The Golden Snare
Page 20
CHAPTER XX
Philip came up behind the windowless end of the cabin. He noticed inpassing with Bram that on the opposite side was a trap-window ofsaplings, and toward this he moved swiftly but with caution. It wasstill closed when he came where he could see. But with his ear close tothe chinks he heard a sound--the movement of some one inside. For aninstant he looked over his shoulder. Celia was standing where he hadleft her. He could almost feel the terrible suspense that was in hereyes as she watched him.
He moved around toward the door. There was in him an intense desire tohave it over with quickly. His pulse quickened as the thought grew inhim that the maker of the strange snowshoe trail might be a friendafter all. But how was he to discover that fact? He had decided to takeno chances in the matter. Ten seconds of misplaced faith in thestranger might prove fatal. Once he held a gun in his hands he would bein a position to wait for introductions and explanations. But untilthen, with their Eskimo enemies close at their heels--
His mind did not finish that final argument. The end of it smashed uponhim in another way. The door came within his vision. As it swung inwardhe could not at first see whether it was open or closed. Leaningagainst the logs close to the door was a pair of long snowshoes and abundle of javelins. A sickening disappointment swept over him as hestared at the javelins. A giant Eskimo and not a white man had made thetrail they had followed. Their race against time had brought themstraight to the rendezvous of their foes--and there would be no guns.In that moment when all the hopes he had built up seemed slipping awayfrom under him he could see no other possible significance in thepresence of the javelins. Then, for an instant, he held his breath andsniffed the air like a dog getting the wind. The cabin door was open.And out through that door came the mingling aroma of coffee andtobacco! An Eskimo might have tobacco, or even tea. But coffee--never!
Every drop of blood in his body pounded like tiny beating fists as hecrossed silently and swiftly the short space between the corner of thecabin and the open door. For perhaps half a dozen seconds he closed hiseyes to give his snow-strained vision an even chance with the man inthe cabin. Then he looked in.
It was a small cabin. It was possibly not more than ten feet squareinside, and at the far end of it was a fireplace from which rose thechimney through the roof. At first Philip saw nothing except the dimoutlines of things. It was a moment or two before he made out thefigure of a man stooping over the fire. He stepped over the threshold,making no sound. The occupant of the cabin straightened himself slowly,lifting with, extreme care a pot of coffee from the embers. A glance athis broad back and his giant stature told Philip that he was not anEskimo. He turned. Even then for an infinitesimal space he did not seePhilip as he stood fronting the door with the light in his face. It wasa white man's face--a face almost hidden in a thick growth of beard anda tangle of hair that fell to the shoulders. Another instant and he hadseen the intruder and stood like one turned suddenly into stone.
Philip had leveled Celie's little revolver.
"I am Philip Raine of His Majesty's service, the Royal Mounted," hesaid. "Throw, up your hands!"
The moment's tableau was one of rigid amazement on one side, of waitingtenseness on the other. Philip believed that the shadow of his bodyconcealed the size of the tiny revolver in his hand. Anyway it would beeffective at that distance, and he expected to see the mysteriousstranger's hands go over his head the moment he recovered from theshock that had apparently gone with the command. What did happen heexpected least of all. The arm holding the pot of steaming coffee shotout and the boiling deluge hissed straight at Philip's face. He duckedto escape it, and fired. Before he could throw back the hammer of thelittle single-action weapon for a second shot the stranger was at him.The force of the attack sent them both crashing back against the wallof the cabin, and in the few moments that followed Philip blessed theprovidential forethought that had made him throw off his fur coat andstrip for action. His antagonist was not an ordinary man. A growl likethat of a beast rose in his throat as they went to the floor, and inthat death-grip Philip thought of Bram.
