THE GATHERING OF THE FOREST LEGIONS
Nick kicked the bodies of the two dogs from the doorway. Then, by force
of habit, he kindled a fire in the stove, though he had no thought or
desire for warmth. His action was mechanical and unheeding. Then he sat
down; and, as he sat, he heard the howling of the dogs as, in chorus,
they mourned their dead companions.
As the noise continued the man's nerves vibrated with the hideous dole.
It rose and fell, in mournful cadence, until he could stand it no
longer. So he rose and reloaded his revolver. The action brought him
relief. It did more: it brought him a feeling akin to joy. And he passed
out into the night.
Forceful action alone could serve him. His dread, the torture of heart
and brain, found relief in the thought of taking life. A lust for
slaughter was upon him.
He closed the door behind him, and, from the storm porch, peered out
beyond. The moon had just risen above the ghostly mountain peak, and its
deep, yellow light shone down over the gleaming crests in long shafts of
dull fire. Twenty yards away, the three huskies were squatting upon the
ground facing each other, as might their blood relations, the
timber-wolves. Their long, sharp muzzles were thrown up towards the
starlit heavens, and their voices trolled drearily from their cavernous
throats, thrilling the air and arousing the mountain echoes.
For a second there was a gleam of light in the darkness of the porch as
the moon's rays caught the burnished metal of the man's revolver. Then
three shots rang sharply out. Three hideous voices were instantly
hushed; three bodies rolled over, falling almost side by side. The
labour of the trace would know the huskies no more.
But the man's passion was only rising. He reentered the hut, thrilled
with a strange wild joy. A fierceness leapt within him as he seated
himself beside the stove and gazed over at the still form of his
brother. And up out of the forest came the yelp of famished wolf and
starving coyote.
The hunched figure made no move.
Wild thoughts surged through his brain, thoughts which had no sequence,
no continuity. He had not eaten the whole day, and though food was now
to his hand he heeded it not. He was exhausted and utterly weary of
body. But he sought no rest. He was living upon the vitality of his poor
strained brain, sapping the tide of reason which flowed none too surely.
The time passed.
The cries of the wolves gathered force and drew nearer. The scent of
blood was in the air. That night they were very bold. With muzzles
thrown up they snuffed at the scent they loved, and came with licking
lips and frothing jowls, fighting fiercely among themselves.
Nick stirred at last.
He rose and took his rifle. His cartridge-belt was still about his
waist. Again he passed out into the night. In the shadow of the porch he
stood again, and gazed upon the moonlit scene. Down the hill was the
darkness of the forest, giving the appearance of an unfathomable pit.
Above rose its sides, shimmering in the cold moonlight. Above the forest
line the eternal snows glinted like burnished steel, for the yellow rays
of the rising moon had given place to the silvery gleam of its maturity.
The diamond-studded sky had nothing of darkness in it; a grey light, the
sheen of the star myriads too minute to be visible to the naked eye,
shone down upon the earth, and the still air had the sharp snap of the
spring frost in it. Nick was oblivious to all but the forest cries and
the crowd of stealing forms moving from the woodland shelter, and
circling upward, ever nearer and nearer towards the feast which lay
spread out within sight of their cruel eyes.
Nearer they drew, lean, scraggy, but withal large beasts. And as they
came they often paused to send their dismal song out upon the air. Then
there was a scuffle, a wicked clipping of keen fangs. Instantly the
crowd packed about a fallen comrade. Then later they would scatter and
continue their advance in a sort of rude skirmishing order. The man's
rifle was at his shoulder; a tongue of flame leapt from its muzzle, and
its report rang out bitingly. The foremost wolf fell to the earth, and
the ravenous horde behind leapt to the banquet thus provided.
Again and again the rifle spoke its sharp-voiced command, and death
followed hard upon its word. At every shot a wolf went down, and the
madness rose in the brain behind the eyes that looked out from the
porch. Nick's craving for slaughter increased. He emptied his belt and
obtained a fresh supply of ammunition, and continued to wage his
fiendish warfare. And all the time wolves poured out from the woods
until it seemed as if the whole race had gathered in one vast army to
assail the little stronghold set high upon the hillside. It was as
though Ralph's death had been the signal for the gathering of the forest
creatures to avenge him.
And fierce and long the carnage continued. The fearsome pastime was one
to thrill the most hardened with horror. The still night air was filled
with a nauseating reek, whilst the echoes gave back the death-cries,
mingling with the deep-toned bayings of ferocious joy. But never for one
instant did the man relax his watchfulness. Never once did his rifle
cease its biting greeting to the relentless scavengers of the forest.
Short and sharp its words leapt forth, and every word meant death.
