She had slowed up and was peering through the darkness for the gate when
Flash swerved violently, almost unseating her. At the same time there
dashed past her some fleeing thing. All she caught was the dim shadow
of an empty saddle and flying stirrups. She knew it was Night.
Thrilled by a foreboding of disaster she charged down the lane. She
rode up to the house, halting Flash on his haunches at the group of
struggling men. She could hear the heavy breathing and knew that Andy
was fighting desperately with his back to the wall. She thought of
riding Flash upon them but checked him, fearing she might injure Andy
himself. A sense of impotence swept over her. Then flashed into her
mind an idea. Rising in her stirrups she shouted:
"Father! Men! This way!"
Immediately Andy went down, but at the same instant Snoopy Bill and his
men were stampeded. Sure that a rescue party was on them they dropped
their victim and bolted for the sleighs. Leaping in they whirled their
teams about and lashing them to a run fled out of the yard and back over
the fields.
Ten minutes later when Grant galloped up with the others they found
Margaret sitting in the snow with Andy's head upon her lap.
"Lassie!" cried the astonished Grant. "You here?"
"Yes, Father!" was her quiet reply. "I got here too late to save Andy.
They've hurt him terribly."
"Be easy, lass!" soothed the man, "it may not be sae serious. The lad
will be coming round in a meenit."
They carried him into the house and laid him upon a couch. A quick
examination discovered a gash in the head from some heavy implement.
"It is a concussion," said Grant. "But not vera deep. Aye, he is
coming out."
Andy opened his eyes. The first object he became conscious of was the
face of Margaret bending over him. Smiling faintly he observed in
surprise:
"You here, Margaret? I thought I heard you shout just before they got
me."
He closed his eyes drowsily.
"You sent me home," she whispered in his ear. "But I changed my mind
and followed you."
When she looked up she discovered that they were alone.
"You should not have come," was the gentle reprimand.
"Indeed? I think you were very rude to send me away."
"But I am glad you are here, now," said he contentedly.
"You really are?"
"Really."
"And so am I," said the girl softly. "Because--because, Andy, that
wonderful 'something' has happened. Now I know beyond all doubt that I
have always loved you and--I love you now."
"Then," said he, drawing her head down to him, "then----"
"You may kiss me with a clear conscience, Andy."
While Margaret was dispensing her welcome ministrations Grant and his
men were going over the buildings. Their swift search found everything
intact. Two of the riders who had gone out to the portable granary
reported all well there. Not a grain of The Red Knight had been touched.
While this was gratifying, the men's faces were exceedingly grave.
Nowhere on the premises could they find Dad Blackford. They were
beginning to discuss the probability of foul play when Easy Murphy gave
a yell.
"Hist, ladies and gintlemen!" said he. "Take a look. 'Tis the missing
link himsilf, disguised as Santa Clause."
They all took a look and there on the porch stood Dad Blackford hatless
and dishevelled, with snow-matted beard and a very red and perspiring
face. He was blowing like a grampus and looked for all the world like
the merry personality of Christmas tide. His eyes were astonished at
the sight they met and how they sparkled as they recounted to him the
night's adventures. His joy at finding that all was well more than
compensated for the shameless treatment he had received at the hands of
the artful Sykes.
When Margaret got him alone she somewhat surprised him.
"Never mind, Dad," she confided. "After all it's been a delightful
adventure. Andy got a sore head but it will soon be better. His heart
is well again."
Dad looked at her a moment dumbfounded. Then he tumbled and the laughter
of a merry heart twinkled in his eyes.
"Been 'avin' a quarrel with un?" he teased.
"No. Just a little misunderstanding," she whispered back.
This bit of confidence turned the whole affair into a thing of joy for
the kind-hearted old Englishman.
While this tete-a-tete was taking place the men were riding down the
vandals by the aid of lighted lanterns. The trail was dim to begin
with, however, and grew dimmer as they swerved to the west out upon the
high prairie. Here it vanished altogether and the party returned. The
blackness of the night and the heavily drifting snow enabled Snoopy Bill
and his men to make a clean get-away.
Following Sykes' plan providing for misadventure they turned into the
west instead of the east and recrossed the Valley about the west end of
the lake, eventually arriving in the Square Room thoroughly wearied and
disgruntled and two hours behind schedule time.
Sykes' face was a picture of blank dismay; McClure's of rage.
"Where is the squealer?" cried Bob McClure as he stalked among the men.
