CHAPTER XVI
MONCROSSEN
They found LaFranz waiting in fear and trembling. The heavy snow-plowwas left in readiness for the morrow's trail-breaking, and the horseshitched to a rough sled and headed for camp.
"An' ye say Misther Appleton sint ye up to wor-rk in Moncrossen'scamp?" The two were seated on the log bunk at the back of the sledwhile the Frenchman drove, keeping a fearful eye on the white wolf. Forold man Frontenelle had been his uncle.
"Yes, he told me to report here."
"D'ye know Moncrossen?"
"No."
"Well, ye will, ag'in' shpring," Irish replied dryly.
"What do you mean?" asked Bill.
Irish shrugged. "Oi mane this," he answered. "Moncrossen is a har-rdman altogether. He hates a greener. He thinks no wan but an owld handhas any business in th' woods, an' 'tis his boast that in wan seasonhe'll make a lumberjack or a corpse out av any greener.
"An' comin' from Appleton hisself he'll hate ye worse'n ever, f'r he'llthink ye'll be afther crimpin' his bird's-eye game. Take advice, Bill,an' kape on th' good side av um av ye can. He'll t'row ut into ye widall manner av dhirty thricks, but howld ye're timper, an' maybe ye'llwinter ut out--an' maybe ye won't."
"What is a bird's-eye game?"
Fallon glanced at him sharply. "D'ye mane ye don't know about th'bird's-eye?" he asked.
"Not a thing," replied Bill.
"Thin listen to me. Don't ye niver say bird's-eye in this camp av yeexpect to winter ut out."
Bill was anxious to hear more about the mysterious bird's-eye, but thesled suddenly emerged into a wide clearing and Irish was pointing outthe various buildings of the log camp.
Bright squares of light showed from the windows of the bunk-house,office, and grub-shack, with its adjoining cook-shack, from the ironstovepipe of which sparks shot skyward in a continuous shower.
Fallon shouldered the wolf and, accompanied by Bill, made toward thebunk-house, while the Frenchman turned the team toward the stable.
"Ag'in' we git washed up, supper'll be ready," announced Irish, as hedeposited the wolf carcass beside the door and entered.
Inside the long, low room, lined on either side by a double row ofbunks, were gathered upward of a hundred men waiting the supper call.
They were big men, for the most part, rough clad and unshaven. Manywere seated upon the edges of the bunks smoking and talking, othersgrouped about the three big stoves, and the tobacco-reeking air wasladen with the rumble of throaty conversation, broken here and there bythe sharp scratch of a match, a loud laugh, or a deep-growled,good-natured curse.
Into this assembly stepped Irish Fallon, closely followed by Bill, thesight of whose blood-stained face attracted grinning attention. The twomen passed the length of the room to the wash-bench, where a fewloiterers still splashed noisily at their ablutions.
"I heard it plain, I'm tellin' you," some one was saying. "'Way off tothe south it sounded."
"That ain't no lie," broke in another, "I hearn it myself--jest beforedark, it was. An' I know! Didn't I hear it that night over on Ten Fork?The time she got Jack Kane's woman, four year ago, come Chris'mus. Yes,sir! I tell you the werwolf's nigh about this camp, an' it's me in offthe edges afore dark!"
"They say she never laughs but she makes a kill," said one.
"God! I was at Skelly's when they brought old man Frontenelle in,"added a big man, whose heavy beard was shot with gray, as he turnedfrom the stove with a shudder.
"They's some Injuns trappin' below; she might of got one of them,"opined a short, stockily built man who, catching sight of thenewcomers, addressed Fallon:
"Hey, Irish, you was down on the tote-road; did you hear Diablesse?"
Fallon finished drying his face upon the coarse roller-towel and turnedtoward the group who waited expectantly. "Yis, Oi hear-rd her, allroight," he replied lightly. "An' thin Oi _see'd_ her."
Others crowded about, hanging upon his words. "An' thin, be way avshowin' me contimpt," he added, "Oi dhrug her a moile or more t'roughth' woods be th' tail."
Loud laughter followed this assertion; but not a few, especially amongthe older men, shook their heads in open disapproval, and mutteredcurses at his levity.
"But me frind Bill, here," Irish continued, "c'n tell ye more abouther'n phwat Oi kin. He's new in th' woods, Bill is; an' so damned greenhe know'd nayther th' manein' nor use av th' rackets. So, be gad, hecome widout 'em. Mushed two whole days t'rough th' shnow.
"But, listen; no mather how ignorant, nor how much he don't know, agood man's a man--an' to pr-rove ut he jumps wid his axe roight intoth' middle av th' werwolf's own an' kills noine, countin' th' threecripples Oi finished.
"But wid D'ablish herself, moind, he t'row'd away his axe an' goes to aclinch wid his knoife in his fisht. An' phwin 'tis over an' he pickshimsilf up out av th' shnow an' wipes th' blood from his eyes--herblood--f'r he comes out av ut widout scratch nor scar--D'ablish lays athis feet dead as a nit."
