CHAPTER 28
Jim Carvel held out his hand, and the snarl that was in Baree's throatdied away. The man rose to his feet. He stood there, looking in thedirection taken by Bush McTaggart, and chuckled in a curious, exultantsort of way.
There was friendliness even in that chuckle. There was friendliness inhis eyes and in the shine of his teeth as he looked again at Baree.About him there was something that seemed to make the gray daybrighter, that seemed to warm the chill air--a strange something thatradiated cheer and hope and comradeship just as a hot stove sends outthe glow of heat. Baree felt it. For the first time since the two menhad come his trap-torn body lost its tenseness; his back sagged; histeeth clicked as he shivered in his agony. To THIS man he betrayed hisweakness. In his bloodshot eyes there was a hungering look as hewatched Carvel--the self-confessed outlaw. And Jim Carvel again heldout his hand--much nearer this time.
"You poor devil," he said, the smile going out of his face. "You poordevil!"
The words were like a caress to Baree--the first he had known since theloss of Nepeese and Pierrot. He dropped his head until his jaw lay flatin the snow. Carvel could see the blood dripping slowly from it.
"You poor devil!" he repeated.
There was no fear in the way he put forth his hand. It was theconfidence of a great sincerity and a great compassion. It touchedBaree's head and patted it in a brotherly fashion, and then--slowly andwith a bit more caution--it went to the trap fastened to Baree'sforepaw. In his half-crazed brain Baree was fighting to understandthings, and the truth came finally when he felt the steel jaws of thetrap open, and he drew forth his maimed foot. He did then what he haddone to no other creature but Nepeese. Just once his hot tongue shotout and licked Carvel's hand. The man laughed. With his powerful handshe opened the other traps, and Baree was free.
For a few moments he lay without moving, his eyes fixed on the man.Carvel had seated himself on the snow-covered end of a birch log andwas filling his pipe. Baree watched him light it; he noted with newinterest the first purplish cloud of smoke that left Carvel's mouth.The man was not more than the length of two trap chains away--and hegrinned at Baree.
"Screw up your nerve, old chap," he encouraged. "No bones broke. Just alittle stiff. Mebby we'd better--get out."
He turned his face in the direction of Lac Bain. The suspicion was inhis mind that McTaggart might turn back. Perhaps that same suspicionwas impressed upon Baree, for when Carvel looked at him again he was onhis feet, staggering a bit as he gained his equilibrium. In anothermoment the outlaw had swung the packsack from his shoulders and wasopening it. He thrust in his hand and drew out a chunk of raw, red meat.
"Killed it this morning," he explained to Baree. "Yearling bull, tenderas partridge--and that's as fine a sweetbread as ever came out fromunder a backbone. Try it!"
He tossed the flesh to Baree. There was no equivocation in the mannerof its acceptance. Baree was famished--and the meat was flung to him bya friend. He buried his teeth in it. His jaws crunched it. New fireleapt into his blood as he feasted, but not for an instant did hisreddened eyes leave the other's face. Carvel replaced his pack. He roseto his feet, took up his rifle, slipped on his snowshoes, and frontedthe north.
"Come on. Boy," he said. "We've got to travel."
It was a matter-of-fact invitation, as though the two had beentraveling companions for a long time. It was, perhaps, not only aninvitation but partly a command. It puzzled Baree. For a fullhalf-minute he stood motionless in his tracks gazing at Carvel as hestrode into the north. A sudden convulsive twitching shot throughBaree. He swung his head toward Lac Bain; he looked again at Carvel,and a whine that was scarcely more than a breath came out of histhroat. The man was just about to disappear into the thick spruce. Hepaused, and looked back.
"Coming, Boy?"
Even at that distance Baree could see him grinning affably. He saw theoutstretched hand, and the voice stirred new sensations in him. It wasnot like Pierrot's voice. He had never loved Pierrot. Neither was itsoft and sweet like the Willow's. He had known only a few men, and allof them he had regarded with distrust. But this was a voice thatdisarmed him. It was lureful in its appeal. He wanted to answer it. Hewas filled with a desire, all at once, to follow close at the heels ofthis stranger. For the first time in his life a craving for thefriendship of man possessed him. He did not move until Jim Carvelentered the spruce. Then he followed.