Blasphemous and resentful protestations quite evidently sincere came
from all parts of the room.
"No, Rob!" said Snoopy Bill deliberately. "You are a liar if you say it.
There isn't a squealer in the gang. Not a man laid down. Any squealing
that may have taken place was let out by the gents who stayed behind."
Reddy Sykes read the savage light in Baird's eyes.
"You are straight, Bill," he cried soothingly. "Straight as a die and I
know it. The boys came through. But somebody outside got wise. We'll
find out and when we do somebody's due to get a blankety unpleasant
surprise. The whole thing ran out to dope. We should have that wheat
in Hunt's shack. It's Pullar's luck. But it will change. Here's to a
lucky break."
He held his flask high. The men caught his spirit and responded with a
shout. For an hour the crew caroused, drinking heavily as they debated
the fiasco, breaking up before dawn.
Dad Blackford made a full report to Ned. Though no trace of the
perpetrators of the offense had been obtained, his mind flew instantly
to his two enemies. The Red Knight had been their objective. The
incident was big with warning to him. It assured him of two things: of
their malicious, untiring hate; of their dangerous resource. Thoughts of
Mary pressed heavily upon him. He remembered her words:
"There is no other way. But, Ned, you will have to be right, always, as
well as irresistible. I know you will be."
"It's a stiff programme, little girl," he reflected ruefully. "But
we'll stay with it."
*XVI*
*THE SPIDER WEAVES*
Snow! Snow! In glistening deserts! Ghastly white blankets of it hung
to the sky-rim! The hills, frosted bridal cakes, terrace on terrace!
The valleys, rolls and folds and gouges of white! Over all the blue
yawn of an empty sky! The air stabs with its invisible, minute Damascus
daggers. It is a smiting vacuity, frozen, tense. One's breath floats
from the lips in a powdered cloud of whitening mist. It is winter--the
snapping, crackling, detonating, hoary-headed winter of the North!
The February sun pours down on the plains in a fierce, garish flow,
shedding no warmth from its low-slanting shafts. Pellawa is hushed to
sepulchral solitude in the grim embrace of "forty below." An occasional
sleigh drifts phantom-like along the street, its runners emitting a
frosty singing. Only the dozens of smoke columns rising straight and
high in the air proclaim the village a haunt of the living.
Wrapped in the comfort of an immense buffalo coat, Reddy Sykes stepped
into a waiting cutter.
"Rob McClure's!" was his brief direction to the driver.
As the team trotted down the street and out over the white expanse he
settled himself snugly among the robes. Sykes was in fine fettle, with
eyes unusually bright. His great chest expanded in deep breaths of
self-gratification. His elation was somewhat due to the bibber's
effervescence. The odour of his habitual elixir exhaled copiously from
his breath. But here was another stimulant none the less powerful. The
fox was out with his nose in the wind hugging a live trace. There was
game in the wind.
He reached McClure's as the sun rolled under the reddened valley in a
disk of blood. Leaving the cutter he stepped briskly to the door.
While stamping the snow from his feet, preparatory to knocking, a
musical voice greeted him and Mary McClure appeared miraculously at his
side, an apple-cheeked, cherry-lipped Venus-in-furs. She had just
driven in from The Craggs.
"Pardon me!" said Sykes, in cavalier attentiveness, reaching out for the
knob she had already taken. The rare beauty of the girl and her close
presence ensnared him. Recklessly obedient to a sudden impulse, he
seized her hand and drew her closer to him. For the briefest instant he
looked into her eyes with daring assurance.
"Mary!" he said softly, imprisoning firmly her struggling hand, "what a
chic little wench you are! Do you realize that you are maddening in
those furs, with your eyes and colour and lips? Your lips!" he
repeated, leaning toward her.
The cordial smile faded swiftly from her eyes and the red cheeks
blanched.
"Please release my hand, Mr. Sykes," she commanded, in a low, distressed
tone.
Looking down into her indignant eyes he saw something there that
counselled hasty obedience. He let go at once.
"Sorry, Mary!" was his apology in a tone affecting deep penitence. "I
am demented over you. You are distracting to-night. Will you let me in?
I have come to see your father."
Making no reply she opened the door.
"Mr. Sykes is here, Mother," was the quiet announcement. "He drove up
just as I came in from stabling Bobs. He wishes to see Father at once."
Mrs. McClure cordially welcomed the effusively agreeable guest, guiding
him to the office. In a very few minutes he reappeared, accompanied by
McClure, who proceeded to make hasty preparations for the trail.
