The Barrier Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  POLEON DORET'S HAND IS QUICKER THAN HIS TONGUE

  The trader's house sat back of the post, farther up on the hill. It wasa large, sleepy house, sprawling against the sunny side of the slope,as if it had sought the southern exposure for warmth, and had dozed offone sultry afternoon and never waked up from its slumber. It was ofgreat, square-hewn timbers, built in the Russian style, the under sideof each log hollowed to fit snugly over its fellow underneath, uponwhich dried moss had previously been spread, till in effect thefoot-thick walls were tongued and grooved and, through years ofseasoning, become so tinder dry that no frosts or heats could penetratethem. Many architects had worked on it as it grew, room by room,through the years, and every man had left behind the mark of hisindividuality, from Pretty Charlie the pilot, who swung an axe betterthan any Indian on the river, to Larsen the ship's carpenter, whoworked with an adze and who starved the summer following on theKoyukuk. It had stretched a bit year by year, for the trader's familyhad been big in the early days when hunters and miners of both breedscame in to trade, to loaf, and to swap stories with him. Through thewinter days, when the caribou were in the North and the moose werescarce, whole families of natives came and camped there, for Alluna,his squaw, drew to her own blood, and they felt it their due to eat ofthe bounty of him who ruled them like an overlord; but when the firstgoose honked they slipped away until, by the time the salmon showed,the house was empty again and silent, save for Alluna and theyoungsters. In return these people brought him many skins and muchfresh meat, for which he paid no price, and, with the fall, his cachewas filled with fish of which the bulk were dried king salmon as longas a grown man's leg and worth a dollar apiece to any traveller.

  There are men whose wits are quick as light, and whose muscles havebeen so tempered and hardened by years of exercise that they are likethose of a wild animal. Of such was John Gale; but with all hisintelligence he was very slow at reading, hence he chose to spend hisevenings with his pipe and his thoughts, rather than with a book, aslonesome men are supposed to do. He did with little sleep, and manynights he sat alone till Alluna and Necia would be awakened by hisheavy step as he went to his bed. That he was a man who could reallythink, and that his thoughts were engrossing, no one doubted who sawhim sitting enthralled at such a time, for he neither rocked, nortalked, nor moved a muscle hour after hour, and only his eyes werealive. To-night the spell was on him again, and he sat bulked up in hischair, rocklike and immovable.

  From the open door of the next room he could hear Necia and the littleones. She had made them ready for bed, and was telling them the tale ofthe snow-bird's spot.

  "So when all the other birds had failed," he heard her say, "the littlesnowbird asked for a chance to try. He flew and flew, and just beforehe came to the edge of the world where the two Old Women lived hepulled out all of his feathers. When he came to them he said:"

  "'I am very cold. May I warm myself at your fire?'"

  "They saw how little and naked he was, and how he shivered, so they didnot throw sticks at him, but allowed him to creep close. He watched hischance, and when they were not looking he picked up a red-hot coal inhis beak and flew back home with it as fast as ever he could--and thatis how fire came to the Indian people."

  "Of course the coal was hot, and it burned his throat till a drop ofblood came through, so ever since that day the snowbird has had a redspot on his throat."

  The two children spoke out in their mother's tongue, clamoring for thestory of the Good Beaver who saved the hunter's life, and she began,this time in the language of the Yukon people, while Gale listened tothe low music of her voice, muffled and broken by the log partition.

  His squaw came in, her arrival unannounced except by the scuff of hermoccasins, and seated herself against the wall. She did not use achair, of which there were several, but crouched upon a bear-skin, herknees beneath her chin, her toes a trifle drawn together. She sat thusfor a long time, while Necia continued her stories and put the littleones to bed. Soon the girl came to say good-night.

  John Gale had never kissed his daughter, and, as it was not a custom ofher mother's race, she never missed the caresses. On rare occasions theold man romped with the little ones and took them in his arms and actedas other fathers act, but he had never done these things with her. Whenshe had gone he spoke without moving.

  "She'll never marry Poleon Doret."

  "Why?" inquired Alluna.

  "He ain't her kind."

  "Poleon is a good man."

  "None better. But she'll marry some--some white man."

  "Poleon is white," the squaw declared.

