The pent-up grief, remorse and a desire to avenge his father’s death,
must have given Roland McClintick superhuman strength that night. I
don’t know!
With surprising agility for one so frail he really had the advantage
over Rivers from the start, for Charlie had been too stunned to resist
after the hermit had identified himself.
We were too horrified at Rivers’ cruelty to the lynx to feel moved to
help him. Furthermore, McClintick’s accusations filled us with loathing
for the man who had lived, walked and talked with us.
There were no more cries. Just the heavy breathing of two men fighting
desperately for their lives. I heard a deep moan and then all was quiet.
The hermit stood in our firelight again, exhausted, his body shaking
with deep emotion. But on his face was a look of peace. The wild,
haunted expression had disappeared!
“He’s gone, fellows!” he said to us quietly. “Too good a death for him!”
Then he knelt down at the dead beast’s side and stroked the coat
affectionately.
“He was great company to me,” he explained, “strange as it may seem to
you. I found him almost dying the first night I came up here. Some beast
had shot his paw almost off. I’m glad he’s dead, though, he’d miss me if
he lived after me.”
“We’ll bury him for you,” Brent said, and it seemed to please him.
“We’re terribly sorry, McClintick!” Tom said, huskily. “How can we help
you?” McClintick looked up, his great eyes emphasized by the sunken
cheeks.
“Fellows,” he said, as though it was an effort, “you’re real men, all of
you. I’ve seen you at the Lodge. I’ve been stealing in there all this
time. I had to live somehow until I found Weston. Now I can go too!” He
straightened up for a second, then fell in a faint.
We worked over him and gradually he came to. Then he looked up, a sad,
sweet smile. It was pitiful!
“You can help me,” he gasped faintly, “back to _my Lodge_. I’ll show you
the way, if you’ll give me a lift.” He stood up between Tom and me, his
long, thin arms encircling our shoulders. Then he glanced at the dead
lynx as though he knew it was the last look he would take at the one
thing left in life to him.
Tom and I had to carry him almost, he was getting so weak, and finally
he told us that we had arrived. It wasn’t far from the cleft--just in a
little way.
Brent had the searchlight and McClintick nodded toward a huge boulder.
He said we’d have to crawl inside and then we could only sit up.
It proved to be a good-sized cave. The inside had been furnished with a
few things from the Lodge, such as pillows and blankets, and odds and
ends of things to make a fellow barely comfortable. We laid him down.
“I suffered terribly this winter,” he said, seeing us looking around.
“Didn’t think I’d survive it, but I did. Prayed for strength till Weston
came and I could give my money over to poor Mrs. Northrop. Insurance
money, it was! Blood money, I called it!
“That’s why I took Peter out of _my_ grave. The world thinks it’s mine
and it will be. He was too fine to be buried under a McClintick name.
_WE’ve_ been tainted!”
The fellow’s eyes seemed to be gazing afar and his thin hands twitched
at the blankets we had wrapped around him. Tom, Brent and I exchanged
significant glances. Roland McClintick’s life was nearly ended!
“Don’t let anyone tell you my father thought up that ghastly thing. He
was in Weston’s power!” he was talking very faintly. “It was on account
of some government fraud that Weston got my father, and he wanted
blackmail. Father didn’t have it.
“Weston knew how Pete had once taken the blame for me in a gambling
mess. That’s how he conceived the idea. And he threatened to expose
father unless he would consent to that means and get my insurance money.
It was all the money father could lay his hands on just then.
“I pleaded with father. It wasn’t any use. Weston had him and father was
weak enough to be afraid. And the morning after I left for Montreal they
lured Peter out there. He died for me. I’ve been almost crazy!”
We tried to soothe him but soon he closed his world-weary eyes!
We stood outside the cave in the dim, wet dawn. The sad affair was
ended!
“The debts are all paid,” Brent said. “Now Leatherstocking Training Camp
can start its career with a clean slate, eh Tommy?”
“Sure thing!” Tom replied.
The rain had stopped, and away in the east a glint of pink light
streaked the far horizon. The odor of wet pine filled the air.
Like two vast curtains, the dark heavens parted slowly and the sun, like
the true scout smile, came shining through!
FINIS