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THE SILVER HORDE
BY REX BEACH
Author of "The Auction Block" "The Spoilers" "The Iron Trail" etc.
BOOKS BY REX BEACH
TOO FAT TO FIGHT
THE WINDS OF CHANCE
LAUGHING BILL HYDE
RAINBOW'S END
THE CRIMSON GARDENIA AND OTHER TALES OF ADVENTURE
HEART OF THE SUNSET
THE AUCTION BLOCK
THE IRON TRAIL
THE NET
THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
THE SPOILERS
THE BARRIER
THE SILVER HORDE
GOING SOME
CONTENTS
I. WHEREIN A SPIRITLESS MAN AND A ROGUE APPEAR
II. IN WHICH THEY BREAK BREAD WITH A LONELY WOMAN
III. IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE DISPLAYS A TEMPER
IV. IN WHICH SHE GIVES HEART TO A HOPELESS MAN
V. IN WHICH A COMPACT IS FORMED
VI. WHEREIN BOREAS TAKES A HAND
VII. AND NEPTUNE TAKES ANOTHER
VIII. WHEREIN BOYD ADMITS HIS FAILURE
IX. AND IS GRANTED A YEAR OF GRACE
X. IN WHICH BIG GEORGE MEETS HIS ENEMY
XI. WHEREIN BOYD EMERSON IS TWICE AMAZED
XII. IN WHICH MISS WAYLAND IS OF TWO MINDS
XIII. IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE BECOMES SUSPICIOUS
XIV. IN WHICH THEY RECOGNIZE THE ENEMY
XV. THE DOORS OF THE VAULT SWING SHUT
XVI. WILLIS MARSH COMES OUT FROM COVER
XVII. A NEW ENEMY APPEARS
XVIII. WILLIS MARSH SPRINGS A TRAP
XIX. IN WHICH A MUTINY IS THREATENED
XX. WHEREIN "FINGERLESS" FRASER RETURNS
XXI. A HAND IN THE DARK
XXII. THE SILVER HORDE
XXIII. IN WHICH MORE PLANS ARE LAID
XXIV. WHEREIN "THE GRANDE DAME" ARRIVES, LADEN WITH DISAPPOINTMENTS
XXV. THE CHASE
XXVI. IN WHICH A SCORE IS SETTLED
XXVII. AND A DREAM COMES TRUE
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE GIRL STOOD BAREHEADED UNDER THE WINTRY SKY
OUT ACROSS THE LONESOME WASTE THEY JOURNEYED
MILDRED CEASED PLAYING AND SWUNG ABOUT--"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"
[Illustration: THE GIRL STOOD BAREHEADED UNDER THE WINTRY SKY]
THE SILVER HORDE
CHAPTER I
WHEREIN A SPIRITLESS MAN AND A ROGUE APPEAR
The trail to Kalvik leads down from the northward mountains over the
tundra which flanks the tide flats, then creeps out upon the salt ice
of the river and across to the village. It boasts no travel in summer,
but by winter an occasional toil-worn traveller may be seen issuing
forth from the Great Country beyond, bound for the open water; while
once in thirty days the mail-team whirls out of the forest to the
south, pauses one night to leave word of the world, and then is
swallowed up in the silent hills. Kalvik, to be sure, is not much of a
place, being hidden away from the main-travelled routes to the interior
and wholly unknown except to those interested in the fisheries.
A Greek church, a Russian school with a cassocked priest presiding,
and, about a hundred houses, beside the cannery buildings, make up the
village. At first glance these canneries might convey the impression of
a considerable city, for there are ten plants, in all, scattered along
several miles of the river-bank; but in winter they stand empty and
still, their great roofs drummed upon by the fierce Arctic storms,
their high stacks pointing skyward like long, frozen fingers black with
frost. There are the natives, of course, but they do not count,
concealed as they are in burrows. No one knows their number, not even
the priest who gathers toll from them.
