The Golden Snare

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER VIII

  It must have been fully half a minute that Bram stood like a livingcreature turned suddenly into dead stone. His eyes had left Philip'sface and were fixed on the woven tress of shining hair. For the firsttime his thick lips had fallen agape. He did not seem to breathe. Atthe end of the thirty seconds his hand unclenched from about the whipand the club and they fell into the snow. Slowly, his eyes still fixedon the snare as if it held for him an overpowering fascination, headvanced a step, and then another, until he reached out and took fromPhilip the thing which he held. He uttered no word. But from his eyesthere disappeared the greenish fire. The lines in his heavy facesoftened and his thick lips lost some of their cruelty as he held upthe snare before his eyes so that the light played on its sheen ofgold. It was then that Philip saw that which must have meant a smile inBram's face.

  Still this strange man made no spoken sound as he coiled the silkenthread around one of his great fingers and then placed it somewhereinside his coat. He seemed, all at once, utterly oblivious of Philip'spresence. He picked up the revolver, gazed heavily at it for a moment,and with a grunt which must have reflected his mental decision hurledit far out over the plain. Instantly the wolves were after it in a madrush. The knife followed the revolver; and after that, as coolly asthough breaking firewood, the giant went to Philip's rifle, braced itacross his knee, and with a single effort snapped the stock off closeto the barrel.

  "The devil!" growled Philip.

  He felt a surge of anger rise in him, and for an instant theinclination to fling himself at Bram in the defense of his property. Ifhe had been helpless a few minutes before, he was utterly so now. Inthe same breath it flashed upon him that Bram's activity in thedestruction of his weapons meant that his life was spared, at least forthe present. Otherwise Bram would not be taking these precautions.

  The futility of speech kept his own lips closed. At last Bram looked athim, and pointed to his snowshoes where he had placed them last nightagainst the snow dune. His invitation for Philip to prepare himself fortravel was accompanied by nothing more than a grunt.

  The wolves were returning, sneaking in watchfully and alert. Bramgreeted them with the snap of his whip, and when Philip was readymotioned him to lead the way into the north. Half a dozen paces behindPhilip followed Bram, and twice that distance behind the outlaw camethe pack. Now that his senses were readjusting themselves and his pulsebeating more evenly Philip began to take stock of the situation. Itwas, first of all, quite evident that Bram had not accepted him as atraveling companion, but as a prisoner; and he was equally convincedthat the golden snare had at the last moment served in some mysteriousway to save his life.

  It was not long before he saw how Bram had out-generaled him. Two milesbeyond the big drift they came upon the outlaw's huge sledge, fromwhich Bram and his wolves had made a wide circle in order to stalk himfrom behind. The fact puzzled him. Evidently Bram had expected hisunknown enemy to pursue him, and had employed his strategy accordingly.Why, then, had he not attacked him the night of the caribou kill?

  He watched Bram as he got the pack into harness. The wolves obeyed himlike dogs. He could perceive among them a strange comradeship, even anaffection, for the man-monster who was their master. Bram spoke to thementirely in Eskimo--and the sound of it was like the rapidCLACK--CLACK--CLACK of dry bones striking together. It was weirdlydifferent from the thick and guttural tones Bram used in speakingChippewyan and the half-breed patois.

  Again Philip made an effort to induce Bram to break his oppressivesilence. With a suggestive gesture and a hunch of his shoulders henodded toward the pack, just as they were about to start.

  "If you thought I tried to kill you night before last why didn't youset your wolves after me, Bram--as you did those other two over on theBarren north of Kasba Lake? Why did you wait until this morning? Andwhere--WHERE in God's name are we going?"

  Bram stretched out an arm.

  "There!"

  It was the one question he answered, and he pointed straight as theneedle of a compass into the north. And then, as if his crude sense ofhumor had been touched by the other thing Philip had asked, he burstinto a laugh. It made one shudder to see laughter in a face likeBram's. It transformed his countenance from mere ugliness into one ofthe leering gargoyles carven under the cornices of ancient buildings.It was this laugh, heard almost at Bram's elbow, that made Philipsuddenly grip hard at a new understanding--the laugh and the look inBram's eyes. It set him throbbing, and filled him all at once with thedesire to seize his companion by his great shoulders and shake speechfrom his thick lips. In that moment, even before the laughter had gonefrom Bram's face, he thought again of Pelletier. Pelletier must havebeen like this--in those terrible days when he scribbled the randomthoughts of a half-mad man on his cabin door.

