THE SUCK.
The river upon which these scenes are laid, was a narrow stream,
sometimes flowing smoothly over a sandy bottom, and at others leaping
downward with all the force of a mountain-torrent. The water,
dropping over a beaver dam, fell upon a sloping bed and rushed
downward with impetuous fury. The currents drew together in the
center after leaving the falls, forming what is known in the Far West
as a “Suck.” The current was full of rocks at this point, against
which the water rushed in ungovernable rage, with a strength hardly
to be resisted. On the morning succeeding the escape of Ben and young
Morris, they began to build a raft.
The events of the past few days satisfied Ben that they might be
attacked at any time, and he wished to provide a way of escape. Just
at the foot of the waterfall was a growth of light pine suitable for
his purpose. Calling on the others for assistance, all set to work
upon the float. The logs were slightly squared, and bound together
with tough green withes after a manner much in vogue among the
trappers. It was the work of half a day, and as they had little else
to do, they gave much care to it. The raft finally was finished and
fastened to the shore by a lariat. Ben looked at the structure in
some pride.
“Did anybody ever go down the river here, father Ben?” said Millicent.
“Not often, little gal,” said Ben. “It’s an awful perilous
undertakin’, an’ we won’t do it unless we’re driv’ so close we kain’t
help it. It’s best to be prepared allers. Leastways I think so.”
“Will that raft hold us all?” asked Millicent.
“You git on’t, Jan, an’ try.”
Jan stepped carefully on the float. Ben stood close to the shore,
watching the effect of his weight upon the structure. Jules stood
just behind the trapper. Millicent was nearer the river. Bentley had
gone into the hut for something they needed.
“Jump up an’ down on it,” said Ben.
Jan did as he was requested. The next moment there was a loud crack,
as of a hawser parting under a heavy strain, and the craft was
whirling down the current, out of reach of the men on the shore. Ben
darted into the water and made an ineffectual attempt to grasp it,
but it was already beyond the utmost stretch of his arm. To their
horror they saw their comrade drifting hopelessly down the stream.
They looked downward; as far as the eye could reach, the river was
hopelessly churned into foam, and gray rocks reared their heads
above the water, threatening death to any unfortunate wretch thrown
upon them. The bluffs stood out bold and high on either side, and
buried the river in from mortal view. In every eddy by the side of
these bluffs, the cunning beavers had made their lodges, satisfied
that they were safe from their inveterate enemies, the trappers. The
Dutchman saw nothing of this; he only saw the foaming river, the
brown ledges, and the ragged rocks.
From the spot where the raft started, the eddy swept him directly
across the stream in the direction of a serrated ledge, which
threatened instant destruction. Seated on the narrow craft, grasping
it with both hands and ever looking toward the other shore, the
unfortunate man set up a cry for help, which pierced brave old Ben
to the very heart. He began to throw off his hunting-shirt. Just as
he stood, half naked, on the bank, the raft struck the ledge against
which it was drifting. Such was the momentum which it had acquired,
that it sent Jan flying from the logs, striking the water many feet
away.
“Alas, alas!” cried Millicent, “he is gone!”
“Not yit,” said Ben; “I’m hyar.”
The current swept Jan further down, and he struck the rocks again;
but this time he grasped a jutting ledge, found a place for his feet,
and shouted for help at the top of his voice.
“I’m comin’, ole chap,” responded Ben in return. “Look out! Foller
me, Jule.”
He plunged into the stream, while Jules remained standing on the
bank. The trapper sunk from view in a moment. Taking advantage of the
undertow, he swam toward the other shore. He had learned from the
Indians the trick of swimming under water, and did it well. For a few
moments nothing was heard but the splash of the water and the shouts
of poor Jan, who imagined himself forsaken in the bleak world. All
at once he beheld the water separate close by his side, and from the
swift current Ben Miffin sprung into view, dashing the water from his
eyes with one hand as he laid the other on the rocks to keep himself
from floating downward.
“How ar’ ye?” he said, coolly. “Rayther a cold berth, this.”
“Ve never gets out of dis no more, Penn,” said Jan, despairingly. “I
pees very mooch ’vraid ve gone dis dimes. Vy den you pring me to dis
miser’ble coonthry?”
“It’s good enough fer the natyves,” said Ben. “Shet up yer meat-trap.
Let _me_ do the talkin’; I’ll hev enough of it, I reckon.”
“Dalking’s no use,” replied the poor fellow. “Vat I vants ish to pe
sure I can get out from dis. An’ dis ish vat I dinks: ve vill never
get out from dis no more vile ve lifs, so help me ash I pelieve dis
ish drue. Dere ish no more hope vor poor Jan Schneider. He ish deat
unt drownded mit vasser. Ach! Mein Gott! Phew!”
