Silas Strong 37

Silas Strong 37

Almost the last furrow in the old sod of his character had been turned.

 

 

 

 

XXXI

 

THE sun rose clear next morning. Although a long shower of rain had

come one could see no sign of it save in the drifted leaves. The earth

had drunk it down quickly and seemed to be drying with its own heat.

Strong felt the soil and the leaves. He blew and shook his head with

surprise.

 

While the others lay sleeping in their tent, he made a fire and set out

in quest of a spring. Half a mile or so up the lake shore a bear broke

out of a thicket of young firs just ahead of him. Strong was caught

again without his rifle. Satan came as swiftly as the bear had fled, but

could not prevail against him. Strong was delighted with this chance of

showing the strength of his new purpose. In among the fir-trees he found

the carcass of a buck upon which the bear had been feeding.

 

"P-paunchers!" Strong muttered.

 

He climbed the side of the ridge and presently struck the trail leading

into camp. Soon he could hear some one coming, and sat on a log and

waited. It was Master, who had gone to Lost River camp and then followed

the trail of the boat-jumper.

 

"Slept last night in a lean-to over on the Middle Branch," said he.

"Been travelling since an hour before daylight and I'm hungry."

 

"N-news from the gal?"

 

"No. Have you?"

 

Strong shook his head solemnly. "They've t-took the hills, an' I've come

over here t' work fer Uncle S-sam," said he.

 

"Warden?"

 

"Uh-huh--been app'inted," Strong answered, with a look of sadness and

satisfaction.

 

"They're very cunning--Wilbert and the rest of them," Master said.

"They've put a little salve on you and sent you out of the way. You're

too serious-minded for them. That dynamite trick of yours set 'em all

thinking. They won't keep you here long--you're too dead in earnest.

But there's room enough for you over in the Clear Lake country, and when

they get ready to shove you out come and be at home with us."

 

A moment of silence followed. The simple mind of the woodsman was

looking deep into the darkness that surrounded the throne of the great

king.

 

"You're camp looks as if it had been struck by lightning," Master added.

 

Strong showed the letter containing his appointment, and told of the

threat to hang him up by the heels.

 

"The commissioner is on the square--he means well," said Master, "but

they're using him. These lumbermen intend to drive you out of the woods,

and they've got you headed for the clearing. You won't stay here long.

In my opinion they'll burn this valley."

 

Strong looked into the face of the young man.

 

"What makes ye think so?" he asked.

 

"Because they want the timber, and because they've got you here," said

Master. "I heard of your appointment. I heard, too, that Joe Socket and

Pop Migley and Dennis Mulligan thought you were the right man for the

place. I knew there'd be something doing, and I came in here to warn

you. Don't ever trust the benevolence of Satan."

 

"By--" Strong paused and gave his thigh a slap. "I know w-what they're

up to," he muttered, thoughtfully. "They'll make it too hot f-fer m-me

here."

 

He told of the fire and the man who fled in the bushes.

 

"They're going to fire the valley, and don't intend to give you time to

sit down," said Master. "It's a dangerous country just now."

 

"Have t' take Sinth an' the ch-childem out o' here r-right off," the

hunter answered. "If you'll stay with 'em t'-day, I'll go an' g-git some

duffle an' we'll p-put over the r-ridge with 'em t'-night."

 

Back at the old camp there were things he needed sorely, and he reckoned

that he could make the round trip with a pack-basket by five in the

afternoon.

 

"It's still and the leaves are d-damp," Strong mused. "Fire wouldn't run

much t'-day."

 

"To-morrow I'll get a force of men and we'll surround this valley," said

Master.

 

They hurried into camp and were greeted with merry cries. Soon they were

sitting on a blanket beside the others, eating in the ancient fashion of

the pioneer.

 

The young man had brought a letter from Gordon which contained a sum of

money and welcome news. Sinth read the letter aloud.

