Part 17 (1/2)

He had pa.s.sed so many crossings and fork-ings of the bush-grown road that he gave up trying to keep the ramifications in mind for his use should he find it necessary to turn back. He now went on doggedly, choosing this way or that, as it chanced, hoping to hear a ringing ax or a hunter's gun or a teamster's shout somewhere in those solitudes.

In the late afternoon the road led him to an ice-sheathed stream. Here the way divided.

He took the road that led down-stream. It undoubtedly ended at a lake, thought he. Log-landings are on lakes. There would be men to release him from the torture of aching muscles and gnawing stomach. Parker would have welcomed the sight of Colonel Gideon Ward himself when that second night came through the trees.

It was beyond human endurance to walk farther, but Parker realized that if he lay down in that state of cold, weariness and hunger he would never rise again. He marshaled in his mind all the people, all the interests he had to live for; the parents who depended on him, a certain young girl who was waiting so anxiously for his return, his prospects in life. He did this methodically, as if he were piling f.a.gots for a fire at which to warm himself. Then he mentally kindled the heap with the blaze of a mighty determination to live, and standing under a great spruce, he began to stamp about it and count aloud. Half a dozen times during that long night he staggered and fell, as if an invisible hand had struck him down. But the next moment, with a cry of ”I'll stay awake!” he was up again and at his self-set task, mind, muscles and nerves centering in his one desperate resolve.

Then the dawn came peeping over the big spruces, and found him still at his grim gambols. He set forth once more down the road, slipping and stumbling, his body doubled forward. A few miles and a few hours more--it was the most he could hope for.

All at once his dull ears heard the zin-n-ng of a rifle-bullet close to his head; and almost immediately, as he ducked and rolled upon his back, the sinister shriek of another ball made it plain that he was the game aimed at. Two smart cracks at some distance indicated the location of the marksman.

Animal instinct is alike in brute and man. Parker leaped at the sound of the first bullet, fell, and rolled behind a snow-covered boulder.

Had Ward or his minion tracked him? Were they now carrying out their desperate plan? The double report was proof that the man or men were determined on slaughter.

After a long time he dared to peer cautiously. At some distance down the tote-road an old man was crouching beside a moose sled. On the sled was the carca.s.s of a deer. Parker realized that this old man must be a poacher.

An a.s.sa.s.sin sent after a man would not be wasting his ammunition on deer in close time.

The old man remained motionless, with the stolidity of the veteran hunter waiting to make sure. Torpor rapidly seized on Parker's mind.

He shouted as best he could, but his voice was hoa.r.s.e from hours of shouting into the vastness of the deserted woods. His faculties were growing befogged. He dared not exert himself enough to keep awake, for his rock was but a narrow bulwark. It seemed to be a choice of deaths, only.

At last he desperately leaped up and danced behind his protecting boulder, uttering such cries as he could. But he saw the old man throw his rifle up and take aim. Down he dropped, and the bullet sang overhead.

He realized then that his garb made him resemble some strange beast--a bear, perhaps--and he gritted his teeth as he pondered that this might be part of Gideon Ward's vindictive scheme. If he attempted to show himself long enough to convince the old man that he was human he would only be inviting the bullet.

Until his blurring senses left him he occasionally shouted or thrust up his head; but the old still-hunter was relentless, and evidently had not the clear vision of a youth. He was always ready with a shot.

At last, with tears freezing on his cheeks, Parker gave himself up to the fatuous comfort of the man succ.u.mbing to cold and hunger.

CHAPTER TWELVE--THE STRANGE ”CAT-HERMIT OF MOXIE”

Afterward it seemed that he began to dream. Somber individuals were crus.h.i.+ng his limbs between great rollers. Frisky little ghouls were sticking needles into him, and there were so many needles that it seemed that every inch of his skin was being tortured at the same instant.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Every inch of his skin was being tortured 197-224]

The agony grew intense. He was trying to cry out, and a giant hand was over his mouth. And when the pain became so excruciating that it did not seem as if nature could longer endure it, he opened his eyes.

A sludge-dish hooked to a beam shed its yellow glimmer of light upon a strange interior.

There was no more strange figure in the place than Parker himself. He was stripped and seated in a half-hogshead filled with water, from which vapors were rising. His first wild thought was that the water was hot and was blistering him. He screamed in the agony of alarm and strove to rise.

But hands on his shoulders forced him down again. These hands were rubbing snow upon him. Then the young man realized that his sensations were produced by icy cold water. Parker felt that cloths bound snow and ice to his ears and face.

A glance showed him that he was in a rude log camp. The c.h.i.n.ked walls were bare and solid. The interior was s.p.a.cious, and a big fireplace promised warmth.

The most astonis.h.i.+ng of all in the place were its visible tenants--a mult.i.tude of cats. Some were huddled on benches, their a.s.sorted colors and markings composing a strange medley. Others stalked about the cabin.

Many sat before the embers in the fireplace. A half-score were grouped about the hogshead and its occupant, with their tails wound round their feet, and were solemnly observing the work of reanimating the stranger.

Here and there among taciturn felines of larger growth little spike-tail kits were rolling, cuffing, frolicking and miauing. For a moment the scene seemed a part of his delirium.