The moon passed its meridian and sank lower and lower towards the
western peaks; and as it lost power the stars shone more brilliantly and
the northern lights hovered in the sky, dancing their fantastic measure
slowly, solemnly. The tint of dawn stole gradually above the eastern
horizon. The man was still at his post, his unsleeping eyes ever
watchful. Longer intervals now elapsed between his deadly shots. The
wolves recognized the coming of daylight, and became more chary of
breaking cover. Besides, the banquet was nearly over and every guest was
gorged.
Dawn grew apace. The silver of the eastern sky changed to gold, deeper
and deeper, till the yellow merged into a roseate sheen which shone down
upon the cloud mists, and tinged them with the hue of blood. Light was
over the darkling forests, and as it brightened the voice of the forest
legions died away in the distance, and the battleground was deserted of
all but the author of the fearful carnage.
Nick waited in his shelter until the last cry had passed. Then he
reluctantly turned back into the hut. He sought no rest. His fevered
brain was in a tumult. For a long time he stood beside his brother's
corpse, while his mind struggled to regain something of its lost
balance. There came to him a hazy recollection of all that had gone
before. It was as though he stood viewing the past from some
incalculable distance. Events passed phantasmagorically before his
memory, yet always their meaning seemed to tantalize and elude him.
And while he stood thus the woman leapt into the foreground of his
mental picture. It was the tangible feature he needed upon which he
could link the chain of recollection. Now everything became more clear.
Now the meaning of his brother's dead body returned to him once more. He
remembered all that had happened. His love for Aim-sa arose paramount
out of the shadowed recesses of his deranged mind, and merged into that
other passion which had gripped him the night long.
Nor was there pity nor penitence in his mood. Remorse had passed from
him. Now there was no one to stand between him and his love. He was glad
that Ralph was dead. Suddenly, as he stood looking down upon the still
form, a harsh laugh broke from him and echoed through the stillness of
the room.
He moved away and replenished the stove; and then, returning, he wrapped
his brother in the blankets on which he lay. Moving the blanket-wrapped
body aside, he exposed the floor where the treasure had been buried.
Suddenly he brushed his tangled hair aside from his forehead. A sigh,
which was almost a gasp, escaped him. His lips moved, and he muttered
audibly:
"Ay, she'll come to me agin, I guess, same as she's done before. Yes,
an' it's all hers, 'cause it's all mine now. By Gar! ther's a deal
ther'--a mighty deal. An' it's ours. Hers an' mine."
Again he passed a hand across his forehead, and his action was
uncertain, as of a man who finds it difficult to think, and having
thought fails to obtain reassurance. He passed out of the hut, and
presently returned with a shovel and pick.
Now the hut resounded with the dull thud of the pick as it was driven
deep into the hard-trodden earth. There was a feverish haste and
unnecessary energy in the manner of his work. At first what he intended
was not quite clear. He seemed to be digging at random. Then he laid his
pick aside and plied the shovel, and gradually his purpose became plain.
A long, narrow trench was cleared, and its outline was that of a grave.
Again the pick was set to work, and again the shovel cleared the debris.
The ground was hard with the years of tramping it had endured, and it
took a long time to dig to a sufficient depth. But at last the grave was
completed.
Nick seized the body in its blanket shroud and flung it into the hole.
There was neither pause nor hesitancy in anything he did, only his eyes
peered furtively about. As the first part of the burial was
accomplished, a panic seized him and he shovelled the soil back as
though his life depended on his speed. He packed the dry clay down with
his feet; nor did he rest till the grave was filled to the top.
Then he paused and wiped the sweat from his brow. The tension of his
nerves was slightly relaxed. He went outside the hut to drink in a deep
breath of the purer mountain air before he proceeded further. And while
he stood leaning against the doorway he listened as though expecting the
sound of some one approaching. He scanned the outlook carefully, but
there was no sign of living creature about. The wolves had gone as
surely as if their visit had been a ghostly hallucination which daylight
had dispelled.
He returned to his labours with his spirit more easy and his brain less
fevered. He thought of Aim-sa and that which he meant to bestow upon
her.
Near by where he had buried his brother's body was the spot where the
treasure had been placed for safety. Here he began to dig. The work was
easy. The soil was light and loose, and gave beneath the sharp edge of
the shovel. He cleared several shovelfuls out, and then stooped to rake
for the chest with his fingers. He knew that it had been buried only a
few inches below the surface. He raked long and diligently, but,
wherever he tried it, the earth gave beneath the pressure of his strong
fingers, nor yielded up any indication of the chest. He rose and
resorted once more to the shovel, and a look of disquiet stole into his
face. He opened a wider surface, thinking he had missed the spot. He dug
deeper, but no chest appeared, and his look changed to one of absolute
fear.