  "He is and he ain't. I mean she'll marry an 'outside' man. He ain'tgood enough, and--well, he ain't her kind." Alluna's grunt ofindignation was a sufficient answer to this, but he resumed, jerkinghis head in the direction of the barracks. "She's been talking a lotwith this--this soldier."

  "Him good man, too, I guess," said the wife.

  "The hell he is!" cried the trader, fiercely. "He don't mean any goodto her."

  "Him got a woman, eh?" said the other.

  "No, no! I reckon he's single all right, but you don't understand. He'sdifferent from us people. He's--he's--" Gale paused, at a loss forwords to convey his meaning. "Well, he ain't the kind that would marrya half-breed."

  Alluna pondered this cryptic remark unsuccessfully, and was stillseeking its solution when her lord continued:

  "If she really got to loving him it would be bad for all of us."

  Evidently Alluna read some hidden meaning back of these words, for shespoke quickly, but in her own tongue now, as she was accustomed to dowhen excited or alarmed.

  "Then this thing must cease at once. The risk is too great. Better thatyou kill him before it is too late."'

  "Hardly that," said the trader.

  "Think of the little ones and of me," the squaw insisted, and,encouraged by his silence, continued: "Why not? Soon the nights willgrow dark. The river runs swiftly, and it never gives up its dead. Ican do it if you dare not. No one would suspect me."

  Gale rose and laid his big hand firmly on her shoulder.

  "Don't talk like that. There has been too much blood let already. We'llallow things to run along a bit as they are. There's time enough toworry."

  He rose, but instead of going to his room he strode out of the houseand walked northward up the trail, passing through the town and out ofsight. Alluna sat huddled up in the doorway, her shawl drawn closeabout her head, and waited for him until the late sun--which at thistime of year revolves in a great circle overhead--dipped down below thedistant mountains for the midnight hour, then rolled slanting out againa few points farther north, to begin its long journey anew; but he didnot return. At last she crept stiffly in-doors, like an old and wearywoman, the look of fright still staring in her eyes.

  About nine o'clock the next morning a faint and long-drawn cry camefrom the farthest limits of the little camp. An instant later it wasechoed closer, and then a dog began to howl. Before its voice had diedaway another took it up sadly, and within three breaths, from tip anddown the half-mile of scanty water-front, came the cry of"Steam-bo-o-a-t!" Cabin doors opened and men came out, glanced up thestream and echoed the call, while from sleepy nooks and sun-warmedroofs wolf-dogs arose, yawning and stretching. Those who had slept latedressed as they hurried towards the landing-place, joining in theplaint, till men and malamutes united in the shrill, slow cry.

  Down-stream came the faint-sighing whoof-whoof of a steamer, and thenout from behind the bend she burst, running on the swift spring currentwith the speed of a deer. She blew hoarsely before the tardy ones hadreached the bank, and when abreast of the town her bell clanged, thepatter of her great wheel ceased, she reversed her engines and swunggracefully till her bow was up against the current, then ploughed back,inching in slowly until, with much shouting and the sound of manygongs, she slid her nose quietly into the bank beneath the trading-postand was made fast. Her cabin-deck was lined with passengers,
most ofwhom were bound for the "outside," although still clad in mackinaw andoveralls. They all gazed silently at the hundred men of Flambeau, whostared back at them till the gang-plank was placed, when they cameashore to stretch their legs. One of them, however, made sufficientnoise to make up for the silence of the others. Before the steamer hadgrounded he appeared among the Siwash deck-hands, his head andshoulders towering above them, his white teeth gleaming from a face asdark as theirs, shouting to his friends ashore and pantomiming hisdelight to the two Gale children who had come with Alluna to welcomehim.

  "Who's dose beeg, tall people w'at stan' 'longside of you, Miz Gale?"he called to her; then, shading his eyes elaborately, he cried, in agreat voice: "Wall! wal! I b'lieve dat's M'sieu Jean an' Mam'selleMollee. Ba Gar! Dey get so beeg w'ile I'm gone I don' know dem no more!"

  The youthful Gales wriggled at this delicious flattery and dug theirtiny moccasined toes into the sand. Molly courtesied nervously andcontinuously as she clung to her mother, and the boy showed a gap wheretwo front teeth had been and was now filled by a very pink tongue.

