CHAPTER 27
The next morning Bush McTaggart heard the clanking of a chain when hewas still a good quarter of a mile from the "nest." Was it a lynx? Wasit a fishercat? Was it a wolf or a fox? OR WAS IT BAREE? He half ranthe rest of the distance, and it last he came to where he could see,and his heart leaped into his throat when he saw that he had caught hisenemy. He approached, holding his rifle ready to fire if by any chancethe dog should free himself.
Baree lay on his side, panting from exhaustion and quivering with pain.A hoarse cry of exultation burst from McTaggart's lips as he drewnearer and looked at the snow. It was packed hard for many feet aboutthe trap house, where Baree had struggled, and it was red with blood.The blood had come mostly from Baree's jaws. They were dripping now ashe glared at his enemy. The steel jaws hidden under the snow had donetheir merciless work well. One of his forefeet was caught well uptoward the first joint; both hind feet were caught. A fourth trap hadclosed on his flank, and in tearing the jaws loose he had pulled off apatch of skin half as big as McTaggart's hand. The snow told the storyof his desperate fight all through the night. His bleeding jaws showedhow vainly he had tried to break the imprisoning steel with his teeth.He was panting. His eyes were bloodshot.
But even now, after all his hours of agony, neither his spirit nor hiscourage was broken. When he saw McTaggart he made a lunge to his feet,almost instantly crumpling down into the snow again. But his forefeetwere braced. His head and chest remained up, and the snarl that camefrom his throat was tigerish in its ferocity. Here, at last--not morethan a dozen feet from him--was the one thing in all the world that hehated more than he hated the wolf breed. And again he was helpless, ashe had been helpless that other time in the rabbit snare.
The fierceness of his snarl did not disturb Bush McTaggart now. He sawhow utterly the other was at his mercy, and with an exultant laugh heleaned his rifle against a tree, pulled oft his mittens, and beganloading his pipe. This was the triumph he had looked forward to, thetorture he had waited for. In his soul there was a hatred as deadly asBaree's, the hatred that a man might have for a man. He had expected tosend a bullet through the dog. But this was better--to watch him dyingby inches, to taunt him as he would have taunted a human, to walk abouthim so that he could hear the clank of the traps and see the freshblood drip as Baree twisted his tortured legs and body to keep facinghim. It was a splendid vengeance. He was so engrossed in it that he didnot hear the approach of snowshoes behind him. It was a voice--a man'svoice--that turned him round in his tracks.
The man was a stranger, and he was younger than McTaggart by ten years.At least he looked no more than thirty-five or six, even with the shortgrowth of blond beard he wore. He was of that sort that the average manwould like at first glance; boyish, and yet a man; with clear eyes thatlooked out frankly from under the rim of his fur cap, a form lithe asan Indian's, and a face that did not bear the hard lines of thewilderness. Yet McTaggart knew before he had spoken that this man wasof the wilderness, that he was heart and soul a part of it. His cap wasof fisher skin. He wore a windproof coat of softly tanned caribou skin,belted at the waist with a long sash, and Indian fringed. The inside ofthe coat was furred. He was traveling on the long, slender bush countrysnowshoe. His pack, strapped over the shoulders, was small and compact;he was carrying his rifle in a cloth jacket. And from cap to snowshoeshe was TRAVEL WORN. McTaggart, at a guess, would have said that he hadtraveled a thousand miles in the last few weeks. It was not thisthought that sent the strange and chilling thrill up his back; but thesudden fear that in some strange way a whisper of the truth might havefound its way down into the south--the truth of what had happened onthe Gray Loon--and that this travel-worn stranger wore under hiscaribou-skin coat the badge of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. Forthat instant it was almost a terror that possessed him, and he stoodmute.
The stranger had uttered only an amazed exclamation before. Now hesaid, with his eyes on Baree:
"God save us, but you've got the poor devil in a right proper mess,haven't you?"
There was something in the voice that reassured McTaggart. It was not asuspicious voice, and he saw that the stranger was more interested inthe captured animal than in himself. He drew a deep breath.
"A trap robber," he said.
The stranger was staring still more closely at Baree. He thrust his gunstock downward in the snow and drew nearer to him.
"God save us again--a dog!" he exclaimed.
From behind, McTaggart was watching the man with the eyes of a ferret.
"Yes, a dog," he answered. "A wild dog, half wolf at least. He's robbedme of a thousand dollars' worth of fur this winter."
The stranger squatted himself before Baree, with his mittened handsresting on his knees, and his white teeth gleaming in a half smile.
"You poor devil!" he said sympathetically. "So you're a trap robber,eh? An outlaw? And--the police have got you! And--God save us oncemore--they haven't played you a very square game!"
He rose and faced McTaggart.
"I had to set a lot of traps like that," the factor apologized, hisface reddening slightly under the steady gaze of the stranger's blueeyes. Suddenly his animus rose. "And he's going to die there, inch byinch. I'm going to let him starve, and rot in the traps, to pay for allhe's done." He picked up his gun, and added, with his eyes on thestranger and his finger ready at the trigger, "I'm Bush McTaggart, thefactor at Lac Bain. Are you bound that way, M'sieu?"
"A few miles. I'm bound upcountry--beyond the Barrens."
McTaggart felt again the strange thrill.
"Government?" he asked.
The stranger nodded.
"The--police, perhaps," persisted McTaggart.
"Why, yes--of course--the police," said the stranger, looking straightinto the factor's eyes. "And now, m'sieu, as a very great courtesy tothe Law I'm going to ask you to send a bullet through that beast's headbefore we go on. Will you? Or shall I?"
"It's the law of the line," said McTaggart, "to let a trap robber rotin the traps. And that beast was a devil. Listen--"
Swiftly, and yet leaving out none of the fine detail, he told of theweeks and months of strife between himself and Baree; of the maddeningfutility of all his tricks and schemes and the still more maddeningcleverness of the beast he had at last succeeded in trapping.
"He was a devil--that clever," he cried fiercely when he had finished."And now--would you shoot him, or let him lie there and die by inches,as the devil should?"
The stranger was looking at Baree. His face was turned away fromMcTaggart. He said:
"I guess you are right. Let the devil rot. If you're heading for LacBain, m'sieu, I'll travel a short distance with you now. It will take acouple of miles to straighten out the line of my compass."
He picked up his gun. McTaggart led the way. At the end of half an hourthe stranger stopped, and pointed north.
"Straight up there--a good five hundred miles," he said, speaking aslightly as though he would reach home that night. "I'll leave you here."
He made no offer to shake hands. But in going, he said:
"You might report that John Madison has passed this way."
After that he traveled straight northward for half a mile through thedeep forest. Then he swung westward for two miles, turned at a sharpangle into the south, and an hour after he had left McTaggart he wasonce more squatted on his heels almost within arms' reach of Baree.
And he was saying, as though speaking to a human companion:
"So that's what you've been, old boy. A trap robber, eh? An OUTLAW? Andyou beat him at the game for two months! And for that, because you're abetter beast than he is, he wants to let you die here as slow as youcan. An OUTLAW!" His voice broke into a pleasant laugh, the sort oflaugh that warms one, even a beast. "That's funny. We ought to shakehands, Boy, by George, we had! You're a wild one, he says. Well, so amI. Told him my name was John Madison. It ain't. I'm Jim Carvel. And, ohLord!--all I said was 'police.' And that was right. It ain't a lie. I'mwanted by th
e whole corporation--by every danged policeman betweenHudson's Bay and the Mackenzie River. Shake, old man. We're in the sameboat, an' I'm glad to meet you!"