Early one December afternoon there entered upon this trail from the
timberless hills far away to the northward a weary team of six dogs,
driven by two men. It had been snowing since dawn, and the dim
sled-tracks were hidden beneath a six-inch fluff which rendered
progress difficult and called the whip into cruel service. A gray
smother sifted down sluggishly, shutting out hill and horizon, blending
sky and landscape into a blurred monotone, playing strange pranks with
the eye that grew tired trying to pierce it.
The travellers had been plodding sullenly, hour after hour, dispirited
by the weight of the storm, which bore them down like some impalpable,
resistless burden. There was no reality in earth, air, or sky. Their
vision was rested by no spot of color save themselves, apparently
swimming through an endless, formless atmosphere of gray.
"Fingerless" Fraser broke trail, but to Boyd Emerson, who drove, he
seemed to be a sort of dancing doll, bobbing and swaying grotesquely,
as if suspended by invisible wires. At times, it seemed to the driver's
whimsical fancy as if each of them trod a measure in the centre of a
colorless universe, something after the fashion of goldfish floating in
a globe.
Fraser pulled up without warning and instantly the dogs stopped,
straightway beginning to soothe their trail-worn pads and to strip the
ice-pellets from between their toes. But the "wheelers" were too tired
to make the effort, so Emerson went forward and performed the task for
them, while Fraser floundered back and sank to a sitting posture on the
sled.
"Whew!" he exclaimed, "this is sure tough. If I don't see a tree or
something with enough color to bust this monotony I'll go dotty."
"Another day like this and we'd both be snow-blind," observed Emerson
grimly, as he bent to his task. "But it can't be far to the river now."
"This fall has covered the trail till I have to feel it out with my
feet," grumbled Fraser. "When I step off to one side I go in up to my
hips. It's like walking a plank a foot deep in feathers, and I feel
like I was a mile above the earth in a heavy fog." After a moment he
continued: "Speaking of feathers, how'd you like to have a fried
chicken _a la_ Maryland?"
"Shut up!" said the man at the dogs, crossly.
"Well, it don't do any harm to think about it," growled Fraser,
good-naturedly. He felt out a pipe from his pocket and endeavored
unsuccessfully to blow through it, then complained:
"The damn thing is froze. It seems like a man can't practice no vices
whatever in this country. I'm glad I'm getting out of it."
"So am I," agreed the younger man. Having completed his task, he came
back to the sled and seated himself beside the other.
"As I was saying a mile back yonder," Fraser resumed, "whatever made
you snatch me away from them blue-coated minions of the law, I don't
know. You says it's for company, to be sure, but we visit with one
another about like two deef-mutes. Why did you do it, Bo?"
"Well, you talk enough for both of us."
"Yes, but that ain't no reason why you should lay yourself liable to
the 'square-toes.' You ain't the kind to take a chance just because
you're lonesome."
"I picked you up because of your moth-eaten morals, I dare say. I was
tired of myself, and you interested me. Besides," Emerson added,
reflectively, "I have no particular cause to love the law, either."
"That's how I sized it," said Fraser, wagging his head with animation,
"I knew you'd had some kind of a run-in. What was it? This is low down,
see, and confidential, as between two crooks. I'll never snitch."
"Hold on there! I'm not a crook. I'm not sufficiently ingenious to be a
member of your honorable profession."
"Well, I guess my profession is as honorable as most. I've tried all of
them, and they're all alike. It's simply a question of how the other
fellow will separate easiest." He stopped and tightened his snow-shoe
thong, then rising, gazed curiously at the listless countenance of his
travelling companion, feeling anew the curiosity that had fretted him
for the past three weeks; finally he observed, with a trace of
impatience:
"Well, if you ain't one of us, you'd ought to be. You've got the best
poker face I ever see; it's as blind as a plastered wall. You ain't had
a real expression on it since you hauled me off that ice-floe in Norton
Sound."
He swung ahead of the dogs; they rose reluctantly, and with a crack of
the whip the little caravan crawled noiselessly into the gray twilight.
