Glen of the High North

by H. A. Cody

  CHAPTER VII

  BOTTLES WILL DO

  For a few minutes Reynolds stood and looked up the trail after the girland horse had disappeared from view. He was strongly tempted to followto the heights above to see what lay beyond. He refrained, however, asthe afternoon was fast wearing away, and he had a heavy load to carryback to camp. Retracing his steps to the brook, he walked up theravine until he came to the spot where the grizzly was lying, halfburied beneath the rocks and earth.

  "Too bad, old chap," he remarked, as he looked down upon the brute."But, then, it served you right. You attacked the innocent anddefenseless, little thinking that such swift vengeance was so near.You were little different, however, from certain two-legged brutes whotried the same game to their own sorrow. You did me a great favorto-day, though, and it's too bad I had to shoot you. I would like totake your skin and keep it as a souvenir of this day. Guess I'll haveto come back for it as I cannot carry it now. And, besides, I shallneed a shovel to dig you out of that heap."

  It was later than usual when Reynolds reached camp. The way was longand the sheep he carried was heavy. But his step was light and hisheart happy. He had met Glen, had talked with her, looked into hereyes, and felt the firm pressure of her hand. Fate was kind to him, hereasoned, and it augured well for the future.

  He was tired and hungry when he reached his little tent on the bank ofthe creek. A supper of broiled lamb, sour-dough bread, stewed driedfruit, and tea greatly refreshed him. He then lighted his pipe, andstretching himself out upon his blankets, meditated upon all that hadtaken place during the afternoon. It was good to lie there and restwith deep silence all around, the vision of Glen before him, and theremembrance of her voice and the touch of her hand. He wondered howand when he should see her again. He was determined that it must besoon, and he smiled at the idea of a terrible father keeping him awayfrom her. What did he care for desperate men? Had he not faced themover and over again as they lay entrenched behind blazing rifles anddeadly machine-guns? He had carried his life in his hand on numerousoccasions on behalf of King and country, and he was not afraid to do itagain for his own personal satisfaction. Just how he was to accomplishhis object he had no definite idea. It was enough for him as he laythere to think of Glen's voice, the charm of her face, and the glory ofher kindling eyes.

  When he had finished his smoke he arose, and hoisting the sheep onceagain upon his back he carried it down to the roadhouse, where he soldit to Shorty, who had bargained with him the evening before for hisgame of the day. It was much easier than toting it around to thevarious tents and shacks, and selling it by the piece to the miners.He made less, to be sure, but he was satisfied. In fact, he wasbecoming tired of this business, and longed for something else,especially since he had met Glen in the hills.

  Several men had arrived at Big Draw that day, and had brought a numberof letters. One was for Reynolds, from his old friend, the editor. Itwas a fatherly letter, full of interest for his welfare, and the hopethat he would soon return and enter upon the quest to find the missingHenry Redmond.

  "I cannot get this notion out of my mind," he wrote in conclusion. "Itis with me night and day since I talked it over with you. I believeyou are the person best fitted for the undertaking. Give up yourpresent wild-goose chase, and come home."

  Reynolds smiled as he thrust the letter into his pocket, The editorcalled his trip north a "wild-goose chase." He little knew that it wasa chase of a different kind, and the bird was a fascinating girl. "Iguess I shall have to tell Harmon that the bird I'm after is not a wildgoose, but a new species, found solely up here, and with only one knownspecimen in existence. But I must write to him, anyway, and tell himsomething about my doings and the life at Big Draw."

  In an adjoining room men were playing cards. Reynolds entered andstood watching them, especially Curly, who was deep in a game. He wasevidently losing heavily, and he was in a bad frame of mind. AsReynolds stood and watched him, he began to wonder when the fellow hadfirst met Glen. Was it on the trail, or had Curly ventured beyond theGolden Crest? It pleased him to know that the girl disliked the man,and how she wished that the fog-bank had not lifted just when it did.He longed to know what was in Curly's mind. Would he attempt to meetthe girl again? That he was capable of the basest villainy, he had notthe shadow of a doubt. Frontier Samson had told him as much, and theold prospector apparently knew whereof he spoke. It was not safe forGlen to travel alone among the hills, he mused. She was in danger ofmeeting a worse brute than the raging grizzly she had encountered thatafternoon.