  Bram was not yet mad. And yet he was fighting the thing that had killedPelletier. Loneliness. The fate forced upon him by the law because hehad killed a man.

  His face was again heavy and unemotional when with a gesture he madePhilip understand that he was to ride on the sledge. Bram himself wentto the head of the pack. At the sharp clack of his Eskimo the wolvesstrained in their traces. Another moment and they were off, with Bramin the lead.

  Philip was amazed at the pace set by the master of the pack. With headand shoulders hunched low he set off in huge swinging strides that keptthe team on a steady trot behind him. They must have traveled eightmiles an hour. For a few minutes Philip could not keep his eyes fromBram and the gray backs of the wolves. They fascinated him, and at thesame time the sight of them--straining on ahead of him into a voicelessand empty world--filled him with a strange and overwhelming compassion.He saw in them the brotherhood of man and beast. It was splendid. Itwas epic. And to this the Law had driven them!

  His eyes began to take in the sledge then. On it was a roll of bearskins--Bram's blankets. One was the skin of a polar bear. Near theseskins were the haunches of caribou meat, and so close to him that hemight have reached out and touched it was Bram's club. At the side ofthe club lay a rifle. It was of the old breech-loading, single-shottype, and Philip wondered why Bram had destroyed his own modern weaponinstead of keeping it in place of this ancient Company relic. It alsomade him think of night before last, when he had chosen for his refugea tree out in the starlight.

  The club, even more than the rifle, bore marks of use. It was of birch,and three feet in length. Where Bram's hand gripped it the wood wasworn as smooth and dark as mahogany. In many places the striking end ofthe club was dented as though it had suffered the impact of tremendousblows, and it was discolored by suggestive stains. There was no sign ofcooking utensils and no evidence of any other food but the caribouflesh. On the rear of the sledge was a huge bundle of pitch-soakedspruce tied with babiche, and out of this stuck the crude handle of anax.

  Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip most.He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and thethought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man ahead ofhim struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock. Bram hadevidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident in theprotection of the pack. Or--had he faith in his prisoner? It was thislast question that Philip would liked to have answered in theaffirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a less desireto escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his personal intentions wereconcerned, that he was an agent of the Law--under oath to bring in toDivisional Headquarters Bram's body dead or alive. Since night beforelast Bram had ceased to be a criminal for him. He was like Pelletier,and through him he was entering upon a strange adventure which held forhim already the thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he hadnever experienced in the game of man-hunting.

  Had the golden snare been taken from the equation--had he not felt thethrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of it as itlay unbound on Pierre Breault's table, his present relation with BramJohnson he would have considered as a purely physical condition, and hemight then have accepted
the presence of the rifle there within hisreach as a direct invitation from Providence.

  As it was, he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding swiftlyto the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had seen thestrange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief within him hadbecome positive. And now, as his eyes turned from the inspection of thesledge to Bram and his wolves, he wondered where the trail was takinghim. Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north forCoronation Gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skinwas only slightly worn--that it had not long been taken from the backof the animal that had worn it. He recalled what he could remember ofhis geography. Their course, if continued in the direction Bram was nowheading, would take them east of the Great Slave and the Great Bear,and they would hit the Arctic somewhere between Melville Sound and theCoppermine River. It was a good five hundred miles to the Eskimosettlements there. Bram and his wolves could make it in ten days,possibly in eight.

  If his guess was correct, and Coronation Gulf was Bram's goal, he hadfound at least one possible explanation for the tress of golden hair.

  The girl or woman to whom it had belonged had come into the northaboard a whaling ship. Probably she was the daughter or the wife of themaster. The ship had been lost in the ice--she had been saved by theEskimo--and she was among them now, with other white men. Philippictured it all vividly. It was unpleasant--horrible. The theory ofother white men being with her he was conscious of forcing upon himselfto offset the more reasonable supposition that, as in the case of thegolden snare, she belonged to Bram. He tried to free himself of thatthought, but it clung to him with a tenaciousness that oppressed himwith a grim and ugly foreboding. What a monstrous fate for a woman! Heshivered. For a few moments every instinct in his body fought to assurehim that such a thing could not happen. And yet he knew that it COULDhappen. A woman up there--with Bram! A woman with hair like spungold--and that giant half-mad enormity of a man!