An hour later they dropped from the plain, down through a gutter-like
gully to the river, where they found a trail, glass-hard beneath its
downy covering. A cold breath sucked up from the sea; ahead they saw
the ragged ice up-ended by the tide, but their course was well marked
now, so they swung themselves upon the sled, while the dogs shook off
their lethargy and broke into their pattering, tireless wolf-trot.
At length they came to a point where the trail divided, one branch
leading off at right angles from the shore and penetrating the hummocks
that marked the tide limit. Evidently it led to the village which they
knew lay somewhere on the farther side, hidden by a mile or more of
sifting snow, so they altered their course and bore out upon the river.
The going here was so rough that both men leaped from their seats and
ran beside the sled, one at the front, the other guiding it from the
rear. Up and down over the ridges the trail led, winding through the
frozen inequalities, the dogs never breaking their tireless trot. They
mounted a swelling ridge and rushed down to the level river ice beyond,
but as they did so they felt their footing sag beneath them, heard a
shivering creak on every side, and, before they could do more than cry
out warningly, saw water rising about the sled-runners. The momentum of
the heavy sledge, together with the speed of the racing dogs, forced
them out upon the treacherous ice before they could check their speed.
Emerson shouted, the dogs leaped, but with a crash the ice gave way,
and for a moment the water closed over him.
Clinging to the sled to save himself, his weight slowed it down, and
the dogs stopped. "Fingerless" Fraser broke through in turn, gasping as
the icy water rose to his armpits. Slowly at first the sled sank, till
it floated half submerged, and this spot which a moment before had
seemed so safe and solid became now a churning tangle of broken
fragments, men and dogs struggling in a liquid that seemed dark as
syrup contrasted with the surrounding whiteness. The lead animals,
under whose feet the ice was still firm, turned inquiringly, then
settled on their haunches with lolling tongues. The pair next ahead of
the sledge paddled frantically, straining to reach the solid sheet
beyond, but were held back by their harness. Emerson used the sled for
a footing and endeavored to gain the ice at one side, but it broke
beneath him and he lunged in up to his shoulders. Again he tried, but
again the ice broke under his hand, more easily now.
Fraser struggled to get out in the opposite direction, each man aiming
to secure an independent footing, but their efforts only enlarged the
pool. The chill went through them like thin blades, and they chattered
gaspingly, fighting with desperation, while the wheel dogs, involved in
the harness, began to whine and cough, at which Emerson shouted:
"Cut the team loose, quick!" But the other spat out a mouthful of salt
water and spluttered:
"I--I can't swim!"
Whereupon the first speaker half swam half dragged himself through the
slush and broken debris to the forward end of the sled, and seeking out
the sheath-knife from beneath his parka, cut the harness of the two
distressed animals. Once free, they scrambled to safety, shook
themselves, and rolled in the dry snow.
Emerson next attempted to lift the nose of the sled up on the ice,
shouting at the remainder of the team to pull, but they only wagged
their tails and whined excitedly at this unusual form of entertainment.
Each time he tried to lift the sled he crashed through fresh ice,
finally bearing the next pair of dogs with him, and then the two
animals in the lead. All of them became hopelessly entangled.
He could have won his way back to the permanent ice as Fraser was
doing, but there was no way of getting his team there and he would not
sacrifice those dumb brutes now growing frantic. One of them pawed the
sheath-knife from his hand. He had become almost numb with cold and
despair when he heard the jingle of many small bells, and a sharp
command uttered in a new voice.
Out of the snow fog from the direction in which they were headed broke
a team running full and free. At a word they veered to the right and
came to a pause, avoiding the danger-spot. Even from his hasty glance
Emerson marvelled at the outfit, having never seen the like in all his
travels through the North, for each animal of the twelve stood hip-high
to a tall man, and they were like wolves of one pack, gray and gaunt
and wicked. The basket-sled behind them was long and light, and of a
design that was new to him, while the furs in it were of white fox.
