Afterward it seemed that he began to dream. Somber individuals were
crushing his limbs between great rollers. Frisky little ghouls were
sticking needles into him, and there were so many needles that it seemed
that every inch of his skin was being tortured at the same instant.
[Illustration: Every inch of his skin was being tortured 197-224]
The agony grew intense. He was trying to cry out, and a giant hand was
over his mouth. And when the pain became so excruciating that it did not
seem as if nature could longer endure it, he opened his eyes.
A sludge-dish hooked to a beam shed its yellow glimmer of light upon a
strange interior.
There was no more strange figure in the place than Parker himself. He
was stripped and seated in a half-hogshead filled with water, from which
vapors were rising. His first wild thought was that the water was hot
and was blistering him. He screamed in the agony of alarm and strove to
rise.
But hands on his shoulders forced him down again. These hands were
rubbing snow upon him. Then the young man realized that his sensations
were produced by icy cold water. Parker felt that cloths bound snow and
ice to his ears and face.
A glance showed him that he was in a rude log camp. The chinked walls
were bare and solid. The interior was spacious, and a big fireplace
promised warmth.
The most astonishing of all in the place were its visible tenants--a
multitude of cats. Some were huddled on benches, their assorted colors
and markings composing a strange medley. Others stalked about the cabin.
Many sat before the embers in the fireplace. A half-score were grouped
about the hogshead and its occupant, with their tails wound round their
feet, and were solemnly observing the work of reanimating the stranger.
Here and there among taciturn felines of larger growth little spike-tail
kits were rolling, cuffing, frolicking and miauing. For a moment the
scene seemed a part of his delirium.
Parker turned round to survey his benefactor. He found him to be an old
man, shaggy of beard and hair. A pointed cap of fur covered his head.
He was dressed in rough garb--belted woolen jacket, trousers awkwardly
patched, leggings rolled above the knee, and yellow moccasins. Although
he was the ordinary type of the woods recluse, there was kindliness in
his expression, as well as a benignant gleam in his eye that was not
usual.
“How d'ye feel?” he asked, solicitously.
“As if I were being pounded with mallets and torn by pincers.”
“All over?”
“Yes, all over!” snapped Parker, rather ungraciously.
“That's good,” drawled the old man, rubbing more snow briskly on the
aching flesh. “I guess I'm goin' to save ye, down to the last toe.”
“If aches will do it I'm saved!” groaned the young man.
“I wouldn't 'a' gi' a copper cent for ye when I got ye here to camp,”
the old man proceeded, “but I've done the very best I could, mister, to
fetch ye round. I hope ye ain't a-goin' to complain on me,” he added,
wistfully.
“Complain on you?” Parker demanded. “Do you think I owe myself a grudge
for coming back to life?”
“I should like to ask ye a fair question,” said the old man.
“I'll answer any questions.”
“Be ye a game-warden?”
“No, sir, I am not.”
The honest ring of that negative was unmistakable. The old man sighed
with relief.
“When I found ye done up in that co't I thought ye was a game-warden,
sure.”
“Look here,” Parker demanded, with asperity, “did you sit there and
blaze away at me with any suspicion that I was a human being?”
“Land bless ye, no!” cried the old man, with a shocked sincerity there
was no doubting. “I never harmed any one in all my life. But I was
feelin' so good over savin' ye that I had to have my little joke. I was
out this mornin' as us'al, after meat for my cats. I have to work hard
to keep 'em in meat, mister. I can't stand round and see my kitties
starve--no, s'r! Wal, I was out after meat, an' was takin' home a deer
when I see what any man, even with better eyesight than mine, would have
called a brown bear trodgin' round a tree an' sharp'nin' his claws. What
he was up to out of his den in such weather I didn't know, but of course
I fired, an' I kept firin'. An' when at last I fired an' he didn't bob
out any more, I crept up an' took a look. I thought I'd faint when I
see what I see--a man in a buffl'ler co't wrong side to an' his head all
tied up an' his arms fastened behind him. Land, if it didn't give me a
start! Wal, I left my deer right there an' h'isted ye on my sled, and
struck across Little Moxie for my camp here on the double-quick, now I
can tell ye. Ye was froze harder'n a doorknob, but I guess I'm goin' to
have ye out all complete. Lemme see your ears.”
He carefully undid the cloths, to an accompaniment of groans from
Parker.
“They're red's pinys. No need to worry one mite, mister. Come out o'
your water whilst I rub ye down. Then to bed with a cup o' hot tea, and
hooray for Doctor Joshua Ward!”
“I might have known you were Joshua Ward when I noticed all those cats,”
said Parker. So this was Colonel Gideon's brother! He was too weak and
ill to feel or display much surprise at the meeting.