“Jest you open yer mouth ag’in, an’ I’ll give ye a smash right squar’
in the meat-trap. Now mind what I tell ye: I ain’t goin’ to hev two
head bosses in this yer business--you bet I ain’t. Now listen to me,
an’ hold yer row. Kin ye swim?”
“Like a hoondred pounts off iron,” said Jan. “Gootness cracious!”
“Thet’s bad. I never did see a Dutchman thet knowed any thing. Ye
durned anatomy! Well, ef I let ye git on my shoulders, will ye
promise not to ketch me round the neck?”
“Yaw; I bromise anyt’ings, so ash I does not pe drownded mit vasser.”
“Very good. Then when I give ye the word, lay yer hands on my
shoulders an’ kick out with both feet. Kin ye do it?”
“I kicks like ter duyvel.”
Ben loosened his hold on the rock, and let himself float down to
the speaker. When all was ready, Jan laid his brawny hands upon the
shoulders of the trapper, and he pushed out from the shelving bank.
Jan immediately began to flourish his heels like the paddles of an
ocean steamer, leaving a broad trail of foam behind him. Indeed, so
vehement were his efforts, that he buried the head of the swimmer
under the water, and Ben was compelled to call on him to desist. But
when he fell a dead weight upon the shoulders of the trapper, the
drag became fearful even for his iron strength to sustain.
They were by this time in the midst of the powerful current, where
the “suck” formed a vortex so strong that when within twenty feet of
the shore it seized them and hurried them away from the safety so
nearly gained. In vain the trapper struggled against it and called
to Jules for help. But the Frenchman seemed to have lost all control
of himself. Instead of following the trapper he remained on the
bank, running wildly up and down, making no effort to assist either
of them. But Bentley was coming down from the hut at full speed.
“Help! help!” cried Ben, in a sinking voice. He had got out of the
suck by this time, but faced it again bravely. The current had been
gradually sweeping them downward. They reached a place where a pine
had fallen to the ground and was lying in the water. Ben, striking
out desperately, felt the sunken branches strike his leg.
“Kick, Jan, kick!” he shouted, with all the power of his lungs. “Kick
fer yer life.”
Jan lashed out desperately, and though the head and shoulders of the
trapper were buried by the effort, he managed to grasp the limb of
the fallen tree.
“Easy, Jan; keep cool,” he said.
Jan ceased plunging, and Ben slowly hauled away on the slender limb,
going up it hand over hand, as sailors do. If it should break! He
looked below and saw the jagged rocks and the high walls of stone on
both sides of the cañon. To drift lower down was certain death.
He felt the limb bend in his grasp, but it held firmly, and at last
he laid his strong hand on a stouter one. As he did so, he allowed
the shout of joy which had been pent up in his breast so long to
escape in an exultant cry. Jan took it up and made the rocks fairly
ring.
It was easy work now. In a moment more their feet trod the unyielding
soil of the bottom of the stream, and they clambered to the shore.
Ben ran to the place where his clothes lay, and got into them without
delay.
“There! I feel better,” he said, as the last garment was donned. “I
kain’t say I like the other style of costume in the winter. ’Tain’t
voluminous enuff. Fer summer, now, a light an’ airy rig like thet ar’
would be jest the thing; but it won’t do fer the Black Hills; oh no.”
“I dinks ve petter haf a vire,” said Jan, with rattling teeth. “It
ish very cold here.”
“Yer mighty right,” rejoined Ben. “Say, Jule, kain’t ye do thet much
fer us?”
Jules walked away slowly and began to gather the materials for a
fire; but he walked lazily, and Jan turned in to help him, dripping
as he was. Ben looked at the Frenchman in considerable astonishment.
A change seemed to have come over him since his capture by the Indian
band. His eye had a sullen light; his looks were downcast, and his
whole appearance that of a man who was wholly actuated by some bad
passion.
“Blowed ef I kin make out what’s the matter with Jule,” muttered Ben.
“He’s got trouble on his mind, somehow.”
“Come here, father Ben,” said Millicent at this moment. “I have
something to show you.”
He turned, and walked to the place where she stood, near where the
raft had been lying. The broken withe by which it had been tied still
hung to the trunk of the pine. Millicent lifted this and showed it to
him.
“Do you see nothing strange in this?” she said. A glance at it was
sufficient to show that it had not been broken in any ordinary way.
It was _cut_ clean through by some sharp instrument. He looked about
him. Jules was still lazily working at the fire.
“Mebbe thar’s somethin’ on the tree or the rocks that did it,” he
whispered.
