The Yukon Trail: A Tale of the North Read online

  CHAPTER XVI

  AMBUSHED

  Colby Macdonald, in miner's boots and corduroy working suit, stoodbeside his horse with one arm thrown carelessly across its rump. He wasabout to start for Seven-Mile Creek Camp with twenty-seven hundreddollars in the saddlebags to pay the men there.

  Diane was talking with him. "She's young and fine and spirited. Ofcourse it was a great shock to her. She had been idealizing you. But Ithink she is beginning to understand things better. At any rate, shedoes not hate you any more. Give the girl time."

  "You think she will--be reasonable?"

  Mrs. Paget finished the pattern she was punching in the soft groundbeside the board walk with the ferrule of her umbrella. Her eyes met hisfrankly.

  "I don't know. But I'm sure of one thing. She'll not be reasonable, asyou call it, unless you are reasonable."

  "You mean--Elliot?"

  "Yes. She likes him very much. Do you know that when the Indian womancame he urged Sheba not to listen to her story?"

  "Sounds likely--after he had spent his good money bringing her here,"sneered the mine-owner.

  "He didn't. Gordon is a splendid fellow. He wouldn't lie," answeredDiane hotly. "And one thing is sure--if you lay a finger on him forthis, it will be fatal with Sheba. She will be through with you."

  Macdonald had thought of this before. It had been coming to him fromseveral different angles that he could not afford to gratify his desireto wipe this meddlesome young official from his path. He made a slow,sulky promise.

  "All right. I'll let him alone. Peter can tell him."

  Swinging to the saddle, he spurred his horse and cantered away. With alittle smile Diane watched his flat, muscular back and the arrogant setof his strong shoulders. There was not his match in the territory, shethought, but sometimes a clever woman could manage him.

  His mind was full of the problem that had come into his life. He rodeabstractedly, so that he was at the lower ford of the creek almostbefore he knew it. A bilberry thicket straggled down to the oppositebank of the stream on both sides of the road.

  The horse splashed through the ford and took the little rise beyond witha rush. Just before reaching the brow of the hill, the animal stumbledand fell. As its rider went headlong, he caught a glimpse of a corddrawn taut across the path.

  Macdonald, shaken by the fall, began slowly to rise. From the shadowsof the bilberry bushes two stooping figures rushed at him. He threw upan arm to ward off the club aimed at his head, but succeeded only inbreaking the force of the blow. As he staggered back, stunned, a bulletglanced along his forehead and ridged a furrow through the thick hair.A second stroke of the club jarred him to the heels.

  Though his mind was not clear, his body answered automatically theinstinct that told him to close with his assailants. He lurched forwardand gripped one, wrestling with him for the revolver. Vaguely he knewby the sharp, jagged shoots of pain that the second man was beating hishead with a club. The warm blood dripped through his hair and blindedhis eyes. Dazed and shaken, he yet managed to get the revolver from theman who had it. But it was his last effort. He was too far gone to useit. A blow on the forehead brought him unconscious to the groundbleeding from a dozen wounds.

  On his way back from Seven-Mile Creek Camp Gordon Elliot rode down tothe ford. In the dusk he was almost upon them before the robbers heardhim. For a moment the two men stood gazing at him and he at the tragedybefore him. One of the men moved toward his horse.

  "Stop there!" ordered Gordon sharply, and he reached for his revolver.

  The man--it was the miner Northrup--jumped for Elliot and the fieldagent fired. Another moment, and he was being dragged from the saddle.What happened next was never clear to him. He knew that both of thebandits closed in on him and that he was fighting desperately againstodds. The revolver had been knocked from his hand and he fought withbare fists just as they did. Twice he emptied his lungs in a cry forhelp.

  They quartered over the ground, for Gordon would not let either of themget behind him. They were larger than he, heavy, muscle-bound giants ofgreat strength, but he was far more active on his feet. He jabbed andsidestepped and retreated. More than once their heavy blows crashed homeon his face. His eyes dared not wander from them for an instant, but hewas working toward a definite plan. As he moved, his feet were searchingfor the automatic he had dropped.