  "Wen you goin' stop grow, anyhow, you two, eh?" continued theFrenchman, and then, in a tone of sadness: "If I t'ink you ack lak'dis, I don' buy all dese present. Dese t'ing ain' no good for olefolks. I guess I'll t'row dem away." He made as if to heave a bundlethat he carried into the river, whereupon the children shrieked at himso shrilly that he laughed long and incontinently at the success of hissally.

  Lieutenant Burrell had come with the others, for the arrival of asteamboat called for the presence of every soul in camp, and, spyingNecia in the outskirts of the crowd, he took his place beside her. Hefelt constrained, after what had happened on the previous evening, butshe seemed to have forgotten the episode, and greeted him with herusual frankness. Even had she remembered it, there was nothing he couldsay in explanation or in apology. He had lain awake for hours thinkingof her, and had fallen asleep with her still in his mind, for therevelation of her blood had come as a shock to him, the full force ofwhich he could not appreciate until he had given himself time to thinkof it calmly.

  He had sprung from a race of Slave-holders, from a land where birth andbreed are more than any other thing, where a drop of impure bloodeffects an ineradicable stain; therefore the thought of this girl'signoble parentage was so repugnant to him that the more he pondered itthe more pitiful it seemed, the more monstrous. Lying awake andthinking of her in the stillness of his quarters, it had seemed a veryunfortunate and a very terrible thing. During his morning duties thevision of her had been fresh before him again, and his constantcontemplation of the matter had wrought a change in his attitudetowards the girl, of which he was uncomfortably conscious and which hewas glad to see she did not perceive.

  "There are some of the lucky men from El Dorado Creek," she informedhim, pointing out certain people on the deck. "They are going out tothe States to get something to eat. They say that nothing like thosemines have ever been heard of in the world. I wish father had gone uplast year when the news came."

  "Why didn't he?" asked the Lieutenant. "Surely he must have been amongthe first to learn of it."

  "Yes. 'Stick' George sent him word a year ago last fall, when he madethe first discovery, but for some reason father wouldn't go."

  The men were pouring off the boat now, and through the crowd came thetall Frenchman, bearing in the hollow of each arm a child who clasped abundle to its breast. His eyes grew brighter at sight of Necia, and hebroke into a flood of patois; they fairly bombarded each other withquick questions and fragmentary answers till she remembered hercompanion, who had fallen back a pace and was studying the newcomer,whereupon she turned.

  "Oh, I forgot my manners. Lieutenant Burrell, this is NapoleonDoret--our Poleon!" she added, with proud emphasis.

  Doret checked his volubility and stared at the soldier, whom heappeared to see for the first time. The little brown people in his armsstared likewise, and it seemed to Burrell that a certain distrust wasin each of the three pairs of eyes, only in those of the man there wasno shyness. Instead, the Canadian looked him over gravely from head toheel, seeming to note each point of the unfamiliar attire; then heinquired, without removing his glance:

  "Were'bouts you live, eh?"

  "I live at the post yonder," said the Lieutenant.

  "Wat biznesse you work at?"

  "I am a soldier."

  "Wat for you come 'ere? Dere's nobody fightin' roun' dis place."

  "The Lieutenant has been stationed here, foolish," said Necia. "Come upto the store quick and tell me what it's like at Dawson." With afarewell nod to Burrell, she went off with Doret, whose speech wasimmediately released again.

  In spite of the man's unfriendliness, Burrell watched him withadmiration. There were no heels to his tufted fur boots, and yet hestood a good six feet two, as straight as a pine sapling, and it neededno second glance to tell of what metal he was made. His spirit showedin his whole body, in the set of his head, and, above all, in his dark,warm face, which glowed with eagerness when he talked, and that wasever--when he was not singing.

  "I never see so many people since I lef Quebec," he was saying. "She'sjus' lak' beeg city--mus' be t'ree, four t'ousan' people. Every daysome more dey come, an' all night dey dance an' sing an' drink w'iskee.Ba gosh, dat's fine place!"

  "Are there lots of white women?" asked the girl.

  "Yes, two, t'ree hondred. Mos' of dem is work in dance-halls. Dere'sone fine gal I see, name' Marie Bourgette. I tell you 'bout herby-an'-by."

  "Oh, Poleon, you're in love!" cried Necia.