  He clenched his hands at the picture his excited brain was painting forhim. He wanted to jump from the sledge, overtake Bram, and demand thetruth from him. He was calm enough to realize the absurdity of suchaction. Upon his own strategy depended now whatever answer he mightmake to the message chance had sent to him through the golden snare.

  For an hour he marked Bram's course by his compass. It was straightnorth. Then Bram changed the manner of his progress by riding in astanding position behind Philip. With his long whip he urged on thepack until they were galloping over the frozen level of the plain at aspeed that must have exceeded ten miles an hour. A dozen times Philipmade efforts at conversation. Not a word did he get from Bram in reply.Again and again the outlaw shouted to his wolves in Eskimo; he crackedhis whip, he flung his great arms over his head, and twice there rolledout of his chest deep peals of strange laughter. They had beentraveling more than two hours when he gave voice to a sudden commandthat stopped the pack, and at a second command--a staccato of shrillEskimo accompanied by the lash of his whip--the panting wolves sankupon their bellies in the snow.

  Philip jumped from the sledge, and Bram went immediately to the gun. Hedid not touch it, but dropped on his knees and examined it closely.Then he rose to his feet and looked at Philip, and there was no sign ofmadness in his heavy face as he said,

  "You no touch ze gun, m'sieu. Why you no shoot when I am there--at headof pack?"

  The calmness and directness with which Bram put the question after hislong and unaccountable silence surprised Philip.

  "For the same reason you didn't kill me when I was asleep, I guess," hesaid. Suddenly he reached out and caught Bram's arm. "Why the devildon't you come across!" he demanded. "Why don't you talk? I'm not afteryou--now. The Police think you are dead, and I don't believe I'd tipthem off even if I had a chance. Why not be human? Where are we going?And what in thunder--"

  He did not finish. To his amazement Bram flung back his head, openedhis great mouth, and laughed. It was not a taunting laugh. There was nohumor in it. The thing seemed beyond the control of even Bram himself,and Philip stood like one paralyzed as his companion turned quickly tothe sledge and returned in a moment with the gun. Under Philip's eyeshe opened the breech. The chamber was empty. Bram had placed in his waya temptation--to test him!

  There was saneness in that stratagem--and yet as Philip looked at theman now his last doubt was gone. Bram Johnson was hovering on theborderland of madness.

  Replacing the gun on the sledge, Bram began hacking off chunks of thecaribou flesh with a big knife. Evidently he had decided that it wastime for himself and his pack to breakfast. To each of the wolves hegave a portion, after which he seated himself on the sledge and begandevouring a slice of the raw meat. He had left the blade of his knifeburied in the carcass--an invitation for Philip to help himself. Philipseated himself near Bram and opened his pack. Purposely he beganplacing his food between them, so that the other might help himself ifhe so desired. Bram's jaws ceased their crunching. For a moment Philipdid not look up. When he did he was startled. Bram's eyes were blazingwith a red fire. He was staring at the cooked food. Never had Philipseen such a look in a human face before.

  He reached out and seized a chunk of bannock, and was about to biteinto it when with the snarl of a wild beast Bram dropped his meat andwas at him. Before Philip could raise an arm in defense his enemy hadhim by the throat. Back over the sledge they went. Philip scarcely knewhow it happened--but in another moment the giant had hurled him cleanover his head and he struck the frozen plain with a shock that stunnedhim. When he staggered to his feet, expecting a final assault thatwould end him, Bram was kneeling beside his pack. A mumbling andincoherent jargon of sound issued from his thick lips as he took stockof Philip's supplies. Of Philip himself he seemed now utterlyoblivious. Still mumbling, he dragged the pile of bear skins from thesledge, unrolled them, and revealed a worn and tattered dunnage bag. Atfirst Philip thought this bag was empty. Then Bram drew from it a fewsmall packages, some of them done up in paper and others in bark. Onlyone of these did Philip recognize--a half pound package of tea such asthe Hudson's Bay Company offers in barter at its stores. Into thedunnage bag Bram now put Philip's supplies, even to the last crumb ofbannock, and then returned the articles he had taken out, after whichhe rolled the bag up in the bear skins and replaced the skins on thesledge.