  One of his feet, dragging over the ground, came into contact with thesteel. With a swift side kick Gordon flung the weapon a dozen feet tothe left. Presently, watching his chance, he made a dive for it.

  Trelawney, followed by Northrup, turned and ran. One of them caughtMacdonald's horse by the bridle. He swung to the saddle and the otherman clambered on behind. There was a clatter of hoofs and they weregone.

  Elliot stooped over the battered body that lay huddled at the edgeof the water. The man was either dead or unconscious, he was not surewhich. So badly had the face been beaten and hammered that it was notuntil he had washed the blood from the wounds that Gordon recognizedMacdonald.

  Opening the coat of the insensible man, Gordon put his hand against theheart. He could not be sure whether he felt it beating or whether thethrobbing came from the pulses in his finger tips. As well as he couldhe bound up the wounds with handkerchiefs and stanched the bleeding.With ice-cold water from the stream he drenched the bruised face. Afaint sigh quivered through the slack, inert body.

  Gordon hoisted Macdonald across the saddle and led the horse throughthe ford. He walked beside the animal to town, and never had two milesseemed to him so far. With one hand he steadied the helpless body thatlay like a sack of flour balanced in the trough of the saddle.

  Kusiak at last lay below him, and when he descended the hill to thesuburbs almost the first house was the one where the Pagets lived.

  Elliot threw the body across his shoulder and walked up the walk to theporch. He kicked upon the door with his foot. Sheba answered the knock,and at sight of what he carried the color faded from her face.

  "Macdonald has been hurt--badly," he explained quickly.

  "This way," the girl cried, and led him to her own room, hurrying inadvance to throw back the bedclothes.

  "Get Diane--and a doctor," ordered Gordon after he had laid theunconscious man on the white sheet.

  While he and Diane undressed the mine-owner Sheba got a doctor on thetelephone. The wounded man opened his eyes after a long time, but therewas in them the glaze of delirium. He recognized none of them. He didnot know that he was in the house of Peter Paget, that Diane and Shebaand his rival were fighting with the help of the doctor to push backthe death that was crowding close upon him. All night he raved, andhis delirious talk went back to the wild scenes of his earlier life.Sometimes he swore savagely; again he made quiet deadly threats; butalways his talk was crisp and clean and vigorous. Nothing foul or slimycame to the surface in those hours of unconscious babbling.

  The doctor had shaken his head when he first saw the wounds. He wouldmake no promises.

  "He's a mighty sick man. The cuts are deep, and the hammering must havejarred his brain terribly. If it was anybody but Macdonald, I wouldn'tgive him a chance," he told Diane when he left in the morning to getbreakfast. "But Macdonald has tremendous vitality. Of course if he livesit will be because Mr. Elliot brought him in so soon."

  Gordon walked with the doctor as far as the hotel. A brown, thin,leathery man undraped himself from a chair in the lobby when Elliotopened the door. He was officially known as the chief of police ofKusiak. Incidentally he constituted the whole police force. Generally hewas referred to as Gopher Jones on account of his habit of spasmodicprospecting.

  "I got to put you under arrest, Mr. Elliot," he explained.

  The loafers in the hotel drew closer.

  "What for?" demanded Gordon, surprised.

  "Doc thinks it will run to murder, I reckon."

  The field agent was startled. "You mean--Macdonald?"

  The brown man chewed his quid steadily. "You done guessed it."

&nb
sp; "That's absurd, you know. What evidence have you got?"

  "First off, you'd had trouble with him. It was common talk that when youand Mac met, guns were going to pop. You bought an automatic revolver atthe Seattle & Kusiak Emporium two days ago. You was seen practising withit."

  "He had threatened me."

  "You want to be careful what you say, Mr. Elliot. It will be usedagainst you." Gopher shot a squirt of tobacco unerringly at the opendoor of the stove. "You was seen talking with Trelawney and Northrup.Money passed from you to them."

  "I gave them a loan of ten dollars each because they were broke. Is thatcriminal?" demanded Gordon angrily.

  "That's your story. You'll git a chance to tell it to the jury, Ishouldn't wonder. Mebbe they'll believe it. You never can tell."