  "No, siree!" he denied. "Dere's none of dem gal look half so purty lak'you." He would have said more, but spying the trader at the entrance ofthe store, he went to him, straightway launching into the details oftheir commercial enterprise, which, happily, had been most successful.Before they could finish, the crowd from the boat began to drift in,some of them buying drinks at the bar and others making purchases oftobacco and so forth, but for the main part merely idling aboutcuriously.

  Among the merchandise of the Post there were for sale a scantyassortment of fire-arms, cheap shot-guns, and a Winchester or two,displayed in a rack behind the counter in a manner to attract the eyeof such native hunters as might need them, and with the rest hung apair of Colt's revolvers. One of the new arrivals, who had separatedfrom the others at the front, now called to Gale:

  "Are those Colts for sale? Mine was stolen the other day." Evidently hewas accustomed to Yukon prices, for he showed no surprise at the figurethe trader named, but took the guns and tested each of them, whereuponthe old man knew that here was no "Cheechako," as tenderfeet are knownin the North, although the man's garb had deceived him at first glance.The stranger balanced the weapons, one in either hand, then he did the"double roll" neatly, following which he executed a move that Gale hadnot witnessed for many years. He extended one of the guns, buttforemost, as if surrendering it, the action being free and open, savefor the fact that his forefinger was crooked and thrust through thetrigger-guard; then, with the slightest jerk of the wrist, the gun spunabout, the handle jumped into his palm, and instantly there was a clickas his thumb flipped the hammer. It was the old "road-agent spin,"which Gale as a boy had practised hours at a time; but that this manwas in earnest he showed by glancing upward sharply when the traderlaughed.

  "This one hangs all right," he said; "give me a box of cartridges."

  He emptied his gold-sack in payment for the gun and ammunition, thenremarked: "That pretty nearly cleans me. If I had the price I'd takethem both."

  Gale wondered what need induced this fellow to spend his last fewdollars on a fire-arm, but he said nothing until the man had loosenedthe bottom buttons of his vest and slipped the weapon inside the bandof his trousers, concealing its handle beneath the edge of hiswaistcoat. Then he inquired:

  "Bound for the outside?"

  "No. I'm locating here."

  The trader darted a quick glance at him. He did not like this man.

  "There ain't mu
ch doing in this camp; it's a pretty poor place," hesaid, guardedly.

  "I'll put in with you, from its looks," agreed the other. "It's got toomany soldiers to be worth a damn." He snarled this bitterly, with apeculiar leering lift of his lip, as if his words tasted badly.

  "Most of the boys are going up-river," said Gale.

  "Well, those hills look as if they had gold in them," said thestranger, pointing vaguely. "I'm going to prospect."

  Gale knew instinctively that the fellow was lying, for his hands werenot those of a miner; but there was nothing to be said. His judgmentwas verified, however, when Poleon drew him aside later and said:

  "You know dat feller?"

  "No."

  "He's bad man."

  "How do you know?"

  "She's leave Dawson damn queeck. Dose Mounted Police t'row 'im on deboat jus' before we lef." Then he told a story that he had heard. Theman, it seemed, had left Skagway between two suns, upon the disruptionof Soapy Smith's band of desperadoes, and had made for the interior,but had been intercepted at the Pass by two members of the Citizens'Committee who came upon him suddenly. Pretending to yield, he hadexecuted some unexpected coup as he delivered his gun, for both menfell, shot through the body. No one knew just what it was he did, norcared to question him overmuch. The next heard of him was at LakeBennett, over the line, where the Mounted Police recognized him andsent him on. They marked him well, however, and passed him on from postto post as they had driven others whose records were known; but he hadlost himself in the confusion at Dawson for a few weeks, until thescarlet-coated riders searched him out, disarmed him, and forced himsullenly aboard this steamer. The offscourings of the Canadian frontierwere drifting back into their native country to settle.

  Old Man Gale cared little for this, for he had spent his life amongsuch men, but as he watched the fellow a scheme outlined itself in hishead. Evidently the man dared not go farther down the river, for therewas nothing save Indian camps and a Mission or two this side of St.Michael's, and at that point there was a court and many soldiers, whereone was liable to meet the penalty of past misdeeds, hence he wasprobably resolved to stop here, and, judging by his record, he was aman of settled convictions. Continued persecution is wont to stircertain natures to such reckless desperation that interference isdangerous, and Gale, recalling his sullen look and ill-concealedcontempt for the soldiers, put the stranger down as a man of this type.Furthermore, he had been impressed by the fellow's remarkable dexterityof wrist.