The figure wrapped up in them spoke again sharply, whereupon a tall
Indian runner left the team and headed swiftly for the scene of the
accident. As he approached, Emerson noted the fellow's flowing parka of
ground-squirrel skins, from which a score of fluffy tails fell free,
and he saw that this was no Indian, but a half-breed of peculiar
coppery lightness. The man ran forward till he neared the edge of the
opening where the tide had caused the floes to separate and the cold
had not had time as yet to heal it; then flattening his body to its
full length on the ice, he crawled out cautiously and seized the lead
dog. Carefully he wormed his way backward to security, then leaned his
weight upon the tugline.
It had been a ticklish operation, requiring nice skill and dexterity,
but now that his footing was sure the runner exerted his whole
strength, and as the dogs scratched and tore for firm foothold, the
sled came crunching closer and closer through the half-inch skin of
ice. Then he reached down and dragged Emerson out, dripping and
nerveless from his immersion. Together they rescued the outfit.
The person in the sledge had watched them silently, but now spoke in a
strange patois, and the breed gave voice to her words, for it was a
woman.
"One mile you go--white man house. Go quick--you freeze." He pointed
back whence the two men had come, indicating the other branch of the
trail.
Fraser had emerged meanwhile and circled the water-hole, but even this
brief exposure to the open air had served to harden his wet garments
into a crackling armor. With rattling teeth, he asked:
"Ain't you got no dry clothes? Our stuff is soaked."
Again the Indian translated some words from the girl.
"No! You hurry and no stop here. We go quick over yonder. No can stop
at all."
He hurried back to his mistress, cried once to the pack of gray dogs,
"Oonah!" and they were off as if in chase. They left the trail and
circled toward the shore, the driver standing erect upon the heels of
the runners, guiding his team with wide-flung gestures and sharp cries,
the rush of air fluttering the many squirrel-tails of his parka like
fairy streamers.
As they dashed past, both white men had one fleeting glimpse of a
woman's face beneath a furred hood, and then it was gone. For a moment
they stood and stared after the fast-dwindling team, while the breath
of the Arctic sea stiffened their garments and froze their boot-soles
to the ice.
"Did you see?" Fraser ejaculated. "Good Lord, it's a _woman!_ A
_blonde_ woman!"
Emerson stirred himself. "Nonsense! She must be a breed," said he.
"Breeds don't have yellow hair!" declared the other.
Swiftly they bent in the free dogs and lashed the team to a run. They
felt the chill of death in their bones, and instead of riding they ran
with the sled till their blood beat painfully. Their outer coverings
were like shells, their underclothes were soaked, and although their
going was difficult and clumsy, they dared not stop, for this is the
extremest peril of the North.
Ten minutes later they swung over the river-bank and into the midst of
great rambling frame buildings, seen dimly through the falling snow.
Their trail led them to a high-banked cabin, from the stovepipe of
which they saw heat-waves pouring. The dogs broke into cry, and were
answered by many others conjured from their hiding-places. Both men
were greatly distressed by now, and could handle themselves only with
difficulty. Another mile would have meant disaster.
"Rout out the owner and tell him we're wet," said Emerson; "I'll free
the dogs."
As Fraser disappeared, the young man ran forward to slip the harness
from his animals, but found it frozen into their fur, the knots and
buckles transformed into unmanageable lumps of ice, so he wrenched the
camp axe from the sled and cut the thongs, then hacked loose the stiff
sled-lashings, seized the sodden sleeping-bags, and made for the house.
A traveller's first concern is for his dogs, then for his bedding.
Before he could reach the cabin the door opened and Fraser appeared, a
strange, dazed look on his face. He was followed by a large man of
coarse and sullen countenance, who paused on the threshold.
"Don't bother with the rest of the stuff," Emerson chattered.
"It's no use," Fraser replied; "we can't go in."
The former paused, forgetting the cold in his amazement.
"What's wrong? Somebody sick?"
"I don't know what's the matter. This man just says 'nix,' that's all."
The fellow, evidently a watchman, nodded his head, and growled, "Yaas!
Ay got no room."
"But you don't understand," said Emerson. "We're wet. We broke through
the ice. Never mind the room, we'll get along somehow." He advanced
with the tight-rolled sleeping-bags under his arm, but the man stood
immovable, blocking the entrance.
