With 'Poleon Doret to be busy was to be contented, and these were busy
times for him. His daily routine, with trap and gun, had made of him an
early riser and had bred in him a habit of greeting the sun with a
song. It was no hardship for him, therefore, to cook his breakfast by
candle-light, especially now that the days were growing short. On the
morning after his rescue of Sam Kirby and his daughter 'Poleon washed
his dishes and cut his wood; then, finding that there was still an hour
to spare before the light would be sufficient to run Miles Canon, he
lit his pipe and strolled up to the village. The ground was now white,
for considerable snow had fallen during the night; the day promised to
be extremely short and uncomfortable. 'Poleon, however, was impervious
to weather of any sort; his good humor was not dampened in the least.
Even at this hour the saloons were well patronized, for not only was
the camp astir, but also the usual stale crowd of all-night loiterers
was not yet sufficiently intoxicated to go to bed. As 'Poleon neared
the first resort, the door opened and a woman emerged. She was
silhouetted briefly against the illumination from within, and the pilot
was surprised to recognize her as Rouletta Kirby. He was upon the point
of speaking to her when she collided blindly with a man who had
preceded him by a step or two.
The fellow held the girl for an instant and helped her to regain her
equilibrium, exclaiming, with a laugh: "Say! What's the matter with
you, sister? Can't you see where you're going?" When Rouletta made no
response the man continued in an even friendlier tone, "Well, I can
see; my eyesight's good, and it tells me you're about the best-looking
dame I've run into to-night." Still laughing, he bent his head as if to
catch the girl's answer. "Eh? I don't get you. Who d'you say you're
looking for?"
'Poleon was frankly puzzled. He resented this man's tone of easy
familiarity and, about to interfere, he was restrained by Rouletta's
apparent indifference. What ailed the girl? It was too dark to make out
her face, but her voice, oddly changed and unnatural, gave him cause
for wonderment. Could it be--'Poleon's half-formed question was
answered by the stranger who cried, in mock reproach: "Naughty!
Naughty! You've had a little too much, that's what's the matter with
you. Why, you need a guardeen." Taking Rouletta by the shoulders, the
speaker turned her about so that the dim half-light that filtered
through the canvas wall of the tent saloon shone full upon her face.
'Poleon saw now that the girl was indeed not herself; there was a
childish, vacuous expression upon her face; she appeared to be dazed
and to comprehend little of what the man was saying. This was proved by
her blank acceptance of his next insinuating words: "Say, it's lucky I
stumbled on to you. I been up all night and so have you. S'pose we get
better acquainted. What?"
Rouletta offered no objection to this proposal; the fellow slipped an
arm about her and led her away, meanwhile pouring a confidential murmur
into her ear. They had proceeded but a few steps when 'Poleon Doret
strode out of the gloom and laid a heavy hand upon the man.
"My frien'," he demanded, brusquely, "w'ere you takin' dis lady?"
"Eh?" The fellow wheeled sharply. "What's the idea? What is she to you?"
"She ain't not'in' to me. But I seen you plenty tams an'--you ain't no
good."
Rouletta spoke intelligibly for the first time: "I've no place to
go--no place to sleep. I'm very--tired."
"There you've got it," the girl's self-appointed protector grinned.
"Well, I happen to have room for her in my tent." As Doret's fingers
sank deeper into his flesh the man's anger rose; he undertook to shake
off the unwelcome grasp. "You leggo! You mind your own business--"
"Dis goin' be my biznesse," 'Poleon announced. "Dere's somet'ing fonny
'bout dis--"
"Don't get funny with me. I got as much right to her as you have--"
'Poleon jerked the man off his feet, then flung him aside as if he were
unclean. His voice was hoarse with disgust when he cried:
"Get out! Beat it! By Gar! You ain't fit for touch decent gal. You spik
wit' her again, I tear you in two piece!"
Turning to Rouletta he said, "Mam'selle, you lookin' for your papa, eh?"
Miss Kirby was clasping and unclasping her fingers, her face was
strained, her response came in a mutter so low that 'Poleon barely
caught it:
"Danny's gone--gone--Dad, he's--No use fighting it--It's the drink--and
there's nothing I can do."