  The trader stepped to the door, and, seeing Burrell on the deck of thesteamer, went down towards him. It was a long chance, but the stakeswere big and worth the risk. He had thought much during the nightprevious--in fact, for many hours--and the morning had found him stillundecided, wherefore he took this course.

  "Necia tells me that you aim to keep law and order here," he began,abruptly, having drawn the young man aside.

  "Those are my instructions," said Burrell, "but they are so vague--"

  "Well! This camp is bigger than it was an hour ago, and it 'ain'timproved any in the growth. Yonder goes the new citizen." He pointed tothe stranger, who had returned to the steamer for his baggage and wasdescending the gang-plank beneath them, a valise in each hand. "He's athief and a murderer, and we don't want him here. Now, it's up to you."

  "I don't understand," said the Lieutenant, whereupon the trader toldhim Doret's tale. "You and your men were sent here to keep thingspeaceable," he concluded, "and I reckon when a man is too tough for theCanuck police he is tough enough for you to tackle. There ain't a lockand key in the camp, and we ain't had a killing or a stealing in tenyears. We'd like to keep it that way."

  "Well--you see--I know nothing of that shooting affray, so I doubt ifmy authority would permit me to interfere," the soldier mused, half tohimself.

  "I allowed you were to use your own judgment," said the elder man.

  "So I am, I suppose. There is one chance, Mr. Gale. If you'll back meup I'll send him on down to St. Michael's. That is the most I can do."

  The Lieutenant outlined his plan, and as he went on the trader noddedapproval.

  The young man gazed back at him so squarely, his eyes were so pleasantand friendly, his whole person breathed such straight-up honesty andfreshness, that shame arose in the old man, and he had hard shift tokeep his glance from wavering. Without forethought he answered,impulsively:

  "He's desperate and he's dangerous. I sold him a '45' just now." He wasabout to tell him where the man wore it, and to add a word concerninghis dexterity with the gun, when the very fearless deliberation of theyouth deterred him. On second thought, Gale yielded to an impulse towait and see how Meade Burrell would act under fire. If the soldieremerged scathless, it would give him a line on his character; if he didnot--well, that would be even better. The sight of his blue and brassawoke in the elder man dread and cowardice, emotions he had neverexperienced before. Anyhow, he owed it to himself, to Necia, and to theothers to find out what kind of man this soldier was.

  The crowd was coming back to the steamer, which had discharged her fewbundles of freight, and there was no one inside the log post as theyentered except Doret and the stranger, who had deposited his baggage atthe rear and was talking with the Frenchman at the bar. At sight of theLieutenant he became silent, and turned carelessly, although with adistrustful stare. Burrell wasted no time.

  "Are you going to locate here?" he began.

  "Yes."

  "I notice you go skeleton-rigged," the soldier continued, indicatingthe man's baggage. "Pretty small outfit for a miner, isn't it?"

  "It's plenty for me."

  "Have you enough money to buy your season's grub?"

  "I guess that's my business."

  "Pardon me, it is my business also."

  "What is this--a hold-up?" The man laughed harshly, at the same timeswinging around till he faced his questioner. Gale noted that his righthand now hung directly over the spot where his suspenders buttoned onthe right side. The trader moved aside and took up a position at somedistance.

  "My orders are to see that all new-comers either have an outfit or areable to buy one," said Burrell. "Those that are not equipped properlyare to be sent down-river to St. Michael's, where there is plenty ofeverything and where they will be taken care of by the government. Mr.Gale has only sufficient provisions to winter the men already in thisdistrict."

  "I can take care of myself," said the man, angrily, "whether I'm brokeor not, and I don't want any of your interference." He shot a quickglance at Poleon Doret, but the Frenchman's face was like wood, and hishand still held the neck of the whiskey bottle he had set out for thestranger before the others entered. Gale leaned against the oppositecounter, his countenance inert but for the eyes, which were fixed uponthe Lieutenant.