That night they were camped in a dense growth of cedars and balsams tenmiles north of Bush McTaggart's trap line. For two hours it had snowed,and their trail was covered. It was still snowing, but not a flake ofthe white deluge sifted down through the thick canopy of boughs. Carvelhad put up his small silk tent, and had built a fire. Their supper wasover, and Baree lay on his belly facing the outlaw, almost within reachof his hand. With his back to a tree Carvel was smoking luxuriously. Hehad thrown off his cap and his coat, and in the warm fireglow he lookedalmost boyishly young. But even in that glow his jaws lost none oftheir squareness, nor his eyes their clear alertness.
"Seems good to have someone to talk to," he was saying to Baree."Someone who can understand, an' keep his mouth shut. Did you ever wantto howl, an' didn't dare? Well, that's me. Sometimes I've been on thepoint of bustin' because I wanted to talk to someone, an' couldn't."
He rubbed his hands together, and held them out toward the fire. Bareewatched his movements and listened intently to every sound that escapedhis lips. His eyes had in them now a dumb sort of worship, a look thatwarmed Carvel's heart and did away with the vast loneliness andemptiness of the night. Baree had dragged himself nearer to the man'sfeet, and suddenly Carvel leaned over and patted his head.
"I'm a bad one, old chap," he chuckled. "You haven't got it on me--nota bit. Want to know what happened?" He waited a moment, and Bareelooked at him steadily. Then Carvel went on, as if speaking to a human,"Let's see--it was five years ago, five years this December, justbefore Christmas time. Had a Dad. Fine old chap, my dad was. NoMother--just the Dad, an' when you added us up we made just One.Understand? And along came a white-striped skunk named Hardy and shothim one day because Dad had worked against him in politics. Out an' outmurder. An' they didn't hang that skunk! No, sir, they didn't hang him.He had too much money, an' too many friends in politics, an' they let'im off with two years in the penitentiary. But he didn't get there.No--s'elp me God, he didn't get there!"
Carvel was twisting his hands until his knuckles cracked. An exultantsmile lighted up his face, and his eyes flashed back the firelight.Baree drew a deep breath--a mere coincidence; but it was a tense momentfor all that.
"No, he didn't get to the penitentiary," went on Carvel, lookingstraight at Baree again. "Yours truly knew what that meant, old chap.He'd have been pardoned inside a year. An' there was my dad, thebiggest half of me, in his grave. So I just went up to thatwhite-striped skunk right there before the judge's eyes, an' thelawyers' eyes, an' the eyes of all his dear relatives an' friends--ANDI KILLED HIM! And I got away. Was out through a window before they wokeup, hit for the bush country, and have been eating up the trails eversince. An' I guess God was with me, Boy. For He did a queer thing tohelp me out summer before last, just when the Mounties were after mehardest an' it looked pretty black. Man was found drowned down in theReindeer Country, right where they thought I was cornered. An' the goodLord made that man look so much like me that he was buried under myname. So I'm officially dead, old chap. I don't need to be afraid anymore so long as I don't get too familiar with people for a year or solonger, and 'way down inside me I've liked to believe God fixed it upin that way to help me out of a bad hole. What's YOUR opinion? Eh?"
He leaned forward for an answer. Baree had listened. Perhaps, in a way,he had understood. But it was another sound than Carvel's voice thatcame to his ears now. With his head close to the ground he heard itquite distinctly. He whined, and the whine ended in a snarl so low thatCarvel just caught the warning note in it. He straightened. He stood upthen, and faced the south. Baree stood beside him, his
legs tense andhis spine bristling.
After a moment Carvel said:
"Relatives of yours, old chap. Wolves."
He went into the tent for his rifle and cartridges.