Fallon gazed triumphantly into the incredulous faces of the men, and,with a smile, added, "'Twas thin Oi dhrug her be th' tail to th' sled,afther shmashin' her head wid th' axe to make sure."
"An' where is she now, Irish?" mocked one. "Did she jump off the sledan' make a get-away?"
Over at the grub-shack the cook's half-breed helper beat lustily uponthe discarded saw-blade that hung suspended by a wire, and the mencrowded noisily out of the doors.
"Oi'll show ye afther supper, ye damned shpalpeen, how much av her gotaway!" shouted Irish, who waited for Bill to remove the evidence of hisfight before piloting him to the grub-shack.
A single table of rough lumber covered with brown oilcoth extended thefull length of the center of the room. Above this table six huge"Chicago burners" lighted the interior, which, as the two men entered,was a hive of noisy activity.
Men scuffled for places upon the stationary benches arranged alongeither side of the table. Heavy porcelain thumped the board, and theair was filled with the metallic din of steel knives and forks beinggathered into bearlike hands.
Up and down the wide alleys behind the benches hurried flunkies bearinghuge tin pots of steaming coffee, and the incessant returning of thickcups to their saucers was like the rattle of musketry.
But the thing that impressed the half-famished Bill was the profusionof food; never in his life, he thought, had he beheld so tempting anarray of things to eat. Great trenchers of fried pork, swimming in itsown grease, alternated the full length of the table with huge pans ofbaked beans.
Mountains of light, snowy bread rose at short intervals from amongfoot-hills of baked potatoes, steaming dishes of macaroni and stewedtomatoes, canned corn, peas, and apple sauce, and great yellow rolls ofbutter into which the knives of the men skived deeply.
The two passed behind the benches in search of vacant places whensuddenly an undersized flunky stumbled awkwardly, dropping thecoffee-pot, which sent a wash of steaming brown liquid over the floor.
Instantly a great, hulking man with a wide, flat face and low foreheadsurmounted by a thick thatch of black hair, below which two swinisheyes scintillated unevenly, paused in the act of raising a greatcalk-booted foot over the bench.
The thick, pendulous lips under his ragged mustache curled backward,exposing a crenate row of jagged brown teeth. He stepped directly infront of the two men and, reaching out a thick hand caught theunfortunate flunky by the scruff as he regained his balance.
From his lips poured an unbroken stream of vile epithets andsoul-searing curses while he shook the whimpering wretch with aviolence that threatened serious results, and ended by pinning himagainst the log wall and drawing back his huge arm for a terrificshoulder blow.
The vicious brutality of the attack following so trivial an offensearoused Bill Carmody's anger. The man's back was toward him, and Billgrasped the back-drawn arm at the wrist and with an ungentle jerkwhirled the other in his tracks.
The man released the flunky and faced him with a snarl. "Who donethat?" he roared.
"I did. Hit me. I tripped him."
Bill's voice was dead level and low, but it carried to the farthestreaches of the room, over which had fallen a silence of expectation.Men saw that the hard gray eyes of the stranger narrowed ominously.
"An' who the hell are _you_?" The words whistled through the baredteeth and a flush of fury flooded the man's face.
"What do you care? I tripped him. Hit me!" and the low, level toneblended into silence. It seemed a _thing_--that uncanny silence whennoise should have been.
There were sounds--sounds that no one heeded nor heard--the heavybreathing of a hundred men waiting for something to happen--the thincreak of the table boards as men leaned forward upon hands whoseknuckles whitened under the red skin, and stared, fascinated, at thetwo big men who faced each other in the broad aisle.
The swinish eyes of the brutish man glared malignantly into the grayeyes of the stranger, in which there appeared no slightest flicker ofrage nor hate, nor any other emotion.
Only a cold, hard stare which held something of terrible intensity,accentuated by the little fans of whitening wrinkles which radiatedfrom their corners.
In that instant the other's gaze wavered. He knew that this man hadlied; and he knew that every man in the room knew that he had lied.That he had deliberately lied into the row and then, without raisinghis guard, had dared him to strike.
It was inconceivable.
Had the man loudly shouted his challenge or thrown up his guard when hedared him to strike, or had his eye twitched or burned with anger, hewould have unhesitatingly lunged into a fight to the finish.
But he found himself at a disadvantage. He was up against something hedid not understand. The calm assurance of the stranger--his fists werenot doubled and his lips smiled--disconcerted him.
A strange, prickly chill tingled at the back of his neck, and in hisheart he knew that for the first time in his life he dared not strike aman. He cast about craftily to save his face and took his cue from theother's smile. With an effort his loose, thick lips twisted into agrin.
"G'wan with yer jokin', stranger," he laughed.
"Y'u damn near made me mad--fer a minute," and he turned to the table.
Instantly a clatter of noise broke forth. Men rattled dishes nervouslyin relief or disappointment, and the room was filled with the rumble ofvoices in unmeaning chatter. But in the quick glances which passed fromman to man there was much of meaning.
"God, man, that was Moncrossen!" whispered Fallon, when the two foundthemselves seated near the end of the table. Bill smiled.
"Was it?" he asked. "I don't like him."
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