King Spruce, A Novel

by Holman Day

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE DEVIL OF THE HEMPEN STRANDS

  "When the snub-line parts and the great load starts There's nothing that men may do, Except to cower with quivering hearts While the wreck goes thundering through."

  --The Ballad of Tumbledick.

  Days of winter snow and blow; days of sunshine, hard and cold as theradiance from a diamond's facets; days of calm and days of tempest; dayswhen the snowflakes dropped as straight as plummets, and days when thewhirlwinds danced in crazy rigadoons down the valleys or spun likedervishes on the mountain-tops! And all were days of honest, faithfultoil in the black growth of Enchanted, and the days brought thedreamless sleep o' nights that labor won.

  In those long evenings hope lighted a taper that shone brightly besidethe lantern of the office camp in whose dull beams Dwight Wade wrotelong and earnest letters. But these were not to John Barrett's daughter;the conditions of their waiting love had tacitly closed the mail betweenthem.

  Again Dwight Wade, in the honesty of his soul, had seen a light of hopethat contrasted cheerily with the red glare of might against might whichmade his decency quail. He saw a chance to win as a man, not as a thug.

  The most brilliant young attorney of the newer generation in the Statehad been Wade's college mate. To him Wade detailed in those longletters the iniquitous conditions that fettered independent operators inthe north country, and gave the case into his enthusiastic keeping. Itmeant digging into the black heart of the State's political corruption,timber graft, and land steals. It was a task that the young attorney,with earnest zeal and new ideals of civic honor, had long before enteredupon. He seized upon this store of new ammunition with delight, and Waderejoiced at the tenor of his replies. That the law and the right wouldintervene in Blunder valley to preserve him from a conflict in which hemust use the shameful weapons selected by Britt for the duello was apromise that he cherished. And thus heartened, he toiled more eagerly.

  It was well into February before they began to haul their logs to thelanding-place on Blunder Stream. But even with an estimated fivemillions to dump upon the ice of Blunder, time was ample, for thesnub-line down the steep quarter-mile of Enchanted's shoulder made acut-off that doubled the efficiency of the teams. It was the crux of thesituation, that snubbing-pitch. With its desperate dangers, itsuncertainties, its celerity, it was ominous and it was fascinating. Butit was the big end of the great game. Dwight Wade made himself itscaptain. Tommy Eye, master of horses, came into his own and was hislieutenant.

  Those two trudged there together in the gray of the dawn; they trudgedback together in the chilled dusk, still trembling with the rackingstrain of it all.

  Wade, cant-dog in hand, stood beside the snubbing-post and gave the wordfor every load to start, and watched every inch of its progress withtense muscles and pounding heart. Tommy Eye mounted the load and tookthe reins from the deposed driver as each team came to the top of thepitch; and the snorting, fearing horses seemed to know his master touch,and in blind faith went into their collars and floundered down underthe fateful looming of the great load. Thus, every hour of the day,Tommy Eye silently, boldly ventured his life in the interests of the manwho had once saved it, and Dwight Wade watched over his safety from thetop of the slope. No word passed between the two. But they understood.There was no other man in the north country with the soothing voice, theassuring touch on the reins, and the mystic power to inspire confidencein dumb brutes--no other man that could bring the qualities that TommyEye brought to his task, coupled with the blind courage to perform. Thehorses turned their heads to make sure that he held the reins and wasadventuring with them. Then they went on.

  The snubbing-post was a huge beech, sawed to leave four feet of stump.It had been adzed to the smoothness of an axe-handle. The three-inchhawser clasped it with four turns, and two men, whose hands wereprotected by huge leather mittens, kept the squalling coils loosened andpaid out the slack, when the cable was hooked to the load of logs on itsway down the slope in order to hold it back. And when the coils yankedthemselves loose and the rope ran too swiftly, even making the leathermittens smoke, Wade, with his cant-dog, threw the hawser hard againstthe stump and checked it. It was a trick that Tommy Eye taught him, andit required muscle and snap. At the instant of peril he drove hiscant-dog's iron nose into the roots of the stump, surged back on hislever, and pinched the rope between post and ash handle of the tool.Friction checked and held the load, but it was muscle-stretching,back-breaking labor.

  And all the time there was the rope to watch to make sure that no rock'sedge or sharp stick had severed a strand, for broken strands uncoil likea spring under the mighty strain. There were the flipping bights of thecoiled hawser to guard against as the men paid it out. Men are caughtby those bights and ground to horrible death against the snubbing-post.