It was 'Poleon's turn to take the girl by the shoulders and wheel her
about for a better look at her face. A moment later he led her back
into the saloon. She was so oddly obedient, so docile, so
unquestioning, that he realized something was greatly amiss. He laid
his hand against her flushed cheek and found it to be burning hot,
whereupon he hastily consulted the nearest bystanders. They agreed with
him that the girl was indeed ill--more than that, she was half
delirious.
"Sacre! Wat's she doin' roun' a saloon lak dis?" he indignantly
demanded. "How come she's gettin' up biffore daylight, eh?"
It was the bartender who made plain the facts: "She 'ain't been to bed
at all, Frenchy. She's been up all night, ridin' herd on old Sam Kirby.
He's drinkin', understand? He tried to get some place for her to stay,
along about midnight, but there wasn't any. She's been settin' there
alongside of the stove for the last few hours and I been sort of
keepin' an eye on her for Sam's sake."
Doret breathed an oath. "Dat's nice fader she's got! I wish I let 'im
drown."
"Oh, he ain't exactly to blame. He's on a bender--like to of killed a
feller in here. Somebody'd ought to take care of this girl till he
sobers up."
During this conference Rouletta stood quivering, her face a blank,
completely indifferent to her surroundings. 'Poleon made her sit down,
and but for her ceaseless whispering she might have been in a trance.
Doret's indignation mounted as the situation became plain to him.
"Fine t'ing!" he angrily declared. "Wat for you fellers leave dis seeck
gal settin' up, eh? Me, I come jus' in tam for catch a loafer makin'
off wit' her." Again he swore savagely. "Dere's some feller ain't wort'
killin'. Wal, I got good warm camp; I tak' her dere, den I fin' dis
fader."
"Sam won't be no good to you. What she needs is a doctor, and she needs
him quick," the bartender averred.
"Eh bien! I fin' him, too! Mam'selle"--'Poleon turned to the
girl--"you're bad seeck, dat's fac'. You care for stop in my tent?" The
girl stared up at him blankly, uncomprehendingly; then, drawn doubtless
by the genuine concern in his troubled gaze, she raised her hand and
placed it in his. She left it there, the small fingers curling about
his big thumb like those of a child. "Poor li'l bird!" The woodsman's
brow puckered, a moisture gathered in his eyes. "Dis is hell, for sure.
Come, den, ma petite, I fin' a nes' for you." He raised her to her
feet; then, removing his heavy woolen coat, he placed it about her
frail shoulders. When she was snugly buttoned inside of it he led her
out into the dim gray dawn; she went with him obediently.
As they breasted the swirling snowflakes Doret told himself that,
pending Sam Kirby's return to sanity, this sick girl needed a woman's
care quite as much as a doctor's; naturally his thoughts turned to the
Countess Courteau. Of all the women in White Horse, the Countess alone
was qualified to assume charge of an innocent child like this, and he
determined to call upon her as soon as he had summoned medical
assistance.
When, without protest, Rouletta followed him into his snug
living-quarters, Doret thought again of the ruffian from whom he had
rescued her and again he breathed a malediction. The more fully he
became aware of the girl's utter helplessness the angrier he grew, and
the more criminal appeared her father's conduct. White Horse made no
pretense at morality; it was but a relay station, a breathing-point
where the mad rush to the Klondike paused; there was neither law nor
order here; the women who passed through were, for the most part,
shameless creatures; the majority of the men were unruly, unresponsive
to anything except an appeal to their animal appetites. Sympathy,
consideration, chivalry had all but vanished in the heat of the great
stampede. That Sam Kirby should have abandoned his daughter to such as
these was incredible, criminal. Mere intoxication did not excuse it,
and 'Poleon vowed he would give the old man a piece of his mind at the
first opportunity.
His tent was still warm; a few sticks of dry spruce caused the little
stove to grow red; he helped Rouletta to lie down upon his bed, then he
drew his blankets over her.
"You stay here li'l while, eh?" He rested a comforting hand upon her
shoulder. "'Poleon goin' find your papa now. Bimeby you goin' feel
better."
