Douglas DurKin ' 359 E THE LOBSTICK TRAIL STEPPING IN QUICKLY KIRK TORE THE FIGHTING DQGS APART. [Page 142] THE LOBSTICK TRAIL BY DOUGLAS DURKIN AUTHOR OF THE HEART OF CHERRY McBAIN FRONTISPIECE BY CHARLES L. WRENN 1 NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Made in the United State* of Amenca Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1922 Published March, 1922 Copyrighted in Great Britain Printed in the United States of America THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 2135358 The Lobstick Trail CHAPTER I. ONE morning in particular had always stood out in the memory of Kirk Brander. The night before had been a big night there had been a cabaret and drinks and girls and a drunken home-coming in the gray spring dawn. For Kirk had just turned twenty-three, and a half dozen of his boon companions had taken advantage of the occasion to assemble and Daint the town its traditional hue in his honor. The next morning, much against his own will in the matter, he had been forced by a custom unbroken in the house of his uncle and guardian to appear as usual for breakfast. Kirk's attempts at eating would have appeared pathetic to some to his uncle they were funny. In fact, his uncle had enjoyed the humor of the situation without speaking for so long that Kirk had begun to fear he was on the point of losing his self-control. He could have borne with anything except his uncle 's good-humored silence. When the tension was at its highest point, how- ever, relief came. With a kind of bitter satisfac- tion Kirk saw the cynical smile disappear almost i 2 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL suddenly from his uncle 's face. He saw the heavy countenance drop. He saw the straight, thin line of the mouth tighten. His good old uncle the only man in the world he had ever sincerely ad- mired was going to run true to form. And Kirk set himself for the shock. He knew that his old Uncle Hal could do that kind of thing to the king's taste. Henry Tyne Kirk Brander's uncle on his mother's side held strong opinions on young men in general, his young nephew in particular. Though he resented it keenly, Kirk had been forced frequently to admit that the old man was substantially correct. On this one morning in par- ticular, the admission, somehow or other, seemed to come easily. It suited his mood exactly. When he found himself alone after the worst gruelling he had ever had the honor to receive at his uncle 's hands, he felt as if a new light had broken in upon him. True, he had experienced something of the same feeling before, but it had never come to him so vividly. He was everything the old man had called him, and more. What he had heard dif- fered little, if any, from what he had heard a score of times before ; but it was as if he had just list- ened to it for the first time in his life. But all this had happened nearly five years ago. For five years Kirk Brander had kept so con- stantly in mind a resolve he had made that morn- ing that it had grown into a grim determination THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 3 that refused to acknowledge defeat, even when the odds were overwhelmingly against him. For five years he had given himself to the stern business of making a man of himself. For five years he had studied the ways of Canada's northland and had striven to accustom himself to its hard usuages. He had learned to sleep, as he had never slept before, wherever night should overtake him on the trail, had learned to relish his self -prepared meal of fried bacon and beans far more heartily than he had ever relished the most tempting selec- tion of fare from the menus of over-priced caba- rets in the cities of the east. And he had taken to it all, for the most part, with light-hearted en- thusiasm. Only once in those five years had he come near quitting. After a summer spent in The Pas a northern Manitoba frontier town he had gone into the woods with an experienced young northerner, a French-Canadian by the name of Walter Lanionte. "Wally" was at least half French. The other half was Scotch with a strain of Cree. He had pushed his way for twenty years through Canada's hinterland, had shot rapids where no white man had ever been seen, had hunt- ed and trapped, and laughed and fought his way through everything with a good humor that had never failed him. When Kirk and Lamonte first met they had found each other amusing. Before they had known each other a month they had be- come the best of friends. And when the snow fell 4 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL they took the trail together and went into the wilds to trap. From Lamonte Kirk learned how to keep a dog team in the trail, how to build a cabin, how to set out a line of traps, and the hundred and one tricks of woodcraft that twenty years in the wilds had taught the young French- Canadian. The end of the friendship had been as sudden as it was sickeningly tragic. Lamonte had gone out for supplies and had left Kirk alone in the cabin. The strenuous days of Kirk's first winter in the northern wilds had done much to put iron into his will, but the constant struggle against the elements had made it necessary for him to keep all his physical forces in the field at once. He had found little opportunity for building a reserve. Lamonte had left him suffering from a bad cold, and during the days that immediately followed his departure Kirk began to grow unreasonably anxious for his return. When the time for his arrival had passed without his putting in an appearance Kirk's anxiety increased to a fear that persisted in spite of his determination to throw it off. Two days later, unable to stand the suspense any longer, he had risen from his bed in the early morning and dressed for the trail. Something, he felt, was coming over him gradually, had been coming over him, in fact, for days. When he got from his bed and started to prepare breakfast the thought of eating