  In time that rope came to have sentiency in the eyes of Wade. Some daysit seemed to be possessed by the spirit of evil. It would not runsmoothly. It fed out by jerks, getting more and more of slack at eachjump. It began to sway and vibrate between post and load, a wider arcwith every jerk, a gigantic cello-string booming horrible music. Itsnarled on the post; it growled grim and sinister warning along itstense length. So terrible are these wordless threats that men have beenknown to surrender in panic, flee from the snubbing-post, and letdestruction wreak its will. Hence the silent and understandingpartnership between Tommy Eye, shadowed by death on the load, and DwightWade fiercely alert at the snubbing-post.

  There came a day when the spirit of evil had full sway.

  The weather was hard, with gray skies and a bone-searching chill. Thehawser, made smooth as glass by attrition, was steely and stiff with thecold. It had new voices. Once it leaped so viciously at the legs of oneof the post-men that he gave a yell and ran. In the tumult of hispassion and fear Wade cursed the caitiff, his own legs in the swirl ofthe bights, his cant-dog nipping the rope to the post and checking itshort. And far down the slope Tommy Eye, his teeth hard shut on histobacco, waited without turning his head, a mute picture of utterconfidence.

  It was while Wade held the line, waiting for the men to re-coil thehawser into safe condition to run, that the Honorable Pulaski Brittappeared. He came trotting his horses down the Enchanted main road andjerked them to a halt at the top of the pitch. Two men were with him onthe jumper. Each wore the little blue badge of a game warden.

  "We are after a man named Thomas Eye, of your crew," said one of themen, catching Wade's inquiring gaze. "We've traced that cow-moosekilling to him--the Cameron case."

  For an instant Wade's heart went sick, and then it went wild. Such animpudent, barefaced plot to rob him of an invaluable man at this crisisin his affairs seemed impossible to credit. It was vengefulness run mad,gone puerile.

  "Mr. Britt has signed the complaint and has the witnesses," said thewarden. "We've got a warrant and we'll have to take the man."

  "And there he is on that load," said the Honorable Pulaski, pointing hiswhip-butt.

  "Hold that line, men," commanded Wade, coming away from the post. "TommyEye has not been out of my camp, wardens. He is absolutely indispensableto me. He has killed no moose. But if it can be proven I'll pay hisfine."

  "It takes a trial to prove it," said the warden, dryly. "That's whywe're after him."

  "Britt, I didn't think you'd get down to this," stormed the young man.

  "I'm not a game warden," retorted the baron of the Umcolcus. "You'redealin' with them, not me."

  He sat, slicing his whip-lash into the snow, and watched the young man'sbitter anger with huge enjoyment. And when Wade seemed unable to frame asuitable retort he went on: "If you think I've got anything to do withtaking that crack teamster out of your crew, you'd better thank me.Anything that interferes with your landing your logs in a blind pocketlike Blunder Stream is a godsend to you and Rod Ide." His temper beganto flame. "What do you think you're going to do there? Do you calculateto steal any of my water? Do you think that whipper-snapper wh
elp of alawyer that you've set yappin' at our heels is goin' to spin a threadfor you against the men that have run this section for thirty years? Ifyou've only got the law bug in your head, give it up. But if you havethe least sneakin' idea of troublin' that dam up there"--he shook hisfist into the north--"coil your snub-line and save time and money; for,by the eternal Jehovah, blood will run in that valley before waterdoes!"

  In the pause that followed one of the wardens asked, "Do you propose toresist the arrest of Eye, Mr. Wade?"

  The question was an incautious one. In a flash the young man saw thatthis last sortie of the Honorable Pulaski was not so much an adventureagainst Tommy Eye as against himself--with intent to embroil him withthe officers of the law. That might mean more trouble than he daredreflect upon. He had a very definite apprehension of what the legalmachinery of Britt and his associates might do to him if he afforded anypretence for their procedure.

  One of the wardens dropped off the jumper at a word from Britt, and thetimber baron urged his horses down the slope, the other officeraccompanying him.

  Tommy Eye sat on his load, still with gaze patiently to the front,waiting in serene confidence the convenience of his employer. That backturned to Wade was the back of the humble confider, the back of themartyr. In his sudden trepidation at thought of his own imperilledinterests, were he himself enmeshed in the law, Wade had thought toleave Tommy's possible fate alone. But now, almost without reflection orplan, he ran down the hill. The martyr's serene obliviousness struck apang to his heart. In those days of strife and toil and understandingTommy Eye had grown dear to him. Britt, turning, yelled to the officerat the top of the slope, "Give that snub-line a half-hitch and hold thatload!"

  A bit of a rock shelf broadened the road where the logs were halted.Britt lashed his horses around in front of the load with apparent intentto intimidate Tommy. The warden dropped off the jumper and shut offretreat in the rear. And Wade, running swiftly, carrying his cant-dog,came and leaped upon the load and stood above Tommy--his protectinggenius, but a genius who had no very clear idea of what he was about todo.