“Most every one hereabouts has heard o' me,” the old man admitted,
mildly. “Some men have fast hosses, some men have big liberies, some men
like to spend their money on paintin's an' statues. But for me, I like
cats, even if they do keep me running my legs off after meat. Hey,
pussy?” and he stooped and stroked the head of a huge cat that arched
its back and leaned against his leg.
“Mr. Joshua Ward,” said Parker, grimly, “you'd probably like to know how
I happened to be prowling round through the forest dressed up so as to
play bear?”
“I was meditatin' that ye'd tell me by n' by, if it wa'n't any secret,”
the old man replied, humbly.
“Well, I think you have a right to know. You possess a personal interest
in the matter, Mr. Ward. I was tied up and sent away to be killed or to
be turned out to die by a man named Colonel Gideon Ward.”
To Parker's surprise the old man did not stop in his rubbing, but said,
plaintively, “I was almost afeard it might be some o' Gid's works,
or, to say the least his puttin' up. He don't improve any as he grows
older.”
“You have pretty good reason to know how much chance there is for
improvement in Gideon Ward,” suggested Parker, bitterly.
“Fam'ly matters, fam'ly matters, young man,” murmured Joshua,
reprovingly. “But I ain't tryin' to excuse Brother Gideon, ye
understand. I'm afeard that when the time of trial does come to him, he
will find that the hand of the Lord is heavy in punishment. I've had a
good part of a lifetime, young man, to think all these things over in
this place up here. A man gets near to God in these woods. A man can
put away the little thoughts. The warm sun thaws his hate; the big winds
blow out the flame of anger; the great trees sing only one song, and
high or low, it's 'Hush--hush-h-h--hush-h-h-h!'” The voice of the man
softly imitated the soughing of the pines.
Parker stumbled to his bunk, his feet still uncertain, drank his tea,
and slept.
The next morning, after the breakfast of bread and venison, the host
said: “Young man, now that you have slept on your anger, I wish you'd
tell me the story of your trouble with my brother Gideon. I know that he
has been rough and hard with men, but many have been rough and hard with
him. This is a country where all the men are rough and hard. But I fear
that had it not been for the good God and these old hands of mine, my
brother would be now little else than a murderer. Tell me the story.”
His voice trembled with apology and apprehension.
Parker stated all the circumstances faithfully and impartially. At the
conclusion Joshua's eyes glowed with fires that had not been seen in
them for years. He struck his brown fist down on his rude table.
“Defying God's law and man's law to the disgrace of himself and all his
name! And you had not been rough and hard to him,” he cried. “Bitter,
bitter news you bring to me, Mr. Parker.”
There was a long pause, and at last Joshua Ward went on:
“Mr. Parker, that man is my own--my only brother, no matter how other
people look at him. I have saved your life. Will you give me one chance
to straighten this matter out?”
“You mean?”
“I mean that if Gideon Ward will pay for the damage he has done your
property, ask your forgiveness as a man, and promise to keep away and
let you alone, will you be charitable enough to let the matter rest?”
Parker pondered a while with set lips. It cost a struggle to forego
vengeance on that wretch, but many issues were involved, principally
the early completion of the railroad and his consequent favor with his
employers.
“Mr. Ward,” he declared, at last, “I came down here to build a railroad,
not to get entangled in the courts. For your sake and the sake of my
project I will give your brother an opportunity to make atonement on the
conditions you name. I owe my life to you, and I will discharge part of
my obligation in the way you ask.”
“Are you afraid to accompany me back to Number 7 camp?”
“No, sir!” In his turn Parker struck the table. “I am ready to go
back there alone and charge that man with his crime, and depend on the
manhood of his crew to stand neutral while I take him and deliver him
over to the law. And that I will do if you fail in your endeavors.”
The old man was silent. He made no attempt to soften the young man's
indignation or resolution. Parker noted that his lips tightened as tho
with solemn, inward resolve.
During the remainder of his convalescing stay in the camp the subject of
Gideon Ward was not broached again.
The hermit beguiled the hours with simple narratives of the woods, his
cats on knees and shoulders. He had no complaints for the past or the
present and no misgivings as to the future, so it appeared from his
talk.
Parker came to realize that under his peculiar and, to the casual
observer, erratic mode of life there was a calm and sound philosophy
that he had cultivated in his retirement. He had the strange notions of
those who have lived much alone and in the wilderness. An unkind critic
would have dismissed him brusquely with the belief that his troubles had
unbalanced his mind. But Parker saw beneath all his eccentricity, and
as the hermit wistfully discoursed of the peace that the woods had given
him the young man conceived both respect and affection for this strange
character. His knowledge of Joshua's life tragedy pre-disposed him to
pity. He was grateful for the tender solicitude the old man had shown
toward him. At the end of his stay he sincerely loved the brother of his
enemy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN--THE BEAR OF THE BIG WOODS “BAITED” AFTER HIS OWN
FASHION
On the third morning Parker was able to travel. Joshua Ward had brought
the carcass of the slain deer across the lake on his sled, and the cats
of Little Moxie were left to rule the island and feast at will until the
return of the master.