More than once in watching the wolf-man he had planned how he would pithimself against the giant if it came to a fight, and how he would evadethe close arm-to-arm grapple that would mean defeat for him. And thisman was Bram's equal in size and strength. He realized with the swiftjudgment of the trained boxer that open fighting and the evasion of theother's crushing brute strength was his one hope. On his knees he flunghimself backward, and struck out. The blow caught his antagonistsquarely in the face before he had succeeded in getting a firm clinch,and as he bent backward under the force of the blow Philip exertedevery ounce of his strength, broke the other's hold, and sprang to hisfeet.
He felt like uttering a shout of triumph. Never had the thrill ofmastery and of confidence surged through him more hotly than it didnow. On his feet in open fighting he had the agility of a cat. Thestranger was scarcely on his feet before he was at him with a straightshoulder blow that landed on the giant's jaw with crushing force. Itwould have put an ordinary man down in a limp heap. The other's weightsaved him. A second blow sent him reeling against the log wall like asack of grain. And then in the half-gloom of the cabin Philip missed.He put all his effort in that third blow and as his clenched fist shotover the other's shoulder he was carried off his balance and foundhimself again in the clutch of his enemy's arms. This time a huge handfound his throat. The other he blocked with his left arm, while withhis right he drove in short-arm jabs against neck and jaw. Theirineffectiveness amazed him. His guard-arm was broken upward, and toescape the certain result of two hands gripping at his throat he took asudden foot-lock on his adversary, flung all his weight forward, andagain they went to the floor of the cabin.
Neither caught a glimpse of the girl standing wide-eyed and terrifiedin the door. They rolled almost to her feet. Full in the light she sawthe battered, bleeding face of the strange giant, and Philip's fiststriking it again and again. Then she saw the giant's two hands, andwhy he was suffering that punishment. They were at Philip'sthroat--huge hairy hands stained with his own blood. A cry rose to herlips and the blue in her eyes darkened with the fighting fire of herancestors. She darted across the room to the fire. In an instant shewas back with a stick of wood in her hands. Philip saw her then--herstreaming hair and white face above them, and the club fell. The handsat his throat relaxed. He swayed to his feet and with dazed eyes and aweird sort of laugh opened his arms. Celie ran into them. He felt hersobbing and panting against him. Then, looking down, he saw that forthe present the man who had made the strange snowshoe trail was as goodas dead.
The air he was taking into his half strangled lungs cleared his headand he drew away from Celie to begin the search of the room. His eyeswere more accustomed to the gloom, and suddenly he gave a cry ofexultation. Against the end of the mud and stone fireplace stood arifle and over the muzzle of this hung a belt and holster. In theholster was a revolver. In his excitement and joy his breath was almosta sob as he snatched it from the holster and broke it in the light ofthe door. It was a big Colt Forty-five--and loaded to the brim. Heshowed it to Celie, and thrust her to the door.
"Watch!" he cried, sweeping his arm to the open. "Just two minutesmore. That's all I want--two minutes--and then--"
He was counting the cartridges in the belt as he fastened it about hiswaist. There were at least forty, two-thirds of them soft-nosed rifle.The caliber was .303 and the gun was a Savage. It was modern up to theminute, and as he threw down the lever enough to let him glimpse insidethe breech he caught the glisten of cartridges ready for action. Hewanted nothing more. The cabin might have held his weight in gold andhe would not have turned toward it.
With the rifle in his hands he ran past Celie out into the day. For themoment the excitement pounding in his body had got beyond his power ofcontrol. His brain was running riot with the joyous knowledge of themight that lay in his hands now and he felt an overmastering desire toshout his triumph in the face of their enemies.
From the door Celie was staring at him. A few moments before her facehad been dead white. Now a blaze of color was surging back into hercheeks and lips and her eyes shone with the glory of one who waslooking on more than triumph. From her own heart welled up a cry, arevelation of that wonderful thing throbbing in her breast which musthave reached Philip's ears had there not in that same instant comeanother sound to startle them both into listening silence.
It was not far distant. And it was unmistakably an answer to Philip'schallenge.