"You go ahead," said he to Sykes. "I'll come along in my own rig."
"Are you leaving before tea?" asked Mrs. McClure in surprise.
"Yes," was the abrupt response. "We have a big deal on. I'll not be
back until late."
As the men went out the two women looked at each other in silent
significance. On the topic of father and husband their lips were
sealed. At the moment their minds were exceedingly busy. The burning
light in Mary's eyes disturbed her mother.
"You are troubled, daughter?" was the gentle question as she threw her
arms about the girl. "Perhaps it will help us both to talk it over. I
think it high time that we should resume our little confidences."
Returning the embrace and caress, Mary looked soberly into her mother's
eyes.
"It is a fear I have had for weeks, Mother," said she, responding to her
mother's question. "Until to-day it was more or less vague. Now it is
real. I am convinced there is ground for a little anxiety on my part.
Can you not surmise it?"
Helen McClure studied the serious eyes so near her. She shook her head.
"No. I do not think it would be wise to guess. Can you not tell me?"
"I shudder at the influence Mr. Sykes has over Father," said Mary
reminiscently. "It alarms me to see that power grow stronger every day.
Candidly, Mother, I am afraid of the deal they are in such haste to
arrange. There was something unpleasantly secretive in their manner
just now. I did not like the look in Dad's eyes."
"Is this your fear?" pressed the mother gently.
"This is involved," returned Mary. "I have an even more personal
anxiety. I am afraid of the man, Chesley Sykes. He is growing too
attentive and familiar. Why? I do not know. I have never liked him
and he has no right to press his intimacy. He is irrepressible, laughs
at my snubs and deports himself with such annoying confidence. This all
came about suddenly in the early winter. Why should he insist on a
friendship that is detestable to me?"
Mary paused, awaiting some response to her appeal. But her mother
hazarded no guess.
"You will remember, Mother," resumed Mary reflectively, "that I stopped
riding the Valley during those wonderful days in December. I did that
because of a wholesome fear of Chesley Sykes. I had a persistent
feeling that he was shadowing me. Several times during my rides along
the river I 'happened' upon him. One day, seized with an intuition that
somebody was trailing me, I slipped into a cowpath and detouring
quickly, watched the back trail from a covert. In a few minutes Sykes
rode up on that big hunter of his. He pulled up at the cowpath and
leaning down studied it a moment. Satisfied, at length, he turned into
Bobs' tracks and followed me. As he turned down the path he spoke to
his horse. I caught the words and they frightened me.
"'King!' said he, with that confident laugh, 'nothing our little lady
can do will blind our trail. She'll find one Sykes in at the killing.
She's a neat little fox but we'll gather her brush.'
"I shook him by sending Bobs into the Willow and up-stream. After
riding out of sight about a bend we stole into the trees and made all
haste for home.
"To-night at the door he was rude and maudlin. He had been drinking and
was therefore unwise. He professed to be penitent, yet I could see his
audacious assurance cropping out. This is the thing that makes me
tremble. He has some reason for this boldness. He has Dad's approval.
It is evidently Dad's will that I foster intimate relations with his
friend. That I will not do."
Looking into her daughter's glowing eyes, Helen McClure was deeply
conscious of the trouble there. Her own mind was alarmed and had been
for many days. She knew only too well that Mary had plumbed correctly
her father's intentions as to her relations with Sykes. She was also
sure of something that the girl was only dimly suspicious of. She had
long since concluded that the two men had reached some definite
agreement that had far-reaching interest for Mary. Their projects
seemed to involve her compliance. The mother knew that circumstances
were leading to a clash of wills. But she decided that reticence was
best for the present.
"I am sorry you are in trouble, Mary," said the mother affectionately.
"You have certainly real ground for your distrust of Sykes. Avoid him.
And if a swift decision should ever be thrust upon you, follow your
heart. That is the only safe way. But we must not grow pessimistic,
daughter. There are bright days ahead. We will help them to come
quickly."
The reserve with which her mother spoke convinced Mary of grave reasons
for caution. Running up to her room she pondered the events of the last
hour. As she dwelt upon her experiences and pieced her disturbing
reflections she found herself looking into the future with a distinct
sense of trepidation.
