CARTHEW OF “THE MOUNTED.”
This thought had hardly occurred to him when he was saved further
pondering by the sight of Topsy coming flying back along the ledge. Her
nostrils were distended in a frightened way and her coat was flecked
with foam. For a flash he saw her as she turned a shoulder of rock, and
then she vanished again as the trail turned inward toward the cliff
face. Ralph had only a second in which to act.
He glanced about him. It appeared impossible that two ponies could pass
on the narrow trail. Yet he would have to let Topsy get by or else
be backed off into the depths below. In emergencies such as the boy
now faced, the mind usually rises to the occasion and works with the
rapidity necessary to dictate quick action. It was so in Ralph’s case.
He swung his pony in toward the cliff face, clinging to it closely, as
the only possible salvation. In a flash Topsy came swinging around the
turn, going at full gallop. Ralph held his breath as he felt her sides
graze his right knee! But she galloped safely by with hardly a fraction
of an inch to spare between her hoofs and the edge of the trail!
To his huge joy and relief the emergency was passed, and without
accident. In another minute he had swung his pony around, its small,
nimble legs bunched together to make the turn, and was off down the
trail after the runaway. Almost at the bottom several riders were
advancing toward the boy. The recreant Topsy was between him and the
newcomers, whom Ralph recognized as his camp mates. Mountain Jim was at
their head and they had set out in search of Ralph a short time before.
Topsy, thus hemmed in, allowed herself to be captured without making
much resistance, and a much chastened pony was led back into camp,
where the professor was awaiting the return of the party.
“Lucky thing that she turned,” was Ralph’s comment, “for I don’t think
that ledge went much further up the mountain side.”
“Reckon it didn’t,” was Jim’s reply, “and if you had found a spot where
it was much narrower, you’d have been in an ugly fix.”
“Not a doubt of it,” commented Ralph as he thought of his feelings when
he was uncertain whether Topsy would be able to pass him or not.
As to what had turned the runaway pony in such a fortunate manner,
opinions were divided. Mountain Jim inclined to the belief that the
trail had come to an end and that the pony had had sense enough to
turn. Ralph, with the recollection of the animal’s terror fresh in his
mind, was positive that some wild beast had scared the recreant Topsy
and caused her to dash back.
The discussion over the exciting incident had hardly ceased, when hoof
beats were heard coming along the trail by which they had arrived at
their camping place. All looked up with interest, for travelers were
few in that wild part of the Rockies. Their curiosity was not long in
being gratified.
Through the trees came riding a stalwart figure on a big bay horse.
The newcomer was clean shaven, bronzed and capable looking. He wore a
big sombrero, riding boots, and trousers with a stripe down the sides.
His appearance, for he carried a carbine in a holster and pistols in
his belt, was somewhat alarming to the boys, who exchanged hurried
whispers. But Mountain Jim soon quieted their fears.
“It’s a trooper of the Northwest Mounted Police,” he exclaimed, and
then, as the rider drew nearer, he cried out in a glad voice:
“Great Blue Bells of Scotland, if it ain’t Harry Carthew!”
“By Jove! Jim Bothwell!” cried the new arrival in a gratified tone.
“Upon my word, I’m glad to see you. But what brings you here?”
As he spoke, he gazed with some curiosity about the camp and at the
youthful faces of the young adventurers.
“Sort of piloting these lads and Professor Wintergreen through the
Rockies, Harry,” was the rejoinder. “Where are you mushing along to?”
“I’m bound for Muskeg Lake,” was the response, “just coming through
from Fort Grainger.”
“Won’t you rest here a while?” asked the professor.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the big trooper. “The goin’s been rough and
both I and Dandy here”--he patted his horse--“are a bit fagged, don’t
you know.”
“Sit down and have a bite to eat,” said Jim hospitably. “I guess Dandy
can shift for himself all right.”
The trooper unsaddled his mount and was soon seated in the shade of a
big tree, his back against its trunk, while he dispatched with gusto
the food Jim placed before him. When he had finished, he and Jim
lit their pipes and began to talk, while the boys and the professor
listened interestedly. The man was a new type to them. Self-reliant,
big-limbed, clear-eyed, and active as a cat in all his movements, he
appeared a fit person for the hard and often dangerous work of the
famous Northwest Mounted.
He and Jim, it seemed, were old friends, the veteran guide having aided
him in the years past to corner and make prisoners of a band of cattle
rustlers. Jim told him about their experiences at the outlaw ranch and
the trooper promised to report the matter to his superior officers at
once.
“That red-bearded fellow is a character we’ve been after for a long
time,” he said, “and thanks to you, I guess we’ll be able to round
him up at last. Nevins of Ours almost had him once years ago, but he
slipped through his fingers.”
“What became of Nevins?” asked Jim interestedly. “That man always made
me wonder what a chap like him wanted to join the Northwest for.”
Trooper Carthew drew thoughtfully on his pipe. Then after a minute he
looked up and spoke softly.
“Nevins has gone on a trail he won’t come back from, Jim.”
“Dead?”
The other nodded.
“How’d it happen?”
“What kills a lot of unseasoned men in the service: snow madness!” was
the rejoinder. “It’s a thing I don’t often talk about, but if any of
your young men here,” he nodded toward the boys, “think that life in
the Northwest Mounted is any cinch it might be a good thing to tell
’em the yarn.”
“We wish you would,” said Ralph, scenting a story out of the ordinary.
