basking," said Dan; and he made off hastily in search of Miss Gerard.
Eliza had really made up her mind to wash her hands of the affair, but
she wavered, and, as usual, she gave in. She did go to O'Neil to
protest at Dan's selection for the post of danger, but after talking
with him she began to see the matter in a new light, and her opposition
weakened. He showed her that the S. R. & N. had an individuality of its
own--an individuality greater than Murray O'Neil's, or Dan Appleton's,
or that of any man connected with it. She began to understand that it
was a living thing, and that O'Neil was merely a small part of it--a
person driven by a power outside himself, the head servant of a great
undertaking, upon whom rested a heavy responsibility. She saw for the
first time that the millions invested in the project imposed upon those
concerned with its management a sacred duty, and that failure to defend
the company's rights would be the worst sort of treachery. She began to
appreciate also how men may be willing to lay down their lives, if
necessary, to pave the way for the march of commerce.
"I never looked at it in this way," she told him, when he had finished.
"I--don't like to take that view of it, even now, but I suppose I must."
"Try not to worry about Dan," he said, sympathetically. "We'll start
back as soon as I'm able to move around, and I'll do my best to see
that he isn't hurt. It's--tough to be laid up this way."
"There's another sick man in camp, by the way."
"Who?"
"The Indian boy who helps the cook. He was hunting and shot himself in
the arm."
"They told me he was doing well."
"Oh, he is, but the pain has kept the poor fellow awake until he's
nearly out of his head. There are no drugs here."
"None this side of the end of the track."
"Can't we do something?"
"We can give Dan a note to 'Happy Tom' in the morning and have whatever
you want sent up. Tom will be there, and perhaps if you ask him he'll
despatch a man on foot at once."
Seizing pen and paper from the table, Eliza wrote a note, which she
read aloud:
"DEAR UNCLE TOM,--There is a sick Indian here. Won't you please send up
an opiate by special messenger, and receive the blessing of, Your
affectionate, ELIZA."
"Better change the word 'opiate,'" O'Neil advised. "I don't think Tom
is equal to that; he might send overalls!" So Eliza substituted
"something to put him to sleep." This message Dan promised faithfully
to deliver.
Murray had expected to begin the return journey within twenty-four
hours after his arrival; but his injury mended slowly, and when the
time came he was still unable to stand. This interval the girls spent
in watching the glaciers, of which they never seemed to tire, and in
spoiling many films.
It was late on the second day when a tired and sodden messenger bearing
the marks of heavy travel appeared at O'Neil's tent and inquired for
Miss Appleton. To her he handed a three-foot bundle and a note from Tom
Slater which read:
DEAR MADAM,--Here is the best thing I know of to put an Indian to
sleep. THOS. SLATER.
"There's some mistake, surely," said the girl, as she unrolled the
odd-looking package; then she cried out angrily, and O'Neil burst into
laughter. For inside the many wrappings was a pick-handle.
Eliza's resentment at "Happy Tom's" unsympathetic sense of humor was
tempered in a measure by the fact that the patient had taken a turn for
the better and really needed no further medical attention. But she was
not accustomed to practical jokes, and she vowed to make Tom's life
miserable if ever the occasion offered.
As the days wore on and Murray remained helpless his impatience became
acute, and on the fourth morning he determined to leave, at whatever
cost in pain or danger to the injury. He gave orders, therefore, to
have a boat prepared, and allowed himself to be carried to it. The
foreman of the bridge crew he delegated to guide the girls down across
the moraine, where he promised to pick them up. The men who had come
with him he sent on to the cataract where Dan had been.
"Aren't you coming with us?" asked Natalie, when they found him seated
in the skiff with an oarsman.
"It's rough going. I'd have to be carried, so I prefer this," he told
them.
"Then we'll go with you," Eliza promptly declared.
Natalie paled and shook her dark head. "Is it safe?" she ventured.
"No, it isn't! Run along now! I'll be down there waiting, when you
arrive."
"If it's safe enough for you, it's safe enough for us," said Eliza.
Climbing into the boat, she plumped herself down with a look which
seemed to defy any power to remove her. Her blue eyes met O'Neil's gray
ones with an expression he had never seen in them until this moment.
"Nonsense, child!" he said. "Don't be silly."
"Don't you try to put me out. I'll hang on and--kick. Don't you say
'please,' either," she warned him.