  "Believe it! Why, you muttonhead, I found him where he was bleeding todeath and brought him in."

  "That's what I heard say. Kinder queer, ain't it, you happened to be theman that found him?"

  "Nothing queer about it. I was riding in from Seven-Mile Creek Camp."Gordon was exasperated, but not at all alarmed.

  "So you was. While you was out at the camp, you asked one of the boyshow big the pay-roll would be."

  "Does that prove I was planning a hold-up? Isn't that the last thing Iwould have asked if I had intended robbery?"

  "Don't ask me. I ain't no psychologist. All I know is you took aninterest in the bank-roll on the way."

  "I'm here for the Government investigating Macdonald. I was gettinginformation--earning my pay. Can you understand that?"

  Gopher chewed his cud impassively. "Sure I can, and I been earning mine.By the way, howcome you to be beat up so bad, Mr. Elliot?"

  "I had a fight with the robbers."

  "Sure it wasn't with the robbed. That split lip of yours looks to meplumb like Mac's John Hancock."

  Elliot flushed angrily. "Of course if you intend to believe meguilty--"

  "Now, there ain't no manner o' use in gettin' het up, young fellow.Mebbe you did it; mebbe you didn't. Anyhow, you'll gimme that gat youbeen toting these last few days."

  Gordon's hand moved toward his hip. Then he remembered.

  "I haven't it. I left it--"

  "You left it at the ford--with one shell empty. That's where you leftit," interrupted the officer.

  "Yes. I fired at Northrup as he rushed me."

  "Um-hu," assented Jones, impudent unbelief in his eye. "At Northrup orat Macdonald."

  "What do you think I did with the money, then? Did I eat it?"

  "Not so you could notice it. Since you put it to me flat-foot, you gaveit to your pardners. You didn't want it. They did. They have got thehorse too--and they're hitting the high spots to make their get-away."

  Elliot was locked up in the flimsy jail without breakfast. He wasfurious, but as he paced up and down the narrow beat beside the bed hisanger gave way to anxiety. Surely the Pagets could not believe he haddone such a thing. And Sheba--would she accept as true this weight ofcircumstantial evidence that was piling up against him?

  It could all be explained so easily. And yet--the facts fitted likelinks of a chain to condemn him. He went over them one by one. Thebabbling tongue of Selfridge that had made common gossip of theimpending tragedy in which he and Macdonald were the principals--hispurchase of the automatic--his public meeting with two known enemies ofthe Scotchman, during which he had been seen to give them money--histarget practice with the new revolver--the unhappy chance that had takenhim out to Seven-Mile Creek Camp the very day of the robbery--his casualquestions of the miners--even the finding of the body by him. All ofthese dovetailed with the hypothesis that his partners in crime were toescape and bear the blame, while he was to bring the body back to townand assume innocence.

  Paget was admitted to his cell later in the morning by Gopher Jones. Heshook hands with the prisoner. Jones retired.

  "Tough luck, Gordon," the engineer said.

  "What does Sheba think?" asked the young man quickly.

  "We haven't told her you have been arrested. I heard it only a littlewhile ago."

  "And Diane?"

  "Yes, she knows."

  "Well?" demanded Gordon brusquely.

  Peter looked at him in questioning surprise. "Well, what?" He caught themeaning of his friend. "Try not to be an ass, Gordon. Of course sheknows the charge is ridiculous."

  The chip dropped from the young man's shoulder. "Good old Diane. I mighthave known," he said with a new cheerfulness.

  "I think you might have," agreed Peter dryly. "By the way, have you hadany breakfast?"

  "No. I'm hungry, come to think of it."

  "I'll have something sent in from the hotel."

  "How's Macdonald?"

  "He's alive--and while there's life there is hope."

  "Any news of the murderers?" asked Gordon.

  "Posses are combing the hills for them. They stole a packhorse from atruck gardener up the valley. It seems they bought an outfit for a monthyesterday--said they were going prospecting."

  They talked for a few minutes longer, mainly on the question of a lawyerand the chances of getting out on bond. Peter left the prisoner in verymuch better spirits than he had found him.