On the day they set forth it was shortly after dark,--for they had
proceeded slowly on account of the young man's feet, when Parker again
looked down from the ridge upon Number 7 camp. If Colonel Gideon Ward
was not there, they proposed to follow along his line of camps until
they found him. Parker carried a shotgun with two barrels. The old man
bore his rifle. They advanced without hesitation over the creaking
snow, straight to the door of the main camp, and entered after the
unceremonious fashion of the woods.
A hundred men were ranged on the long benches called “deacons' seats,”
or lounged on the springy browse in their bunks. A man, with one leg
crossed over his knee, and flapping it to beat his time, was squawking a
lively tune on a fiddle, and a perspiring youth danced a jig on a square
of planking before the roaring fire. The air was dim with the smoke of
many pipes and with the steam from drying garments hung on long poles.
Connick removed his pipe when the door opened, and gazed under his hand,
held edgewise to his forehead.
“Why, hello, my bantam boy!” he bawled, in greeting. “What did you break
out o' the wangan and run away for?”
The fiddle stopped. The men crowded up from the bunks and deacons'
seats. All were as curious as magpies. They gazed with interest on
Parker's companion. But no one threatened them by look or gesture.
“Is Gideon Ward here?” inquired Joshua, blandly.
“Yes, I'm here!” came the answer, shouted from the pen at the farther
end. “What's wanted?”
“It's Joshua!” called the brother. “I'll come in.”
“Stay where you are!” cried Gideon; and the next moment he came
shouldering through the men, who fell back to let him pass.
The instant his keen gaze fell on the person who bore his brother
company he seemed to understand the situation perfectly. There was just
the suspicion of fear when he faced the blazing eyes of Parker, but he
snorted contemptuously and turned to his brother.
“Wal, Josh,” he cried, “out with it! What can I do for you?”
“The matter isn't one to be talked over in public, brother,” suggested
Joshua.
“I hain't any secrets in my life!” shouted Gideon, defiantly, as if he
proposed to anticipate and discount any allegations that his visitors
might produce.
“Ye don't refuse to let me talk a matter of business over with ye in
private, do ye, Gideon?”
“Colonel Ward,” said Parker, stepping forward, “your brother is ashamed
to show you up before these men.”
“Here, Connick, Hackett, any of you! Seize that runaway, and throw him
into the wangan till I get ready to attend to him!” commanded Ward.
The men did not move.
“Do as I tell ye!” bawled the colonel. “Twenty dollars to the men--fifty
dollars to the men who ketch an' tie him for me!”
Several rough-looking fellows came elbowing forward, tempted by the
reward. Parker raised his gun, but Connick was even quicker. The giant
seized an ax, and shouted:
“Keep back, all of ye! There's goin' to be fair play here to-night, an'
it's Dan Connick says so!”
“Connick,” Gideon's command was almost a scream, “don't you interfere in
what's none o' your business!”
“It's my business when a square man don't get his rights,” Connick
cried, with fully as much energy as the colonel, “and that chap is a
man, for he licked me clean and honest!”
A murmur almost like applause went through the crowd.
“Men,” broke in Parker, “I cannot expect to have friends here, and you
may all be enemies, but I have come back, knowing that woodsmen are on
the side of grit and fair dealing. Listen to me!”
In college Parker had been class orator and a debater of power. Now he
stood on a block of wood, and gazed upon a hundred bearded faces, on
which the flickering firelight played eerily. In the hush he could hear
the big winds wailing through the trees outside.
Ward stood in advance of the rest, his mighty fists clinched, his face
quivering and puckering in his passion. As the young man began to speak,
he attempted to bellow him into silence. But Connick strode forward,
put his massive hands on Gideon's shoulders, and thrust him down upon
a near-by seat. The big woodsman, his rebellion once started, seemed to
exult in it.
“One of the by-laws of this ly-cee-um is that the meetin' sha'n't be
disturbed!” he growled. “Colonel Gid Ward, ye will kindly listen to this
speech for the good of the order or I'll gag ye! You've had a good many
years to talk to us in and you've done it. Go ahead, young man! You've
got the floor an' Dan Connick's in the chair.” He rolled his sleeves
above his elbows and gazed truculently on the assemblage.