"I must," he protested. "Please don't insist."
She scowled like an angry boy, and seized the gunwales firmly. Her
expression made him smile despite his annoyance, and this provoked her
the more.
"I'm going!" she asserted, darkly.
This outing had done wonders for both girls. The wind and the sunshine
had tanned them, the coarse fare had lent them a hearty vigor, and they
made charming pictures in their trim short skirts and sweaters and
leather-banded hats.
"Very well! If you're going, take off your boots," commanded O'Neil.
"What for?"
"We may be swamped and have to swim for it. You see the man has taken
his off." Murray pointed to the raw-boned Norwegian oarsman, who had
stripped down as if for a foot-race.
Eliza obeyed.
"Now your sweater."
Natalie had watched this scene with evident concern. She now seated
herself upon a boulder and began to tug at her rubber boots.
"Here! Here! You're not going, too!" O'Neil exclaimed.
"Yes, I am. I'm frightened to death, but I won't be a coward." Her
shaking hands and strained voice left no doubt of her seriousness.
"She can't swim," said Eliza; and O'Neil put an end to this display of
heroism with a firm refusal.
"You'll think I'm afraid," Natalie expostulated.
"Bless you, of course we will, because you are! So am I, and so is
Eliza, for that matter. If you can't swim you'd only be taking a
foolish risk and adding to our danger. Besides, Eliza doesn't know the
feel of cold water as we do."
Natalie smiled a little tremulously at recollection of the shipwreck.
"I'd much rather walk, of course," she said; and then to Eliza, "It--it
will be a lovely ramble for us."
But Eliza shook her head. "This is material for my book, and I'll make
enough out of it to--to--"
"Buy another orchard," Murray suggested.
Feeling more resigned now that the adventure had taken on a purely
financial color, Natalie at length allowed herself to be dissuaded, and
Eliza settled herself in her seat with the disturbing consciousness
that she had made herself appear selfish and rude in O'Neil's eyes.
Nevertheless, she had no notion of changing her mind.
When the other girl had gone the oarsman completed his preparations by
lashing fast the contents of the skiff--a proceeding which Eliza
watched with some uneasiness. O'Neil showed his resentment by a pointed
silence, which nettled her, and she resolved to hold her seat though
the boat turned somersaults.
Word was finally given, and they swung out into the flood. O'Neil stood
as best he could on his firm leg, and steered by means of a
sculling-oar, while the Norwegian rowed lustily.
Bits of drift, patches of froth, fragments of ice accompanied them,
bobbing alongside so persistently that Eliza fancied the boat must be
stationary until, glancing at the river-banks, she saw them racing past
like the panoramic scenery in a melodrama. The same glance showed her
that they were rushing directly toward the upper ramparts of Jackson
Glacier, as if for an assault. Out here in the current there were
waves, and these increased in size as the bed of the Salmon grew
steeper, until the poling-boat began to rear and leap like a frightened
horse. The gleaming wall ahead rose higher with every instant: it
overhung, a giant, crumbling cliff, imposing, treacherous. Then the
stream turned at right angles; they were swept along parallel with the
ice face, and ahead of them for three miles stretched the gauntlet. The
tottering wall seemed almost within reaching distance; its breath was
cold and damp and clammy. O'Neil stood erect and powerful in the stern,
swaying to the antics of the craft, his weight upon the sweep, his eyes
fixed upon the Thing overhead. The Norwegian strained at his oars while
the sweat ran down into his open shirt. The boat lunged and wallowed
desperately, rising on end, falling with prodigious slaps, drenching
the occupants with spray. It was splendid, terrifying! Eliza clung to
her seat and felt her heartbeats smothering her. Occasionally the
oarsman turned, staring past her with round, frightened eyes, and
affording her a glimpse of a face working with mingled fear and
exultation.
Thus far the glacier had not disputed their passage; it maintained the
silence and the immobility of marble; nothing but the snarl of the
surging flood re-echoed from its face. But with the suddenness of a
rifle-shot there came a detonation, louder, sharper than any blast of
powder. The Norwegian cursed; the helmsman dropped his eyes to the
white face in the bow and smiled.
Half a mile ahead of them a mass of ice came rumbling down, and the
whole valley rocked with the sound. Onward the little craft fled, a
dancing speck beneath the majesty of that frozen giant, an atom
threatened by the weight of mountains. At last through the opening of
the gorge below came a glimpse of the flats that led to the sea. A
moment later the boat swung into an eddy and came to rest, bumping
against the boulders.
