard on his heels
came the loud-voiced throng of timber-wolves.
At last, ahead, he heard the yelping of his own dogs. The noise brought
him a measure of relief, for the speeding shadows behind dropped back
into the woods, and their voices faded away into the distance.
But the corpse clung, and its weight dragged him back; to his distorted
fancy the arms held his neck as in a vise. He gasped painfully as
imagination told him that he was being choked. A cold sweat poured down
his face and set him shivering, but, like one doomed to his task, he
sped on.
Now the open stretched before him and beyond lay the dugout. He saw his
dogs rushing to meet him; his five fierce huskies. They came welcoming;
then they paused uncertainly and grouped together in a cluster, and
their tone suddenly changed to the short-voiced yapping of fear. As he
came on he called them by name, seeking solace in their company and in
the sound of his own voice. But the only response the dogs made was to
move uneasily. Their bushy tails drooped and hung between their legs and
they turned back fearfully. Then they began to creep away, slinking in
furtive apprehension; then finally they broke into a headlong flight,
racing for home in a perfect madness of terror.
And so, with horror staring from his eyes, the man who had killed his
brother came to his home again.
Inside the hut he released himself from the icy embrace of the dead
man's arms, and laid the poor, cold clay upon the blankets which had
been spread for the return of Aim-sa. While he stood brooding over the
corpse a sound reached him from, behind. Turning he saw that he had left
the door open, and in the opening he beheld the crowding forms of his
dogs. They stood snarling fiercely, with bristling manes, their
narrow-set eyes gleaming in the dusk like sparks of baleful light.
The sight set him shuddering. Then something seemed to stir within him.
His heart felt like stone in his body. A coldness seemed to freeze his
blood one minute, and the next in a rush came a wave of fiery passion
which drove him to unthinking action. The veins in his head seemed to be
bursting, and his brain felt as though gripped in a vise.
Out whipped his revolver, and six chambers were emptied at the figures
which barred the doorway. A hubbub of howls followed, then, in a moment,
all became quiet. Now the doorway stood clear; the creatures had
vanished--all but two. And these lay where they had fallen.
Suddenly a harsh laugh broke the stillness. But though the laugh was
his, Nick's lips were unsmiling and his eyes gleamed furiously out into
the night.