He was not sure that she understood him, for she continued to mutter
under her breath and began to roll her head as if in pain. Then he
summoned all the persuasiveness he could. "Dere now, you're safe in
'Poleon's house; he mak' you well dam' queeck."
A good many people were stirring when the pilot climbed once more to
the stumpy clearing where the village stood, and whomsoever he met he
questioned regarding Sam Kirby; it did not take him long to discover
the latter's whereabouts. But 'Poleon's delay, brief as it had been,
bore tragic consequences. Had he been a moment or two earlier he might
have averted a catastrophe of far-reaching effect, one that had a
bearing upon many lives.
The Gold Belt Saloon had enjoyed a profitable all-night patronage; less
than an hour previously Morris Best had rounded up the last of his gay
song-birds and put an end to their carnival. The poker game, however,
was still in progress at the big round table. Already numerous early
risers were hurrying in to fortify themselves against the raw day just
breaking, and among these last-named, by some evil whim of fate,
chanced to be the man for whom Sam Kirby had so patiently waited. The
fellow had not come seeking trouble--no one who knew the one-armed
gambler's reputation sought trouble with him--but, learning that Kirby
was still awake and in a dangerous mood, he had entered the Gold Belt
determined to protect himself in case of eventualities.
Doret was but a few seconds behind the man, but those few seconds were
fateful. As the pilot stepped into the saloon he beheld a sight that
was enough to freeze him motionless. The big kerosene lamps, swung from
the rafter braces above, shed over the interior a peculiar sickly
radiance, yellowed now by reason of the pale morning light outside.
Beneath one of the lamps a tableau was set. Sam Kirby and the man he
had struck the night before were facing each other in the center of the
room, and Doret heard the gambler cry:
"I've been laying for you!"
Kirby's usually impassive face was a sight; it was fearfully contorted;
it was the countenance of a maniac. His words were loud and uncannily
distinct, and the sound of them had brought a breathless hush over the
place. At the moment of Doret's entrance the occupants of the saloon
seemed petrified; they stood rooted in their tracks as if the anger in
that menacing voice had halted them in mid-action. 'Poleon, too, turned
cold, for it seemed to him that he had opened the door upon a roomful
of wax figures posed in theatric postures. Then in the flash of an eye
the scene dissolved into action, swift and terrifying.
What happened was so unexpected, it came with such a lack of warning,
that few of the witnesses, even though they beheld every move, were
able later to agree fully upon details. Whether Kirby actually fired
the first shot, or whether his attempt to do so spurred his antagonist
to lightning quickness, was long a matter of dispute. In a flash the
room became a place of deafening echoes. Shouts of protest, yells of
fright, the crash of overturning furniture, the stamp of fleeing feet
mingled with the loud explosion of gunshots--pandemonium.
Fortunately the troupe of women who had been here earlier were gone and
the tent was by no means crowded. Even so, there were enough men
present to raise a mighty turmoil. Some of them took shelter behind the
bar, others behind the stove and the tables; some bolted headlong for
the door; still others hurled themselves bodily against the canvas
walls and ripped their way out.
The duel was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Sam Kirby's
opponent reeled backward and fetched up against the bar; above the din
his hoarse voice rose:
"He started it! You saw him! Tried to kill me!"
He waved a smoking pistol-barrel at the gambler, who had sunk to his
knees. Even while he was shouting out his plea for justification Kirby
slid forward upon his face and the fingers of his outstretched hand
slowly unloosed themselves from his gun.
It had been a shocking, a sickening affair; the effect of it had been
intensified by reason of its unexpectedness, and now, although it was
over, excitement gathered fury. Men burst forth from their places of
concealment and made for the open air; the structure vomited its
occupants out into the snow.
'Poleon Doret had been swept aside, then borne backward ahead of that
stampede, and at length found himself wedged into a corner. He heard
the victor repeating: "You saw him. Tried to kill me!" The speaker
turned a blanched face and glaring eyes upon those witnesses who still
remained. "He's Sam Kirby. I had to get him or he'd have got me." He
pressed a hand to his side, then raised it; it was smeared with blood.