O'Neil sat down, wiping his wet face.
"Well, was it worth your trouble, Miss Kick-over the-traces?" he asked.
"Oh, it was glorious! I'll never forget it."
Eliza's cheeks were burning now, her aching hands relaxed their hold,
and she drew a deep breath--the first of which she had been conscious
since the start, fifteen minutes before.
"Now, on with your boots and your sweater. We'll have an hour's wait
for Natalie."
She gave a cry of surprise and offered him a glimpse of a trim ankle
and a dripping foot.
"See! They're wet, and I wriggled my toes right through my stockings. I
NEVER was so excited."
The boatman fastened the painter and resumed his outer clothing. O'Neil
lit a cigar and asked:
"Tell me, why did you insist on coming?"
"I was afraid something might happen to you."
He raised his brows, and she flushed. "Don't you understand? Dan would
never have forgiven me, and--and--I just HAD to come, that's all. It's
corking material for me--I thought you might upset, and I--I don't know
why I insisted." She bent over her stubborn boots, hiding her face. She
was flaming to the ears, for suddenly she knew the reason that had
prompted her. It rushed upon her like a sense of great shame. She
recalled the desperate grip at her heart when she had seen him ready to
leave, the wildness of her longing to share his danger, the black fear
that he might meet disaster alone. It had all come without warning, and
there had been no time for self-consciousness, but now she realized the
truth. The poignant pain of it made her fingers clumsy and sent that
flood of scarlet to her neck and ears.
When Natalie arrived they cast off, and the remaining miles were made
in a few hours.
Appleton joined them for lunch in the tent they remembered so well, and
professed to be shocked at the report of his sister's foolhardiness.
But whatever may have been Natalie's fear of ridicule, it promptly
disappeared under his complete indorsement of her wisdom in refraining
from such a mad adventure. As if to put her even more at ease, O'Neil
was especially attentive to her; and Eliza reflected gloomily that men,
after all, dislike bravado in women, that a trapeze artist or a lady
balloonist inspires only a qualified admiration.
During O'Neil's absence work had progressed steadily. On his return he
found the grade completed to within a few yards of Gordon's
right-of-way. Although he was still unable to walk, he insisted upon
going to the front, whither he was helped by Appleton and "Happy Tom."
Into the narrow space between the end of his embankment and that of his
rival's a gravel-train was spilling its burden, and a hundred
pick-and-shovel men were busy. The opposing forces also seemed hard at
work, but their activity was largely a pretense, and they showed
plainly that they were waiting for the clash. They were a hard-looking
crew, and their employer had neglected no precaution. He had erected
barricades for their protection until his grade looked like a military
work.
"They haven't showed any guns yet, but I'm sure they're armed,"
Appleton told his chief.
"How is the place lighted by night?" O'Neil inquired.
"Oil torches," Slater answered. "Ah! We've been recognized. That comes
from being fat, I s'pose."
As he spoke a donkey-engine at the right of the proposed crossing set
up a noisy rattling, a thin steel cable whipped into view between the
rails, and from the left there appeared a contrivance which O'Neil eyed
curiously. It was a sort of drag, and rode back and forth upon the
rails.
"Humph! They'd better not put much trust in that," Murray grunted,
grimly.
"Don't fool yourself; it's no rubber-tired baby-carriage," said Slater.
"Our men are afraid of it."
After watching the device scuttle back and forth for a few moments
O'Neil said shortly:
"Post a notice at once, offering a thousand dollars for any man who
cuts that cable."
"A thousand--" Appleton gasped. "Why, I'll do it. Let me--"
"No, you won't," Slater broke in. "I'll take that on myself."
"I spoke first. It's my first chance," Dan cried.
"It's my job! I'm going--"
"Wait a minute!" O'Neil silenced the two, who were glaring at each
other angrily. "Don't let's have any fighting; there will be enough of
that later."
"I spoke first," Dan repeated, stubbornly.
"I had my mouth puckered to spit, that's why," the fat man explained.
"A fellow has to spit--"
"I'd rather you wouldn't volunteer, Dan," said O'Neil.
"Why?"
"You might get hurt."
"Happy Tom" nodded his agreement. "Certainly! Never send a boy on a
man's errand."