Again he raked, but without result. Again he dug, but now deeper and
deeper. Still there was no chest, and as he widened the hole he found
himself working upon the hard soil which had never before been
disturbed. An awful fear gripped him. He sought out the spot where the
soil was easy. He knew that this was where he had buried the chest. His
actions became hurried and more and more energetic. He dug furiously,
scattering the earth wildly in his alarm, and all the time conviction
was forcing itself upon him, and he muttered as he worked.
But all his efforts were in vain, and, after an hour's fruitless search,
he flung down the shovel with a bitter cry. Then he stood gazing blankly
before him with eyes that seemed to scorch in his head. His face
twitched, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Then his
lips parted and he gasped rather than spoke.
"It's gone!"
The veins at his temples beat visibly. In his ears was a sound as of
rushing waters. He saw nothing. He scarcely knew where he was, only he
was conscious of something in his head which was strained to the verge
of breaking. When, at last, movement came to him, every nerve in his
body seemed to draw up with a jolt, and a cry, like the roar of a
maddened bull, burst from his quivering lips. He rushed headlong from
the hut.
Out into the glittering daylight he went, heedless of his course,
heedless of his surroundings. He rushed down the hill and plunged into
the woods. On he went, without pause, without hesitation, blindly,
madly. On, on, running, stumbling, slipping upon the sodden earth,
tripping over projecting roots and rotting stumps.
His mind was a blank. He saw, but comprehended not; he felt, but the
sense had no meaning. He heard with clarion-like distinctness, but that
which he heard sang upon his ear-drums and penetrated no further. His
way was the way of the blindfold, his staring eyes beheld nothing real;
he saw the name of Aim-sa blazing in letters of fire before him, and a
hazy picture of her lovely face. All recollection of his loss had
suddenly passed from him, utterly blotted out of his thought as though
he had never known it. He knew not that he had ever had a brother whose
death had been the work of his own hand. The hut behind him might never
have existed, the forest about him might have been the open prairie, the
sodden ground a carpet of fine texture, the snow-covered clearings dusty
plains; he knew nothing, nothing. He moved, ran, walked; he was a living
organism without a governing power of mind.
Noon came. The silent forest looked down upon his frenzied progress. The
trees nodded gently in the breeze, whispering solemnly to each other in
their pitying tones. Owls watched him with staring, unmeaning eyes; deer
fled as he came rushing into the calm of their sylvan retreats. A
grizzly stood erect as he passed, meditating a protest at the strange
disturbance, but remained staring in amazement as the wild human figure
went by, oblivious and unheeding.
The afternoon saw him still struggling, but now wearily, and in a state
of collapse. His headlong course had taken the inevitable turn. He had
swung round in a great circle, and was heading again for the hillside
where the dugout stood. Now he often fell as he went, for his feet
lagged and caught in every unevenness of the ground. Once he lay where
he fell, and remained so long motionless that it seemed as if he would
rise no more. But as the afternoon waned and the evening shadows
gathered, there came the wild cries of the wolves from somewhere close
behind. Though he felt no fear of them, he staggered to his feet and
dragged wearily on towards the hut. It was the forest instinct obeyed
mechanically.
He came to the hut; he passed the door. Again it was habit that guided
him. He kept on, and went round to the door of the lean-to. It stood
wide open and he plunged within, and fell headlong upon his blankets.
Nor did he stir again; only there came the sound of his stertorous
breathing to indicate that he slept.
Black night closed down. The forest cries awoke and their chorus rang
out as the moon mounted in the heavens. The wolfish legions hovered at
the edge of the woods and snuffed hungrily at the air. But the scent of
blood had passed, and they came not too near.
Nick's slumber of exhaustion was haunted by painful, incoherent dreams.
With the curious freakishness of a disordered mind, he was beset by a
vision of the dark, ferret face of Victor Gagnon. The trader seemed to
be hovering threateningly over his rude couch, and, behind him, less
distinct, but always recognizable, was the fair Aim-sa. The whole night
the sleeper was depressed by some dreadful threat which centred about
the vision of these two, and when at length he awoke it was with the
effect of his dreams hard upon him.
The fair fresh daylight was streaming in through the open door. Nick
roused himself. He turned uneasily, shivering with the cold, for he had
slept where he had fallen. Suddenly he sat up. Then with a leap he was
on his feet and wide-awake, and the name of Victor Gagnon fell from his
lips. A frenzied, unreasoning desire to take the trader's life possessed
him.
His body was refreshed and the blank of memory had passed from him. A
gleam of reason shot athwart the racked brain. It was only for an
instant, then it was gone again. But that instant sufficed. He
remembered that Gagnon knew of the treasure, the only person except
himself who knew of it. Victor had robbed him. A wild laughter shook
him. Ay, that was it. Victor was the thief; he should die. After
that--Aim-sa.
His untutored brain had broken under the strain of recent events. Horror
had driven him to the verge of the abyss in the depths of which lurked
insanity; his final loss had plunged him headlong down. He was mad!