In blank stupefaction the man stared at this phenomenon.
Doret was the first to reach that motionless figure sprawled face down
upon the floor; it was he who lifted the gray head and spoke Kirby's
name. A swift examination was enough to make quite sure that the old
man was beyond all help. Outside, curiosity had done its work and the
human tide was setting back into the wrecked saloon. When 'Poleon rose
with the body in his arms he was surrounded by a clamorous crowd.
Through it he bore the limp figure to the cloth-covered card-table, and
there, among the scattered emblems of Sam Kirby's calling, 'Poleon
deposited his burden. By those cards and those celluloid disks the old
gambler had made his living; grim fitness was in the fact that they
should carpet his bier.
When 'Poleon Doret had forced his way by main strength out of the Gold
Belt Saloon, he removed his cap and, turning his face to the wind, he
breathed deeply of the cool, clean air. His brow was moist; he let the
snowflakes fall upon it the while he shut his eyes and strove to think.
Engaged thus, he heard Lucky Broad address him.
With the speaker was Kid Bridges; that they had come thither on the run
was plain, for they were panting.
"What's this about Kirby?" Lucky gasped.
"We heard he's just been croaked!" the Kid exclaimed.
'Poleon nodded. "I seen it all. He had it comin' to him," and with a
gesture he seemed to brush a hideous picture from before his eyes.
"Old Sam! DEAD!"
Broad, it seemed, was incredulous. He undertook to bore his way into
the crowd that was pressing through the saloon door, but Doret seized
him.
"Wait!" cried the latter. "Dat ain't all; dat ain't de worst."
"Say! Where's Letty?" Bridges inquired. "Was she with him when it
happened? Does she know--"
"Dat's w'at I'm goin' tell you." In a few words 'Poleon made known the
girl's condition, how he had happened to encounter her, and how he had
been looking for her father when the tragedy occurred. His listeners
showed their amazement and their concern.
"Gosh! That's tough!" It was Broad speaking. "Me 'n' the Kid had struck
camp and was on our way down to fix up our boat when we heard about the
killin'. We couldn't believe it, for Sam--"
"Seems like it was a waste of effort to save that outfit," Bridges
broke in. "Sam dead and Letty dyin'--all in this length of time! She's
a good kid; she's goin' to feel awful. Who's goin' to break the news to
her?"
"I don' know." 'Poleon frowned in deep perplexity. "Dere's doctor in
dere now," he nodded toward the Gold Belt. "I'm goin' tak' him to her,
but she mus' have woman for tak' care of her. Mebbe Madame la
Comtesse--"
"Why, the Countess is gone! She left at daylight. Me 'n' the Kid are to
follow as soon as we get our skiff fixed."
"Gone?"
"Sure!"
"Sacre! De one decent woman in dis place, Wal!" 'Poleon shrugged. "Dose
dance-hall gal' is got good heart--"
"Hell! They pulled out ahead of our gang Best ran his boats through the
White Horse late yesterday and he was off before it was light. I know,
because Phillips told me. He's joined out with 'em--blew in early and
got his war-bag. He left the Countess flat."
Doret was dumfounded at this news and he showed his dismay.
"But--dere's no more women here!" he stammered. "Dat young lady she's
seeck; she mus' be nurse'. By Gar! Who's goin' do it, eh?"
The three of them were anxiously discussing the matter when they were
joined by the doctor to whom 'Poleon had referred. "I've done all there
is to do here," the physician announced. "Now about Kirby's daughter.
You say she's delirious?" The pilot nodded. He told of Rouletta's
drenching on the afternoon previous and of the state in which he had
just found her. "Jove! Pneumonia, most likely. It sounds serious, and
I'm afraid I can't do much. You see I'm all ready to go, but--of course
I'll do what I can."
"Who's goin' nurse her?" 'Poleon demanded for a second time. "Dere
ain't no women in dis place."
The physician shook his head. "Who indeed? It's a wretched situation!
If she's as ill as you seem to think, why, we'll have to do the best we
can, I suppose. She probably won't last long. Come!" Together he and
the French Canadian hurried away.