The night was dark, a night of stars dazzlingly bright. There was a
traveller on the Pellawa trail. Ned Pullar was drawing near the
homestead upon his return from the village. The air was calm save for
the slight drift of a five-mile breeze caused by his ride into the
north. Even this faint wind had the biting tang of the extremely low
temperature, forcing him to avert his face from its freezing breath.
Giving a sudden, piercing whistle he sent his horses into a smart trot.
He was the prey to a vague uneasiness. That morning he had set out with
his father with their two loads of Red Knight. A great deal of time had
been spent at the village making up the shipments to the various
national farms. It was late before they were ready to set out for home.
Then occurred a hitch. They were taking back with them a power fanning
mill. When they drove up to Nick Ford's implement shed they were
disappointed to find that the mill had not been completely set up. It
would take quite half an hour, so Ford advised them.
"I'll take the engine with me," said Ned. "I can set out ahead and get
busy with the chores. You will be along in an hour or so."
"That will be the best plan," agreed the old man.
His father had no sooner agreed to the suggestion than a misgiving swept
over Ned. A glance at his father's face reassured him, however, and he
let the arrangement stand. Loading the gasoline engine he set off. As
he drove along he debated the wisdom of his decision. Three months ago
he would not have left his father alone in Pellawa. But these months had
seen a remarkable change in Edward Pullar. He had developed a dignity
and self-reliance that Ned knew was based in a sudden accretion of
strength. His dreams of The Red Knight were ennobling and the
achievement of the hopes of long years had rallied him. He felt it safe
to trust him alone in the village with its lurking danger, and yet--he
wished again and again that he had waited with his father. The nearer
he drew to the homestead the greater grew his uneasiness.
Edward Pullar went into the little office occupying a corner of the
implement shed and sat down prepared to patiently await the completion
of Ford's task. It was the only place in the village where he could
pass the time with safety. Louie Swale's and Sparrow's both occurred to
him as the common rendezvous of travellers, but he passed them up with a
shudder. He well knew his weakness and wished greatly to vindicate
Ned's faith in him. The business of setting up the mill did not
progress continuously. In fact, several times Ford had dropped his
tools to visit the Square Room. There he at length met Sykes and
McClure. The trio held ominous consultation.
"Old Ed. is in my office," replied Ford to a question from Sykes. "Ned
must be nearly home. You did not meet him?"
"No. He slipped down into the Valley just as we drove out of Rob's."
"I've killed about all the time I dare without arousing his suspicion.
Let us get him in here."
McClure shook his head emphatically.
"Nothing doing," was his impatient retort. "He's dodged it for months.
We'll have to get him without his knowing it."
Sykes sat back watching the others and sipping his glass reflectively.
With a laugh of easy assurance he rocked forward in his chair.
"It will be easy," said he with a cryptic smile. "It all depends on you,
Ford. If you will take your time and keep your head the thing is done.
I've got the paper ready. Old Ed. can hold a tankful and walk as
straight as a post. I've seen him drunk as a lord but to all
appearances as quiet and wise as a judge. We'll get Cy Marshall in to
witness the deal. Cy's eyesight is not what it used to be, but it is
all we could desire. Might be lucky later to have the documents OK-ed
by a magistrate whose record is without blemish. Here is a little
secret," said he, drawing a small vial from his pocket.
Opening the tube he dropped a tiny tablet into his palm. Glancing
significantly at Ford he said:
"You are the only one who can use it, Nick."
But Ford shook his head dubiously.
"Perfectly harmless!" urged Sykes. "He'll sleep it down in six hours
and--it gets you a couple of hundred now and a share when Foyle comes
through."
Ford shifted. Sykes took out a roll of bills. While Ford hung back
Sykes opened a flask and dropped in the tablet. The drug dissolved
swiftly, leaving the liquor as before. Sykes laughed.
"I repeat, it is perfectly harmless," said he. "I could drink it
myself." Then he added with a fiendish glimmer in his eyes Rob McClure
had seen there once before, "They got you sloppy drunk last fall, Nick,
and put Rob's gang on the hog, then threw you into the lake to cool you
off. Here is your chance to hand Pullar a sleeper. Are you afraid to
put this easy thing across?"
With a vengeful laugh Nick reached for the flask.
"See what we can do with it," said he grimly. "The laugh's on Ned."
"Rob and I'll meander down to the office," said Sykes casually. "We'll
camp there for an hour. Cy is handy any time we want him. I'll stay at
the desk. Rob will keep his eye on you and Old Ed. We'll have to work
fast, but without any hurry, remember that, without any hurry while Cy
is around."