  No one ever explained exactly how it happened!

  The warden, who was at the top of the pitch and who did it, gazed amoment, saw what he had done, and fled with a howl of abject terror,never to appear on Enchanted again. The men at the snub-post statedafterwards that he came to them, hearing Pulaski Britt's orders, elbowedthem aside with an oath, and took the hawser. He probably undertook toloosen the coils to make a half-hitch; but a game warden has no businesswith a snub-line when the devil is in it.

  It gave one triumphant shriek at its release, and then--"Toom! Toom!Toom!"--it began to sing its horrible bass note. It was slipping fasterand faster around the snubbing-post under the strain of Tommy Eye'sload, which it had been holding back.

  Tommy Eye knew without looking--knew without understanding. Heknew--that most terrible knowledge of all woods terrors--that he was"sluiced." He screamed once--only once--and the horses came into theircollars. Their hot breath was on the back of Pulaski Britt's neck whenhe started--started with a hoarse oath above which sang the shrill yelpof his whip-lash, and behind him, on the icy slope, slid the great loadof logs now released from anchorage to the snubbing-post and guided onlyby the nerve of Tommy Eye.

  "Jump, Mr. Wade! Jump!" gasped the teamster. But Wade drove the peak ofhis cant-dog into a log and clung to the upright handle. He lookedback. The great hawser spun itself off the spindle of the post andchased down the hill in spirals, utterly loose and free.

  It was no dare-devil spirit that held him on the load. His soul was sickwith horrible fear. It was something that was almost subconsciousnessthat kept him there. Perhaps it was pity--pity for Tommy Eye, so brave amartyr at his post of duty. In the flash of that instant when the greatload gathered speed he stiffened himself to leap, then he looked atTommy's patched coat and remembered his oft-repeated little boast: "I'venever left my hosses yet!" And so if Tommy could stay with his horses,he, Dwight Wade, could stay with Tommy! There was a queer thrill in hisbreast and the sting of sudden tears in his eyes as he decided.

  The first rush of the descent was along an incline, steep but even.There were benches below--each shelf ten feet or so of juttinglevel--that broke the descent. Wade saw the jumper of Pulaski Brittstrike the first bench. The old man went off the seat into the air, andwhen he fell he dropped his reins, clutched the seat, and kneeled,facing the pursuers, his face ghastly with terror. He crouched there,not daring to turn. Even if he had held his reins they would have beenas useless in his hands as strips of fog. Ledges and trees hemmed eitherside. There was only the narrow road for his flying horses, and they ranstraight on, needing neither whip nor admonitions.

  The groan of five thousand feet of timber chafing the bind-chains whentheir great load struck the shelf was like the groan of an animal inagony. The chains held. It was Tommy who had seen to every link andevery loop. Then, for the first time in his life, Wade heard the screamof horses in mortal fear. The lurch of the forward sled lifted the pole,and for one dreadful instant both animals kicked free and clear in air.

  Tommy Eye shot two words at them like bullets. "Steady, boys!" heyelled. His head was hunched between his shoulders. His arms wereout-stretched and rigid. Tommy Eye, master of horses! It was his lift onthe bits at just the fraction of a second when they needed it that setthem on their feet when the pole dropped. And down the next descent theyswooped.

  From his height Wade looked straight into the eyes of Pulaski Britt. Itseemed that with every plunge of their hoofs Tommy Eye's horses wouldsmash that puffy face. The checks of the benches, when the huge loadstruck and staggered from time to time, allowed Britt's lighter equipagea little start. But the mighty projectile that drove on him down thesmooth slopes gained with every yard, for the thrusting pole swept thehorses off their feet in plunge after plunge. And then it was TommyEye's desperate coolness that helped them to their infrequent footing.All of the man's face that Wade could see was a ridged jaw muscle abovethe faded collar of his coat. The peak of his cap hid all but that.

  There was a curve at the foot of the snub slope. The wall of trees thatclosed the vista was disaster spelled by bolled trunk and sturdy limb.There stood the nether millstone: the upper was rushing down, and thegrist would be flesh of horses and men. No man could see any otheralternative. That horses, shaken every now and then on the up-cockedpole as helplessly as kittens, could bring that load around the curvewas not a hope; it could be nothing but a dream of desperation.

  As to what Tommy Eye dreamed or thought, his passenger had no hint.There was only the patch of cheek showing under the tilted cap. But thereins were just as tight, the out-stretched arms just as steady. Wadecrouched low, his eyes on that rigid jaw muscle.