  "Come," said the officer, peremptorily, "I have heard all about you,and you are not the kind of citizen we want here, but if you haveenough money for an outfit I can't send you away. If you haven't--"

  "I'm broke," said the man, but at the note in his voice Poleon Doret'smuscles tightened, and Burrell, who also read a sinister message in thetone, slid his heavy service revolver from its holster beneath his coat.

  He had never done this thing before, and it galled him. He had neverdrawn a weapon on a man, and this playing at policeman became suddenlymost repugnant, stirring in him the uncomfortable feeling that he wasdoing a mean thing, and not only a mean thing, but one of which heought to be heartily ashamed. He felt decidedly amateurish, especiallywhen he saw that the man apparently intended no resistance and made nomove. However, he was in for it now, and must end as he had begun.

  "Give me your gun," he said; "I'll unload it and give it back to you atthe gang-plank."

  "All right, you've got the upper hand," said the man through lips thathad gone white. Drawing his weapon from beneath his vest, he presentedit to the officer, butt foremost, hammer underneath. The cylinderreposed naturally in the palm of his hand, and the tip of hisforefinger was thrust through the trigger-g
uard.

  Burrell lowered the barrel of his revolver and put out his left handfor the other's weapon. Suddenly the man's wrist jerked, the soldiersaw a blue flicker of sunlight on the steel as it whirled, saw the armof Poleon Doret fling itself across the bar with the speed of astriking serpent, heard a smash of breaking glass, felt the shock of aconcussion, and the spatter of some liquid in his face. Then he saw theman's revolver on the floor half-way across the room, saw fragments ofglass with it, and saw the fellow step backward, snatching at thefingers of his right hand. A smell of powder-smoke and rank whiskey wasin the air.

  There are times when a man's hand will act more swiftly than histongue. Napoleon Doret had seen the manner of the stranger's surrenderof his gun, and, realizing too late what it meant, had acted. At thevery instant of the fellow's treachery, Doret struck with his bottlejust in time to knock the weapon from his hand, but not in time toprevent its discharge. The bullet was lodged in the wall a foot fromwhere Gale stood. As the stranger staggered back, the Frenchman vaultedthe bar, but, though swift as a cat, the soldier, who had also leaped,was before him. Aiming a sweeping downward blow with his Colt, Burrellclipped the Skagway man just above the ear, and he reeled; then as hefell the officer struck wickedly again at his opponent's skull, butDoret seized him by the arm.

  "Ba Gar, don't kill 'im twice!"

  Burrell wrenched his arm free and turned on Doret a face that remainedlong in the Frenchman's memory, a face suffused with fury and convulsedlike that of a sprinter at the finish of a race. The two men stared ateach other over the fallen figure for a brief moment, until the soldiergained mastery of himself and sheathed his weapon, when Poleon smiled.

  "I spoil' a quart of good w'iskee on you. Dat's wort' five dollar."

  The Lieutenant wiped the liquor from his face.

  "Quick work, Doret," he said. "I owe you one."

  Gale's face was hidden as he bent over the prostrate man, fingering along and ragged cut which laid the fellow's scalp open from back of theear to the temple, but he mumbled something unintelligible.

  "Is he hurt badly?"

  "No, you chipped him too low," said the trader. "I told you he was bad."

  "He's goin' have nice birt'-mark, anyhow," said Doret, going back ofthe bar for some water. They revived the man, then bound up his injuryhastily, and as the steamer cast off they led him to the bank andpassed his grip-sacks to a roustabout. He said no word as he walkedunsteadily up the plank, but turned and stared malignantly at them fromthe deck; then, as the craft swung outward into the stream, he grinnedthrough the trickle of blood that stole down from beneath his wide hat,if the convulsive grimace he made could be termed a grin, and cried:

  "I'd like to introduce myself, for I'm coming back to winter with you,Lieutenant! My name is Runnion." And until the steamer was hiddenbehind the bend below they saw him standing there gazing back at themfixedly.

  As Burrell left the two men at the store, he gave his hand frankly tothe French-Canadian, and said, while his cheeks flushed:

  "I want to thank you for saving me from my own awkwardness."

  Doret became even more embarrassed than the Lieutenant at this show ofgratitude, and grunted churlishly. But when the young man had gone heturned to Gale, who had watched them silently, and said:

  "He's nice young feller, ole man. Sapre! Wen he's mad his eye got sored lak' my ondershirt."

  But the trader made no reply.