  After that, still mumbling, and still paying no attention to Philip, hereseated himself on the edge of the sledge and finished his breakfastof raw meat.

  "The poor devil!" mumbled Philip.

  The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he had spokenthem. He was still a little dazed by the shock of Bram's assault, butit was impossible for him to bear malice or thought of vengeance. InBram's face, as he had covetously piled up the different articles offood, he had seen the terrible glare of starvation--and yet he had noteaten a mouthful. He had stored the food away, and Philip knew it wasas much as his life was worth to contend its ownership.

  Again Bram seemed to be unconscious of his presence, but when Philipwent to the meat and began carving himself off a slice the wolf-man'seyes shot in his direction just once. Purposely he stood in front ofBram as he ate the raw steak, feigning a greater relish than heactually enjoyed in consuming his uncooked meal. Bram did not wait forhim to finish. No sooner had he swallowed the last of his own breakfastthan he was on his feet giving sharp commands to the pack. Instantlythe wolves were alert in their traces. Philip took his former positionon the sledge, with Bram behind him.

  Never in all the years afterward did he forget that day. As the hourspassed it seemed to him that neither man nor beast could very longstand the strain endured by Bram and his wolves. At times Bram rode onthe sledge for short distances, but for the most part he was runningbehind, or at the head of the pack. For the pack there was no rest.Hour after hour it surged steadily onward over the endless plain, andwhenever the wolves sagged for a moment in their traces Brain's whipsnapped over their gray backs and his voice rang out in fierceexhortation. So hard was the froz
en crust of the Barren that snowshoeswere no longer necessary, and half a dozen times Philip left the sledgeand ran with the wolf-man and his pack until he was winded. Twice heran shoulder to shoulder with Bram.

  It was in the middle of the afternoon that his compass told him theywere no longer traveling north--but almost due west. Every quarter ofan hour after that he looked at his compass. And always the course waswest.

  He was convinced that some unusual excitement was urging Bram on, andhe was equally certain this excitement had taken possession of him fromthe moment he had found the food in his pack. Again and again he heardthe strange giant mumbling incoherently to himself, but not once didBram utter a word that he could understand.

  The gray world about them was darkening when at last they stopped.

  And now, strangely as before, Bram seemed for a few moments to turninto a sane man.

  He pointed to the bundle of fuel, and as casually as though he had beenconversing with him all the day he said to Philip:

  "A fire, m'sieu."

  The wolves had dropped in their traces, their great shaggy headsstretched out between their paws in utter exhaustion, and Bram wentslowly down the line speaking to each one in turn. After that he fellagain into his stolid silence. From the bear skins he produced akettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of fagots towhich Philip was touching a match. Philip's tea pail he employed in thesame way.

  "How far have we come, Bram?" Philip asked.

  "Fift' mile, m'sieu," answered Bram without hesitation.

  "And how much farther have we to go?"

  Bram grunted. His face became more stolid. In his hand he was holdingthe big knife with which he cut the caribou meat. He was staring at it.From the knife he looked at Philip.

  "I keel ze man at God's Lake because he steal ze knife--an' call melie. I keel heem--lak that!"--and he snatched up a stick and broke itinto two pieces.

  His weird laugh followed the words. He went to the meat and begancarving off chunks for the pack, and for a long time after that onewould have thought that he was dumb. Philip made greater effort thanever to rouse him into speech. He laughed, and whistled, and once triedthe experiment of singing a snatch of the Caribou Song which he knewthat Bram must have heard many times before. As he roasted his steakover the fire he talked about the Barren, and the great herd of caribouhe had seen farther east; he asked Bram questions about the weather,the wolves, and the country farther north and west. More than once hewas certain that Bram was listening intently, but nothing more than anoccasional grunt was his response.

  For an hour after they had finished their supper they continued to meltsnow for drinking water for themselves and the wolves. Night shut themin, and in the glow of the fire Bram scooped a hollow in the snow for abed, and tilted the big sledge over it as a roof. Philip made himselfas comfortable as he could with his sleeping bag, using his tent as anadditional protection. The fire went out. Bram's heavy breathing toldPhilip that the wolf-man was soon asleep. It was a long time before hefelt a drowsiness creeping over himself.