Thrusting the flask in an inner pocket Ford took his departure.
Meanwhile Edward Pullar waited in the implement office. The room was
very small and warmed by a very large air-tight heater. He grew so warm
he took off his fur coat. Ford passed in and out, spending a moment in
pleasant chat. Alone once more his inactivity and the warmth combined
to make him drowsy. His head dropped forward at times in a brief doze.
But he would instantly rouse and glance out the window. His throat and
lips grew dry and a thirst came over him. He went over to a pail in the
corner, but was disappointed to find it contained no water. He resumed
his chair.
As he sat by the window looking out into the falling night Ford entered
and after shuffling a moment about the little desk went out. The thirst
recurred, but as there was no way to slake it, he patiently endured the
discomfort. His thoughts followed Ned along the trail or drifted into
the fascinating world of The Red Knight. Then the "thing" began to
creep upon him. Gradually he became aware of an odour familiar and
bibulously gratifying. At first it was but a fleeting inhalation. Then
it became continuous, tripling in its pleasing gratefulness. A
possibility flashed into his mind. He glanced about. There it was upon
the desk within easy reach. He could just discern it in the dim light.
It was a flask three parts full. Ford had left it carelessly on the edge
of the drop leaf, the cork out. Without any act of volition his hand
reached out and his fingers closed on the glass. As he felt the dear,
familiar form of the flask a mighty thirst welled up. But he halted,
and, letting go of the bottle, snatched his hand away as if stung by a
serpent. The realization of what he was about to do shook him
strangely. Clenching his hands he turned away, lifting his head in proud
resolution. He would fight this devil sitting so quietly by him.
Ford came in again and lit the dirty lamp. He picked up the bottle.
"You'll excuse me, Ed.," said he apologetically. "But it's so raw out
there I've got to take a warmer. Just a nip. There!"
He had tipped the glass, but none of the liquor had passed his lips.
The gurgle was maddening to the old man.
"You're welcome to a swig, Ed.," said Ford in a friendly manner. "But
I'll not ask you to indulge, for I know you're on the water-wagon these
days. I'll leave the 'wee drap' handy in case you take a notion."
He went out.
Ten minutes passed and the fight against the heat and the terrible
thirst went swayingly on. The sight of the yellow liquid coupled with
the subtle and odorous fumes from the breath of Bacchus plied him with
an exquisite torment. He began to fear the "thing" again. Rising, he
put on his coat and prepared for a stroll in the keen night without.
With his hand on the door-knob he looked back, pausing irresolute.
Slowly his fingers relaxed and he sat down once more.
A physical lassitude began to steal over him, due to the excessive heat.
The desire to drink became overmasteringly insistent. The smell of the
vaporizing whiskey was sweeter than perfumes of Arabia. In a little he
became conscious of nothing else. Then he found himself sitting beside
the desk, leaning heavily upon it, the empty flask in his hand. His
throat was parched and his brain on fire. He looked at the bottle with
burning eyes. It was empty! Empty! As he contemplated it wildly Ford
entered.
"Your mill is about ready," said he. "How are you making it?"
"Say, Nick!" whispered the old man cunningly, "I've stolen a march on
you. The whiskey's all gone. I'd give a hundred dollars for a right
good drink. Where can we get it?"
Ford looked at the inebriate, startled at the wild leer and the pitiable
obsequiousness of the great figure.
"Too bad she's dry!" was the response. "That was the last drop I had.
Come along with me. I'll fix you up."
They went out together, arriving a few minutes later at Sykes' office.
Before they entered Ford whispered in his ear:
"Straighten up, Ed. That was strong stuff. It's got you swinging.
These fellows will let you have all you want after you sign up."
"How?--how is that?" cried the old man in a half-startled voice, as he
forced himself to walk erect.
"Hush!" was the admonitory reply. "It's this way. They have no right
to let you have it, and unless you sign three or four little papers,
promising not to give them away, why, of course, they don't take the
chance. You do the signing and leave the rest to me. Keep straight
while we are inside. We'll get a bottle and go back to the shed."
"I understand, Nick," was the solemn response. "I'll protect the boys."
They entered. McClure, Sykes and Cy Marshall were within.
"Here is Ed. Pullar," said Nick. "He's ready to sign up and in an
all-fired hurry. It's a long trip to The Craggs."
"We'll let him go quick," responded Sykes in a businesslike tone. "You
sign here, Mr. Pullar."