“If there is we can find it,” said Millicent; “you had better try.”
He searched the trunk of the tree and the rocks near at hand, to find
any thing which could by any possibility have cut the rope. He looked
in vain. The trunk was wonderfully smooth and the rocks out of reach.
There was but one supposition then. Some one had cut the withe.
“Ye don’t mean to tell me that Jules c’u’d hev the heart to do that?”
said Ben.
“I do not like to suspect anybody, but I believe from my heart that
it was he. I have good reason to fear him, and so have you.”
Ben turned toward the Frenchman. He had at last collected material
for a fire, and Jan had kindled them into a blaze, over which he
was crouching, while Jules stood watching him with a sullen and
dissatisfied air.
“Come here, Jules,” said Ben. “I have something to tell ye.”
Jules looked as if he would like to refuse.
“What do you want?” he said, moving slowly and sullenly toward the
trapper.
Millicent had left the old man, and was talking with Bentley by the
river side.
“Come hyar,” repeated Ben, in an authoritative tone of voice.
Jules paused irresolutely and looked the speaker over from head to
foot.
“Come hyar, I say,” repeated Ben. “Hev a man got to w’ar his tongue
out a-tellin’ of ye to move?”
Jules followed him reluctantly aside, and they stood together near
the wall of the hut, not far from Jan, who was intently engaged in
drying his clothing. The Frenchman did not like the expression of
the old trapper’s face. It showed a determination to understand the
matter.
“Ye hang back like a twelve-year-old gal, ye do,” said the old
trapper. “What’s the matter with ye, anyhow? I want ter ask ye a
question or two. I asked ye to foller me when Jan got adrift. Why
didn’t ye?”
“Where would you have been if the tree-top had not lain in the water?
Battered to pieces on the rocks below the fall. I wasn’t going to try
it, you’d better believe. I warned you to come back.”
“_That’s_ all right,” said Ben. “I ain’t hard-hearted enough to force
a man to do any thing he’s _afraid_ of. But look yer. Do you see this
withe? Who cut it?”
He held up to view the severed strand, showing where it had been cut.
So sudden was the question, and so unexpected, that the Frenchman
stammered and turned deadly pale. There could be no doubt as to his
guilt.
“I never touched--”
“Take keer! Don’t lie to me! I ask ye as a friend to keep a straight
tongue. I expect ye to try it on, but it’s no use. So don’t lie.
Don’t I know ye? Didn’t ye stand behind me when ye cut the withe?
Wasn’t it cut through and through? I ain’t quite a fool, nuther be
you. So shut up. You cut it yerself, jist to git rid of the Dutchman,
I s’pose, because of yer old grudge ag’in’ him.”
Jules covered his confusion by a laugh. He thought best to turn it
off in that way.
“Well, Ben, I did cut the withe; but it was a joke, just to give that
Dutchman a big scare. I had no idea the raft would get away.”
“A joke. I cum pooty nigh makin’ it the dearest jest you ever hearn
of.”
“You don’t suppose I meant any thing in earnest,” said Jules,
cringingly.
“It don’t matter so much what I think,” said Ben. “I believe Jan
has a v’ice in the matter, an’ I reckon he’d say if it wa’n’t in
earnest it was the roughest joke on him ever hern of. Anyhow, I’ve
got my opinion, and I’ll back it for ten mills, U. S. currency, that
he licks you out of your boots when he hears about this nice little
joke. Ef he don’t lick ye, he’s a fool.”
“He dare not lay the weight of a finger upon me in anger,” said
Jules, fiercely. “He has done it more than once. Let him beware of
the next time.”
“I’ve had a hint before to-day thet all ain’t right. I begin to
suspect ye grevious. I won’t say anything about that now. About Jan
first; he ain’t a bit afraid of you, Jan ain’t. Now let me give you
a piece of advice. I don’t want to hev any words with you. Jest let
the Dutchman alone. He’s clumsy, mebbe, but he’s got the makin’ of a
man in him, and he’s good-hearted, an’ I won’t hev him abused. Thet’s
about the way the thing stands now, nigh as I kin git at it.”
“You seem to have taken to him all at once,” muttered Jules.
“He’s _honest_; thet’s one reason; I like honesty in any one. An’ I
give ye fa’r warnin’, next time ye dar’ to do a mean thing to him,
I’ll walk into ye like chalk. D’ye h’ar what I say? Understand me,
too. I won’t hev no man in my company that won’t give the others a
fair show. And ye’ve been hard on thet poor feller ever sense he cum
hyar with us. Now stop it.”
“Is it any thing to you?”
“Ye bet it is. Ef it ain’t I’ll make it so mind thet.”