  Later he was awakened by a heavy grasp on his arm, and roused himselfto hear Bram's voice close over him.

  "Get up, m'sieu."

  It was so dark he could not see Bram when he got on his feet, but hecould hear him a moment later among the wolves, and knew that he wasmaking ready to travel. When his sleeping-bag and tent were on thesledge he struck a match and looked at his watch. It was less than aquarter of an hour after midnight.

  For two hours Bram led his pack straight into the west. The nightcleared after that, and as the stars grew brighter and more numerous inthe sky the plain was lighted up on all sides of them, as on the nightwhen Philip had first seen Bram. By lighting an occasional match Philipcontinued to keep a record of direction and time. It was three o'clock,and they were still traveling west, when to his surprise they struck asmall patch of timber. The clump of stunted and wind-snarled sprucecovered no more than half an acre, but it was conclusive evidence theywere again approaching a timber-line.

  From the patch of spruce Bram struck due north, and for another hourtheir trail was over the white Barren. Soon after this they came to afringe of scattered timber which grew steadily heavier and deeper asthey entered into it. They must have penetrated eight or ten miles intothe forest before the dawn came. And in that dawn, gray and gloomy,they came suddenly upon a cabin.

  Philip's heart gave a jump. Here, at last, would the mystery of thegolden snare be solved. This was his first thought. But as they drewnearer, and stopped at the threshold of the door, he felt sweep overhim an utter disappointment. There was no life here. No smoke came fromthe chimney and the door was almost buried in a huge drift of snow. Histhoughts were cut short by the crack of Bram's whip. The wolves sweptonward and Bram's insane laugh sent a weird and shuddering echo throughthe forest.

  From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow-smotheredcabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He believed that Bramwas nearing the end of his trail. The wolves were dead tired. Thewolf-man himself was lagging, and since midnight had ridden morefrequently on the sledge. Still he drove on, and Philip searched withincreasing eagerness the trail ahead of them.

  It was eight o'clock--two hours after they had passed the cabin--whenthey came to the edge of a clearing in the center of which was a secondcabin. Here at a glance Philip saw there was life. A thin spiral ofsmoke was rising from the chimney. He could see only the roof of thelog structure, for it was entirely shut in by a circular stockade ofsaplings six feet high.

  Twenty paces from where Bram stopped his team was the gate of thestockade. Bram went to it, thrust his arm through a hole even with hisshoulders, and a moment later the gate swung inward. For perhaps aspace of twenty seconds he looked steadily at Philip, and for the firsttime Philip observed the remarkable change that had come into his face.It was no longer a face of almost brutish impassiveness. There was astrange glow in his eyes. His thick lips were parted as if on the pointof speech, and he was breathing with a quickness which did not come ofphysical exertion. Philip did not move or speak. Behind him he heardthe restless whine of the wolves. He kept his eyes on Bram, and as hesaw the look of joy and anticipation deepening in the wolf-man's facethe appalling thought of what it meant sickened him. He clenched hishands. Bram did not see the act. He was looking again toward the cabinand at the spiral of smoke rising out of the chimney.

  Then he faced Philip, and said,

  "M'sieu, you go to ze cabin."

  He held the gate open, and Philip entered. He paused to make certain ofBram's intention. The wolf-man swept an arm about the enclosure.

  "In ze pit I loose ze wolve, m'sieu."

  Philip understood. The stockade enclosure was Bram's wolf-pit, and Brammeant that he should reach the cabin before he gave the pack thefreedom of the corral. He tried to conceal the excitement in his faceas he turned toward the cabin. From the gate to the door ran a pathworn by many footprints, and his heart beat faster as he noted thesmallness of the moccasin tracks. Even then his mind fought against thepossibility of the thing. Probably it was an Indian woman who livedwith Bram, or an Eskimo girl he had brought down from the north.

  He made no sound as he approached the door. He did not knock, butopened it and entered, as Bram had invited him to do.

  From the gate Bram watched the cabin door as it closed behind him, andthen he threw back his head and such a laugh of triumph came from hislips that even the tired beasts behind him pricked up their ears andlistened.

  And Philip, in that same moment, had solved the mystery of the goldensnare.