  Suddenly, with a yell like the cry of something wild, Eye sprang to hisfeet, bestriding the logs, bracing himself for some mighty effort. Theywere at the Curve of Death! There came a surge on the tight reins, eighthoofs dug the snow in one frantic thrust, and they went around--theywent around! With horses and driver straining to one side the great loadpitched, swerved, and, after one breathless instant, swept on in theroad around the curve.

  Twenty rods farther on they struck the hay, spread thickly for thetrig--the checking of the runners. And the sled-runners, bitingit, jerked and halted, the bind-chains creaked, the chafing logsgroaned--and they were stopped! The lathering horses stood with legswide spraddled, their heads lowered, their snorting noses puffing upthe snow.

  Tommy Eye dug the tobacco from his cheek and thoughtfully tossed itaway. Britt's team had disappeared, reins dragging, the horses runningmadly, the whitened, puffy face flashing one last look as it winked outof sight among the trees.

  "I've dreamed of such a thing as this," observed Tommy, at last, astrange tremor in his tones. "I've dreamed of chasin' old P'laski Britt,me settin' on five thousand feet of wild timber and lookin' down intohis face and seein' him a-wonderin' whether they'd let him into thefront door of hell or make him go around to
the back. It's the firsttime he was ever run good and plenty, and I done it--but," he sighed,"it was damnation whilst it lasted!"

  He turned now and gazed long and wistfully at Wade.

  "Ye stuck by me, didn't ye, Mr. Wade?" he said, softly. "Stuck by mejest like I was a friend, and not old, drunken Tommy Eye! I reckon we'llshake on that!" And when they clasped hands he asked, with the wistful,inexpressible pathos of his simple devotion to duty: "What was it allabout? I jest only know they sluiced me!"

  And Wade gasped an explanation, Tommy Eye staring at him with wrinklingbrows and squinting eyes.

  "Come to arrest me for northin' I hadn't done?" he shrilled. "Come totake me off'n a job where I was needed, and where I was earnin' myhonest livin'?"

  "They had the warrant, and Britt swore out the lying complaint."

  "Mr. Wade," said Tommy, after a solemn pause, "I've done a lot of thingsin this life to be ashamed of--but jest gittin' drunk, that's all. Iain't never done a crime. But jest now, if it hadn't been for thattoss-up between supper in camp or hot broth in tophet to-night, I'd betravellin' down-country, pulled away from you when you need me worst,and all on account of P'laski Britt. If that's the chances an honest manruns in this world, I'm an outlaw from now on!"

  Wade stared at him in amazement, for there was a queer significance inTommy's tone.

  "An outlaw!" repeated Tommy, slapping his breast. "Yes, s'r, I'm anoutlaw! An outlaw so fur as P'laski Britt is concerned. I've showed himI can run him! Did you see him lookin' at me? He'll dream of me afterthis when he has the nightmare."

  He took Wade by the arm.

  "I 'ain't been sayin' much, Mr. Wade, but I see how things are gettin'ready to move in this valley. You ain't built for an outlaw. But youneed one in your business. I'm the one from now on."

  He pulled his thin hand out of his mitten and shook it towards the northin the direction in which Blunder Lake lay.

  "You need an outlaw in your business, I say! I'm tough from now on. I'llbe so tough in April that you'll have to discharge me. There's noknowin' what an outlaw will do, is there, Mr. Wade? I'd ruther go tojail as an outlaw than as a drunk, like I've done every summer. Theylook up to outlaws. They make drunks scrub the floors and empty theslops." His voice trembled. "Oh, you needn't worry, Mr. Wade! I'll beproud to be an outlaw. And I ain't northin' but old Tommy Eye, anyway."

  He slid down off the load and went between the horses' heads, andfondled them and kissed them above their eyes.

  "Brace up, old fellers!" he said. "You won't have to pull no moreto-day. I reckon you've done your stunt!"

  "I--I don't understand this outlaw business, Tommy," stammered Wade,looking down on him from the load. Tommy peered up, his head between theshaggy manes of the horses.

  "Don't you try to, Mr. Wade!" he cried, earnestly. "There ain't no goodin tryin' to understand outlaws. They ain't no kind to hitch up to veryclose. Don't you try to understand them!" And as he bent to unhook thetrace-chains he muttered to himself: "I ain't sure as I understand muchabout 'em myself, but there's one outlawin' job that it's come to mymind can be done without takin' private lessons off'n Jesse James, orwhoever is topnotcher in the line just now. In the mean time, let's seethat warden try to arrest me!"

  But as days went by it became apparent that the wardens and theHonorable Pulaski D. Britt considered that they had precipitated anaffair on Enchanted whose possible consequences they did not care toface.