"And I don't want you to do it either, Tom, for the same reason."
Slater mumbled some sort of sour acquiescence, but Dan would not be
denied.
"You made the offer, and I took it up," he told O'Neil. "Somebody has
to make the first move, and I have a particular need for exactly one
thousand dollars. If they start a rumpus, it will give us the excuse
we're looking for. I've been studying that 'go-devil' through
field-glasses for two days now, and I'll guarantee to put it out of
commission before Gordon's men know what I'm about. Just forget the
reward, if you like, and give me a chance."
"What's your plan?" Slater inquired, eagerly; but Appleton shook his
head.
"No you don't, Tommy!" he said. "I'm wise to you."
Murray hesitated briefly, then gave his permission. "I'd rather you'd
let one of the rough-necks take the chance, but if you insist--"
"I do."
"Then get your sister's consent--"
Slater swore mournfully, as if from a heart filled with black despair.
"Ain't that my luck? One cud of gum cost me a thousand dollars! Hell!
It would take a millionaire to afford a habit like that." He expelled
the gum violently and went grumbling off up the track.
"Sis won't object," said Dan, lightly. "She'd offer to do the trick
herself, for she's getting the spirit of the work."
When O'Neil had managed to regain the camp he began preparations for an
attack that very night, using the telephone busily. News of the coming
affray quickly spread, and both the day and night shifts discussed it
excitedly at supper-time.
Nor was the excitement lessened when a loaded gravel-train rolled in
and Dr. Gray descended from it with his emergency kit and two helpers
from the hospital at Omar.
Up to this point both Eliza and Natalie had hoped that the affair might
not, after all, turn out to be very serious, but the presence of the
grim-faced surgeon and the significant preparations he set about making
boded otherwise. Eliza undertook to reason with her brother, but her
words refused to come. As a matter of fact, deep down in her heart was
a great rebellion at the fate which had made her a woman and thus
debarred her from an active part in the struggle. Natalie, on the other
hand, was filled with dread, and she made a much more vigorous attempt
to dissuade Dan from his purpose than did his sister. But he refused to
heed even her, and soon hurried away to finish his preparations.
After supper the camp settled itself to wait for darkness. Night was
slow in coming, and long before Appleton signified his readiness
speculation was rife. With the approach of twilight the torches along
Gordon's grade began to glow brightly. Then Dan set his watch with
"Happy Tom's," kissed Eliza, and made off across the tundra. He left
the S. R. & N. at right angles and continued in that direction for a
mile or more before swinging about in a wide circle which brought him
well to the rear of Gordon's encampment. The gloom now covered his
movements, and by taking advantage of an alder thicket he managed to
approach very closely to the enemy's position. But the footing was
treacherous, the darkness betrayed him into many a fall, and he was
wet, muddy, and perspiring when he finally paused not more than two
hundred feet from the scene of the proposed crossing.
XV
THE BATTLE OF GORDON'S CROSSING
Curtis Gordon was not in charge of his field forces, having left the
command to his favorite jackal, Denny. Beneath his apparent contempt
for the law there lurked a certain caution. He knew his rival's
necessity, he appreciated his cunning, but, wishing to guard against
the possibility of a personal humiliation, he retired to Kyak, where he
was prepared to admit or to deny as much responsibility as suited him.
Denny had not forgotten O'Neil's exposure of his dishonesty, and his
zeal could be relied upon. He personally knew all the men under him, he
had coached them carefully, and he assured Gordon of his ability to
hold his ground.
Dan Appleton, from his covert, measured the preparations for resistance
with some uneasiness, reflecting that if Denny had the nerve to use
firearms he would undoubtedly rout O'Neil's men, who had not been
permitted to carry guns. By the bright torchlight he could see figures
coming and going along the grade like sentinels, and from within the
barricades of ties he heard others talking. The camp itself, which lay
farther to the left, was lighted, and black silhouettes were painted
against the canvas walls and roofs. Some one was playing an accordion,
and its wailing notes came to him intermittently. He saw that steam was
up in the boiler which operated the "go-devil," although the
contrivance itself was stationary. It was upon this that he centered
his attention, consulting his watch nervously.
At last ten o'clock came, bringing with it a sound which startled the
near-by camp into activity. It was a shrill blast from an S. R. & N.
locomotive and the grinding of car-wheels. The accordion ceased its
complaint, men poured out of the lighted tents, Appleton moved
cautiously out from cover.