“For your brother's sake,” cried the young engineer, “I offer you one
more chance to listen to reason, Colonel Gideon Ward! Do you take it?”
“No!” was the infuriated shout.
“Then listen to the story of a scoundrel!”
[Illustration: Listen to the story of a scoundrel 216-246]
The men did listen, for Parker spoke with all the eloquence that
indignation and honest sentiment could inspire. He first told the story
of the wrecked life of the brother, and pointed to the bent figure
of the hermit of Little Moxie, standing in the shadows. Once or twice
Joshua lifted his quavering voice in feeble protest, but the ringing
tones of the young man overbore his halting speech. Several times
Connick was obliged to force the colonel back on the deacons' seat, each
time with more ferocity of mien.
Then Parker came to his own ambitions to carry out the orders of his
employers. He explained the legal status of the affair, and passed
quickly on to the exciting events of the night on which he had been
bound and sent upon his ride into the forest, to meet some fate, he
knew not what. He described the brutal slaughter of the moose, and the
immediate dismemberment of the animal. He noticed with interest that
many men who had displayed no emotion as he described poor old Joshua's
sufferings now grunted angrily at hearing the revelation concerning
the fate of Ben, the camp mascot. This dramatic explanation of Ward's
furious cruelty to the poor beast proved, curiously enough, the turning
point in Parker's favor, even with the roughest of the crew. Then Parker
described how he had been rescued and brought back to life by the old
man whom Gideon Ward had so abused.
“And now, my men,” he concluded, “I am come back among you; and I ask
you all to stand back, so that it may now be man to man--so that I may
take this brutal tyrant who has abused us all, and deliver him over to
the law that is waiting to punish him as he deserves.”
He leaped down, seized a halter, and advanced with the apparent
intention of seizing and binding the colonel.
“Are ye goin' to stand here, ye hunderd cowards, an' see the man that
gives ye your livin' lugged away to jail?” Gideon shouted, retreating.
He glared on their faces. The men turned their backs and moved away.
He crouched almost to the floor, brandishing his fists above his head.
“I've got ten camps in this section,” he shrieked, “an' any one of them
will back me aginst the whole United States army if I ask 'em to! They
ain't the cowards that I've got here. I'll come back here an' pay ye off
for this!”
Before any one could stop him, for the men had left him standing alone,
he precipitated his body through the panes of glass of the nearest
window, and almost before the crash had ceased he was making away into
the night Connick led the rush of men to the narrow door, but the mob
was held them for a few precious moments, fighting with one another for
egress.
“If we don't catch him,” the foreman roared, “he'll be back on us with
an army of cut-throats!”
But when the crew went streaming forth at last, Colonel Ward was out of
sight in the forest. Lanterns were brought, and the search prosecuted
earnestly, but his moccasined feet were not to be traced on the frozen
crust.
The chase was abandoned after an hour, for the clouds that had hung
heavy all day long began to sift down snow; and soon a blizzard howled
through the threshing spruces and hemlocks.
“It's six miles to the nearest camp,” said Connick, when the crew was
again assembled at Number 7, “an' in order to dodge us he prob'ly kept
out of the tote-road. I should say that the chances of Gid Ward's ever
get-tin' out o' the woods alive in this storm wa'n't worth that!” He
snapped his fingers.
“It is not right for us to come back here an' leave him out there!”
cried the brother.
“He took his chances,” the foreman replied, “when he went through that
window. There's a good many reasons why I'd like to see him back here,
Mr. Ward, but I'm sorry to have to tell ye, ye bein' a brother of his,
that love ain't one o' them.”
“I shall go alone, then,” said the old man, firmly.
“Brotherly love is worth respect, Mr. Ward,” Connick declared, “but I
ain't the kind of man that stands idle an' sees suicide committed. Ye've
done your full duty by your brother. Now I'm goin' to do my duty by you.
You don't go through that door till this storm is over!”
The next day the wind raged on and the snow piled its drifts. Joshua
Ward sat silent by the fire, his head in his hands, or stood in the
“dingle,” gazing mournfully out into the smother of snowflakes. It would
be a mad undertaking to venture abroad. He realized it and needed no
further restraint.
But the dawn of the third day was crisp and bright. Soon after sunrise a
panting woodsman, traveling at his top speed on snow-shoes, halted for a
hasty bite at Number 7. He was a messenger from the camp above.
“Colonel Gid Ward was picked up yesterday froze pretty nigh solid!” he
gulped out, between his mouthfuls. “I'm goin' down for a doctor,” and
then he went striding away, even as Joshua Ward took the up-trail.
Parker spent all that day in sober thought, and then, forming his
resolution, took passage on the first tote-team that went floundering
through toward Sunkhaze. His departure was neither hindered nor
encouraged.