“Well, it happened a dozen winters ago,” began Trooper Carthew, “and
it must be fifteen since I’ve seen Jim. Time slips by here in the
mountains. Well, as Jim here said, Nevins was a man who ought never to
have gone into the Mounted. He was a nervous, harum-scarum kind of man.
I don’t know where he came from or what made him join, but anyhow there
he was, and it fell to my lot to look after him.
“We were sent on detachment duty up to a place called Bear Rock. Jim
knows where it is, and as you don’t, the best way I can describe it to
you is to say that a one-horse board-and-canvas town anywhere in the
wilds you’ve a mind to place it, would have been a metropolis alongside
of it.
“There were a few Cree Indians around--I forgot to say it was up in
the Yukon Country--and that was all the society we had. Not even skin
thieves or horse rustlers ever came up there. It was too poor pickin’s
even for them.
“Things began to go wrong the first winter. I saw that the loneliness
of it all was beginning to prey on young Nevins’ nerves. I call him
young, but I expect he was older than he looked. Mind you, he never
said anything in the way of complaint, but I’d seen men go that way
before, and I saw that he was not built for the job. I tried to get
him to go back to division headquarters and report sick, or ask to be
transferred or something. But he was a proud cuss, and ‘No,’ says he,
‘I’ll stick it out.’
“Well, if you’ve never been stuck off in the Yukon, sixty miles from
any place, with a man whom you suspect is beginning to get snow
madness, you’ve no idea what a business it is. Nevins had a nice little
habit of getting up in the middle of the night and saying that he saw
faces looking at him through the window, and voices calling down the
chimney, and little things like that.
“By the middle of the second winter he got so bad that it began to get
on my nerves, too, and I’d begun to look about and listen and think I
heard things. I soon saw that this wouldn’t do, and so decided to ride
into White Lake, the nearest station, and explain matters. Besides,
Nevins was really in need of a doctor. His face was drawn and pale and
he could hardly be trusted out by himself on the trail, for he was
always shooting at something or other that he thought he saw, but which
wasn’t there at all. Oh, he was a bad case, I tell you. I began to be
scared that some night he might take a fancy to get up and shoot at me.
I began to lose sleep and get pretty nearly as peaked as he was.
“When I broke the news to him that we were going back to the station he
got mad as a hornet. He was no kid, he said. He could stick it out. All
he wanted was to shoot the enemies that were after him, and then he’d
be all right. I quieted him down by telling him that our time at the
post was up anyhow, and that we were due to report back at White Lake
without delay.
“As soon as he saw, as he thought, that we were not leaving on his
account he brightened up wonderfully. He took an interest in getting
the shack in order for the next comers and talked about our trip almost
all night. I patted myself on the back. He seemed like a cured man
already, and when we started out with our parkees on our backs and our
snow shoes on our feet, you’d have thought that there wasn’t a thing
the matter with him.
“Sometimes there was a queer glitter in his eyes, though, that showed
me that he wasn’t as right as he seemed to be by any means, and that a
doctor and some companionship were needed before a thorough cure could
be effected. As we left the shack he turned and shook his fist at it
without saying a word, but his face showed me how much he had suffered
there and how glad he was to be saying good-by to it all.
“Mushing, as they call traveling in the Yukon, is slow work on a broken
trail, and that one from the shack to White Lake was about as bad a
specimen as I ever traveled over. But Nevins didn’t seem to mind it. He
was so eager to get back to civilization--as if you could call White
Lake civilization--that he was always ahead of me. But I didn’t like
his gait. It was awkward, zig-zaggy, not the trail of a man who is sure
of himself. Nevins was living on his nerves. I caught myself praying
they didn’t explode before we reached White Lake!
“Once I offered to take a turn at breaking the trail. But, ‘No, what
do you think I am? A baby?’ says he angrily, and after that we plugged
along in silence. Nevins’ head was poked forward and he appeared to be
in a desperate hurry to get along, almost as if he was afraid something
was after him.
“‘You’ll blow up if you don’t slow down, Nevins,’ I said once, but he
only made an irritable reply and kept right on.
“I began to be worried. If he did break down I would be in a nasty fix.
I’d seen snow madness before and knew what it was. That night I fairly
forced him to halt. He was getting so crazy that he wanted to keep on
in the dark, but I stuck out at that and he finally quieted down. Yet
every now and then as we ate our sough-dough flap-jacks and gulped down
our tea before turning in, I saw him keep looking back along the trail
we’d come, as if he was scared somebody or something was coming after
him to take him back to that shack.
“The next day we mushed on, Nevins still in the lead. We were due at
the Lake that night, but I began to doubt if Nevins would make it. He
started to talk and mutter to himself, and finally he turned around on
me and asked me if I heard anything coming after us down the trail.
I laughed the thing off as best I could, but I tell you it’s no joke
being out in those wilds with a snow-crazed man, especially when he has
a rifle, and maybe might take a crazy notion to try his marksmanship in
your direction! I watched Nevins mighty close, you can bet.
“At noon we stopped and ate a half frozen meal, with Nevins staring
back up the trail. As we resumed our march he was still muttering to
himself and I noticed that he was fumbling with his rifle in a way that
was not at all reassuring. I tried to get him to give it to me, making
the excuse that it would lighten his load. He looked at me cunningly.
“‘I half believe that you’re in league with those fellows that want to
take me back to that shack,’ says he, in a way that made me feel sick,
for I knew then that he was crazy, sure enough--and me alone with an
armed maniac and miles from any human being!”