"You can't come in har! You find anoder house t'ree mile furder."
The traveller, however, paid no heed to these words, but pushed
forward, shifting the bundle to his shoulder and holding it so that it
was thrust into the Swede's face. Involuntarily the watchman drew back,
whereupon the unwelcome visitor crowded past, jostling his inhospitable
host roughly, laughing the while, although in his laughter there rang a
dangerous metallic note. Emerson's quick action gained him entrance and
Fraser followed behind into the living-room, where a flat-nosed squaw
withdrew before them. The young man flung down his burden, and
addressed her peremptorily.
"Punch up that fire, and get us something to eat, quick!" Turning to
the owner of the house, who lumbered in after them, he disregarded the
fellow's scowl, and said:
"Why, you've got lots of room, old man! We'll pay our way. Now get some
more firewood, will you? I'm chilled to the bone. That's a good
fellow." His forceful heartiness forbade dispute, and the man obeyed,
sourly.
The two new-comers stripped off their outer clothing, and in a trice
the small room became littered and hung with steaming garments. They
took possession of the house, and ordered the Swede and his squaw about
with firm good nature, until the couple slunk into an inner room and
began to talk in low tones.
Fraser had been watching the fellow, and now remarked to his companion:
"Say, what ails that ginney?"
The assumption of good-nature fell away from Boyd Emerson as he replied:
"I never knew anybody to refuse shelter to freezing men before. There's
something back of this--he's got some reason for his refusal. I don't
want any trouble, but--"
The inner door opened, and the watchman reappeared. Evidently his
sluggish resolution had finally set itself.
"You can't stop har!" he said. "Ay got orders."
Emerson was at the fire, busy rubbing the cramps from his arms, and did
not answer. When Fraser likewise ignored the Swede, he repeated his
command, louder this time.
"Get out of may house, quick!"
Both men kept their backs turned and continued to ignore him, at which
the fellow advanced heavily, and threatened them in a big, raucous
voice, trembling with rage:
"By Yingo, Ay trow you out!"
He stooped and gathered up the garments nearest him, then stepped
toward the outer door; but before he could make good his threat,
Emerson whirled like a cat, his deep-set eyes dark with sudden fury,
and seized his host by the nape of the neck. He jerked him back so
roughly that the wet clothes flapped to the floor in four directions,
whereat the Scandinavian let forth a bellow; but Emerson struck him
heavily on the jaw with his open hand, then hurled him backward into
the room so violently that he reeled, and his legs colliding with a
bench, he fell against the wall. Before he could recover, his assailant
stepped in between his wide-flung hands and throttled him, beating his
head violently against the logs. The fellow undertook to grapple with
him, at which Emerson wrenched himself free, and, stepping back, spoke
in a quivering voice which Fraser had never heard before:
"I'm just playing with you now--I don't want to hurt you."
"Get out of my house! Ay got orders!" cried the watchman wildly, and
made for him again. It was evident that the man was not lacking in
stupid courage, but Emerson, driven to it, stepped aside, and swung
heavily. The squaw in the doorway screamed, and the Swede fell full
length. Again Boyd was upon him, the restraint of the past long weeks
now unbridled, his temper unchecked. He dragged his victim through the
store-room, grinding his face into the floor at every effort to rise.
He forced him to his own door-sill, jerked the door open, and kicked
him out into the snow; then barred the entrance, and returned to the
warmth of the logs, his face convulsed and his lips working.
"Fingerless" Fraser gazed at him queerly, as if at some utterly strange
phenomenon, then drawled, with a sly chuckle:
"Well, well, you're bloody gentle, I must say. I didn't think it was in
you."
When the other vouchsafed no answer, he took his pipe from a pocket of
his steaming mackinaw, and filled it from a tobacco-box on the
window-sill; then, leaning back in his chair, he propped his feet up on
the table and sighed luxuriously, as he murmured:
"These scenes of violence just upset me something dreadful!"