 

"'My dear friends,'" she read, "'I had hoped to write you long ago, but

I have been waiting for better news to tell. My struggle is over and I

am now master of myself. I paid to my creditors all the money you gave

me.'"

 

"Did you give him money?" Sinth looked up to inquire.

 

"Uh-huh," Strong answered.

 

"How much?"

 

"All I had."

 

"You're a fool!" Sinth exclaimed, and went on reading as follows:'

 

"'Socky had given me his little tin bank. It contained just a dollar and

thirty-two cents. The sacred sum paid my fare to Benson Falls and bought

my dinner. I got a job there in the mill and soon I expect to be its

manager. I'm a new man. If you want a job I can place you here at good

pay. In a week or two I shall--'"

 

Sinth stopped reading and covered her face with her apron.

 

"What does it s-say?" Silas inquired, soberly.

 

She handed the letter to him, and he read the last words: "'I shall come

after the children and will then pay you in full with interest. No,

I can never pay you in full, for there's something better than money

that I owe you.'" Strong's face changed color. He dropped the letter and

rose.

 

"W-well," he stammered.

 

"He sha'n't have 'em," said Sinth, decisively. "Tut, tut!" Silas

answered.

 

He raised the boy in his arms and kissed him. "W-we're both f-fools," he

said, huskily.

 

"You ain't exac'ly fools, but yer both childern," said Sinth, wiping her

eyes.

 

"Well, you know the Bible says we must become as a little child," said

Master. "After all, money is only a measure of value, and one thing it

does with absolute precision--a man's money measures the depth of his

heart."

 

 

 

 

XXXII

 

STRONG left camp with his pack and rifle and two bear-traps. He was

nearing the dead buck when a shot stopped him, and a bullet cut

through his left fore-arm. The deadly missile came no swifter than his

understanding of it.

 

He dropped as if a death-blow had struck him, and, clinging to his

rifle, crept in among the firs. He flung off the straps of his basket.

He lay still a moment and then cautiously got to his knees. Blood was

trickling down his hand, but he gave no heed to it. The ball had come

from higher ground, towards which he had been walking. The man who had

tried to kill him could not have stood more than two hundred feet away.

Strong sat, rifle in hand, peering through the fir branches--alert as

a panther waiting for its prey. Soon he caught a glimpse of his enemy

fleeing between distant tree columns. The sight seemed to fill him with

deadly anger.

 

He leaped to his feet, seized his pack-basket, and started swiftly in

pursuit of him. He gained the summit of the high ground and saw a broad

slash covered with berry bushes and sloping to the flats around Bushrod

Creek. A trail cut through it from the edge of the woods near him.

 

He stopped and listened. He could hear the sound of retreating footsteps

and could see briers moving some thirty rods down the slash. His heart

had shaken off its rage. He was now the cunning, stealthy, determined

hunter. He saw a dry, stag-headed pine in the edge of the briers near

him and hurried up its shaft like a bear pressed by the dogs. On a dead

limb, some thirty feet above ground, he halted and looked away. He could

see nothing of his unknown foe.

 

Slowly Strong descended from the dead tree. He had just begun to feel

the pain of his wound. Blood was dripping fast from it; he looked like

a butcher in the midst of his task. He muttered as he began to roll his

sleeve, "G-guess they do inten't' shove me out o' this c-country."

 

He blew as he looked at the wound.

 

"B-Business is p-prosperin'," he went on, as he held one end of a big

red handkerchief between his teeth and wound it above the torn muscles

and firmly knotted the ends.

 

"W-war!" he muttered, as he went to the near bushes and began to gather

spiders' webs.

 

It is to be regretted that for a moment he forgot his promise to Socky

and "boiled over" from the heat of his passion.

 

He sat on the ground and with his knife scraped away the blood clots.

 

"D-damn soft-nose bullet!" he muttered, with a serious look, smoothing, down the fibres of torn flesh.