He stumbled forward through the knee-deep mud and moss, bearing
slightly to his right, counting upon the confusion to mask his
approach. He timed it to that of the gravel-train, which came slowly
creaking nearer, rocking over the uneven tracks, then down upon the
half-submerged rails which terminated near the opposing grade. It
stopped finally, with headlight glaring into the faces of Denny and his
troops, and from the high-heaped flat cars tumbled an army of
pick-and-shovel men. During this hullabaloo Appleton slipped out of the
marsh and climbed the gravel-bed in time to see the steel cable of the
skip tighten, carrying the drag swiftly along the track. The endless
cable propelling the contrivance ran through a metal block which was
secured to a deadhead sunk between the ties, and up to this post Dan
hastened. He carried a cold-chisel and hammer, but he found no use for
them, for the pulley was roped to the deadhead. Drawing his knife, he
sawed at the manila strands. Men were all around him, but in their
excitement they took no notice of him. Not until he had nearly
completed his task was he discovered; then some one raised a shout. The
next instant they charged upon him, but his work had been done. With a
snap the ropes parted, the cable went writhing and twisting up the
track, the unwieldy apparatus came to a stop.
Dan found himself beset by a half-dozen of the enemy, who, having
singled him out of the general confusion as the cause of disaster, came
at him head-long. But by this time O'Neil's men were pouring out of the
darkness and overrunning the grade so rapidly that there was little
opportunity for concerted action. Appleton had intended, as soon as he
had cut the cable, to beat a hasty retreat into the marsh; but now,
with the firm gravel road-bed under his feet and the battle breaking
before his eyes, he changed his mind. He carried a light heart, and the
love of trouble romped through his veins. He lowered his head,
therefore, and ran toward his assailants.
He met the foremost one fairly and laid him out. He vanquished the
second, then closed with a burly black man who withstood him capably.
They went down together, and Dan began to repent his haste, for blows
rained upon him and he became the target, not only of missiles of every
kind, but of heavy hobnailed shoes that were more dangerous than
horses' hoofs.
The engineer dearly loved a fair fight, even against odds, but this was
entirely different: he was trampled, stamped upon, kicked; he felt
himself being reduced to a pulp beneath the overpowering numbers of
those savage heels. The fact that the black man received an equal share
of the punishment was all that saved Dan. Over and over between the
ties the two rolled, scorning no advantage, regarding no rules of
combat, each striving to protect himself at the other's expense.
They were groveling there in a tangle of legs and arms when "Happy Tom"
came down the grade, leading a charge which swept the embankment clean.
The boss packer had equipped his command with pick-handles and now set
a brilliant example in the use of this, his favorite weapon. For once
the apathetic Slater was fully roused; he was tremendous, irresistible.
In his capable grasp the oaken cudgel became both armor and flail; in
defense it was as active as a fencing-master's foil, in offense as
deadly as the kick of a mule. Beneath his formless bulk were the
muscles of a gladiator; his eye had all the quickness of a
prize-fighter. There was something primeval, appallingly ferocious
about the fat man, too: he fought with a magnificent enthusiasm, a
splendid abandon. And yet, in spite of his rage, he was clear-headed,
and his ears were sensitively strained for the sound of the first
gunshot-something he dreaded beyond measure.
He was sobbing as much from anxiety as from the violence of his
exertions when he tore Appleton from the clutch of the black man and
set him on his feet.
"Are you hurt, son?" he gasped.
"Sure! I'm--hurt like hell." Dan spat out a mouthful of blood and sand.
"Gimme a club."
"Go back yonder," Tom directed, swiftly. "Nail Denny before he gets 'em
to shooting. Kill him if you have to. I'll take care of these fellers."
The younger man saw that the engagement at this end of the line was no
longer general, but had become a series of individual combats, so he
made what haste he could toward the scene of the more serious encounter
to the right of the crossing. He judged that the issue was still in
doubt there, although he could make out little in the confusion on
account of the glaring headlight, which dazzled him.
As he ran, however, he discovered that the S. R. & N. forces were in
possession of the middle ground, having divided the enemy's ranks like
a wedge, and this encouraged him. Out of the darkness to right and left
came shouts, curses, the sounds of men wallowing about in the knee-deep
tundra. They were Gordon's helpers who had been routed from their
positions.