  As Reynolds thought of these things he kept his eyes fixed intentlyupon Curly's face, not realising that he was staring so hard. ButCurly did, and glancing up several times from his cards, he met thosesteady, inscrutable eyes. At first it annoyed him, making him nervousand impatient. He wondered what the quiet, reserved fellow meant bylooking at him in such a manner. At length he became angry, andnoticing that the eyes never left his face, he leaped to his feet witha savage oath, and moving over to where Reynolds was standing, demandedof him an explanation.

  Brought suddenly to earth, Reynolds started, and asked what was thetrouble.

  "Trouble!" Curly roared. "You'll d---- soon find out if you don't mindyour own business."

  "Why, I have been doing nothing," and Reynolds looked his surprise. "Iwas merely watching the game."

  "No, you weren't. You were watching me like a cat watches a mouse, andI want to know what you mean."

  Reynolds laughed.

  "I didn't realise I was watching you," he explained. "My mind waselsewhere. I was thinking of more important things. You seem to belooking for trouble."

  "I am, and you're the trouble, d---- you. You've made me lose my game."

  "H'm, you needn't accuse me. It must be your own conscience. I am notlooking for a quarrel, even if you are. I shall leave at once if mypresence is so objectionable to you. I'm rather fond of my owncompany."

  "Coward!"

  Reynolds had partly turned as this word smote him like a knife. Hewheeled in an instant and faced Curly.

  "Did you refer to me?" he asked. His eyes spoke danger, and themuscles of his body were tense. But Curly did not heed the signs; hehad thrown caution to the winds.

  "I did," he replied. "And I repeat it, 'Coward!' for that is what----"

  Curly never finished the sentence, for a rigid fist caught him suddenlyunder the right jaw, and sent him reeling backward upon a small table.Recovering himself as speedily as possible, and wild with pain andrage, he ripped forth a revolver from a hip-pocket. A dead silencepervaded the room, like a calm before a storm. And during that silencesomething unexpected happened. It was not the report of the revolver,but the angry growl of a dog, the spitting of a cat, the bleat of asheep, and the crow of a cock.

  "Gr-r-r-r, ps-s-s-s, ba-a-a-a, cock-a-doodle-do-o-o."

  So incongruous did the peculiar sounds appear, that all stared inamazement. Then when they beheld Frontier Samson standing near thedoor, their faces broadened into knowing grins, followed by heartyoutbursts of laughter.

  The prospector walked at once over to where Curly was standing, andlaid his big right hand upon his shoulder.

  "What's all this about?" he asked. "In trouble agin, eh?"

  "I've been insulted by _that_?" and Curly motioned to Reynolds.

  "An' so yer goin' to shoot?"

  "I certainly am, so leave me alone."

  "An unarmed man?"

  "What in h---- do I care whether he's armed or unarmed?"

  "H'm, I guess ye'd care if he had a gun in his hands."

  "Let him do it, Samson." It was Reynolds speaking. "An unarmed man isthe only one he would try to shoot. He took mighty good care to keepout of range of the German guns during the war."

  "You're a liar," Curly yelled, for the taunt stung him to the quick.

  "Then the lie is on your own bead," was the quiet reply. "You andothers have made the boast that you hid in the moun
tains and could notbe caught when men were so sorely needed at the Front. If it's a lie,then you lied first, so don't blame me."

  Curly's only response was to raise his revolver and fire. But Samson'shand struck the weapon in time to divert the aim, and no harm was done.

  "Thar, that's enough of sich nonsense." The old prospector's voice wasmore than usually stern. "I'm not goin' to stand here an' see a manshot down in cold blood by the likes of you, Curly. The chap ye wantto kill is worth ten of you any day. An' as fer shootin', why, yewouldn't have a peek in with him if he had a gun."

  "Give him one, then, and see how he can shoot," was the surly reply.

  "But give me that first," and Samson laid his hand upon Curly'srevolver.

  "What for?"

  "Never mind; I'll explain later, so jist let go. Thar, that's better,"he commented when Curly had reluctantly obeyed. "Now, look here, I'vegot a suggestion to make. Let's settle this racket outside. It's nouse practisin' on human bodies which the Lord made fer something moreimportant. Whiskey bottles will do as well, an' the more ye smash ofthem the better, to my way of thinkin'. So s'pose we stick several of'em up an' let you two crack away at 'em. That's the best way to findout who's the real marksman. Anyone got a rifle handy?"

  This suggestion was not at all to Curly's liking. He preferred to havematters all his own way, and his opponent completely at his mercy. ButFrontier Samson, as well as all the miners present, decided otherwise,and so Curly was forced to bow to the inevitable.

  The men entered enthusiastically into this shooting-test, and in a fewminutes three bottles were stuck upon a stump about fifty yards off. Arifle was procured, which Samson at once handed to Curly.

  "Now, shoot, ye beggar," he ordered. "Here's the chance to show whatye kin do."

  Curly's hand trembled as he took the weapon. The miners crowded aroundand assailed him with various remarks.

  "Go to it, Curly," one encouraged. "Ye were always good at hitting thebottle."

  "But not so far away," another bantered. "Curly likes it near, andfull, at that."

  Curly looked as if he would have liked to turn the rifle upon the meninstead of the bottles. He was angry, and an angry man is always at agreat disadvantage, especially where a steady nerve is needed. Heaccordingly fired wild, and when, the third shot had been made, thebottles remained untouched.

  During this performance Reynolds had been standing silently by,apparently the least concerned of all. He felt annoyed at the troublewhich had occurred, and he was anxious that Curly should be taught asalutary lesson. He picked up the rifle from the ground where hisopponent had flung it in his rage, and brought it to his shoulder. Henever felt calmer in his life as he took a quick and steady aim.Thrice he pulled the trigger, and each time a bottle crashed to theground, while the excited miners cheered and shouted themselves hoarse.

  When he was through, Reynolds quietly handed the rifle to FrontierSamson. Then he turned to Curly.

  "Are you satisfied now?" he asked, "or do you want some more shooting?If so, I am ready."

  With an oath, Curly turned upon his heel, and was about to walk away,when the old prospector laid a firm hand upon his shoulder.

  "Jist a minute, young man," he ordered. "I want to give ye a word ofadvice, which ye kin take or leave as ye see fit. Ye've made amiserable fool of yerself today, though it isn't the first time ye'vedone it, not by a long chalk. If ye want to git along in this camp,stow that nasty temper of yours, an' mind yer own bizness. This youngfeller wasn't interferin' with you one bit. The devil was in ye, an'ye had to spit it out on somebody. Ye better be more keerful in thefuture, as I mightn't allus be around to check ye on yer rampage."

  "But he hit me," Curly growled.

  "Sure he did, an' wouldn't anyone with the least grain of spunk in himdo the same if he'd been called a coward fer nuthin'? This young chapis no coward, let me tell ye that. He did more'n his bit over inFrance when you was hidin' away in the hills. Oh, I know all about it,an' whar ye was an' what ye was doin'. Why, this chap ye wanted toshoot has more scars on his body an' more medals to his credit than youhave toes an' fingers. An' yit ye called him a coward! I guess themen here know purty well by this time who is the coward an' who isn't.Thar, that's all I have to say, so ye may go. I'm sick of the sight ofye."

  Curly was angry, but so fierce and powerful did the old prospector lookthat he did not dare to reply. He slunk away, leaving the minersgreatly amused at his defeat. But Frontier Samson was not amused, forhe knew Curly better than any of the men gathered there.