nauseated him. His face felt unnaturally hot. When he stepped from the doorway of the cabin on his way out to look for Lamonte, the THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 5 first light breeze seemed to strike through his wind-proof parka and sent the chills to his very bones. Just before noon that day he found Lamonte. The dogs were nowhere in evidence. The supplies were still on the cariole untouched. A few black- ened embers lay in a little heap on the sheltered side of a tarpaulin that hung from the branches of a couple of trees. And sitting erect in the snow only a few yards away, his rifle sticking upright in a drift beside him, was the lifeless, frozen form of Walter Lamonte, his hands and arms end part of his face eaten away, either by his own dogs or by wolves. Kirk had come upon him suddenly and the sight sickened him horribly. He did not wait to seek any explanation of what he had found. The fear that had haunted him for days swooped down over him like an icy spectre and he hurried off down the trail, insanely reckless of where he was going, his hands pressed to his eyes to keep out the memory of what he had seen. Late that night "Tuck" Eoberts, a big souther- ner whose cabin stood some twenty or thirty miles to the westward, came across Kirk plunging blind- ly through the deep snow and muttering incoher- ently to himself. With some difficulty Eoberts persuaded him to come to his cabin 'and there Kirk had remained until the spring break-up. When he had recovered sufficient strength to permit of his travelling, Koberts took him out to The Pas. For the first time since he had left the 6 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL east Kirk felt himself thoroughly beaten. For the first time, too, he wrote his uncle acknowledging again the wisdom of his guardian's verdict de- livered the morning after his was twenty-three. By the time his uncle's reply came he was almost himself again and had all but forgotten his desire to get back to the comforts and pleasures of his home in the city. When the desire did arise as it was more or less bound to do periodically dur- ing his convalescence he thought of Tuck Eoberts and poor old Wally Lamonte and then thought of the old companions he had left behind him a year before. He thought, too, of the clear blue in the eyes of Euth Mackay and others of her kind in the little northern frontier town and he confessed to himself that there were no eyes like those anywhere in the memories that came to him from the streets of the city. He had grown to love the north in spite of its ruthlessness. Even as he waited for the return of full vigor there came the songs of the men going off down the Saskat- chewan now clear of ice, the rhythmic sweep of their oars, the light vigorous stroke of their gleam- ing paddles, the sight of a great river stretching its sinuous length under the open skies, and every- where the silent wooing of the heart of the wild. There followed a northland summer with the return of the waterfowl and the fluttering into life of poplars and birches and the upward pushing of the reeds along the waterways. Kirk and Tuck went in together to prospect for gold and copper. Each day came with its own struggles against the wild forces in nature, each day with its su- preme desires and each night with its reckoning up of victory or defeat. He had watched while other men, stronger in limb than he, took defeat and went at it again. He had seen men lose their season's supplies in an unlucky miscalculation of a moment while they battled waistdeep against the rapids in a river or were caught unawares in a sudden wind upon the lake. He had more than once said good-bye to men who had gone in to seek out the hidden riches of the earth and had never come back. He had come within a hair 's breadth cf losing his own life on at least a half dozen oc- casions. But he had played a man's full part and had taken his knocks without a whimper. He had taken and given measure for measure whether he bargained with nature or man. He had proven to himself that he could take up a man's task and see it through. Now, at the end of his fifth year in the north, Kirk was going down to the Pas alone with his dogs and his cariole filled with furs and in his mind a new resolve. In five years he had gained all that he had come north to gain a consciousness that he could be of some good in the world after all. Having done that there seemed to be nothing left for him in the north. He had managed to build up a tidy account in the bank at The Pas. He could go back east with a clear conscience, meet with a clear eye 8 the shrewd gaze of his old Uncle Hal, strike his hand in a clasp that would bring the old man to a physical sense of his fitness, and take his place in life alongside the best of them. For with all the love he had conceived for the life he had lived for five years, he could not quite shake himself free of the feeling that, after all, it had been five years of exile. For months he had been the victim of a homesickness that he could not overcome. He wanted to see his old uncle again, he wanted to see people, he wanted he could not clearly define the vague upwelling of de- sire within his heart. He was most conscious of it when he allowed his mind to dwell upon the eyes of Kuth Mackay. He had thought much lately about the women he had known before coming north, of their soft eyes and the lustre of their hair, and often, too, of the deep significance of womanhood and the admissions he had made secretly to himself brought him no sense of shame or self-consciousness. His blood was clean, his body knit of fibre woven in God's out-of-doors, his mind fashioned under a clear sky in a land of wide horizons. In short, Kirk Brander was going out now for the last time because the life that was in him impelled him to go. He would never come back over that trail again. He would tell that to Tuck at the first opportunity. He spoke once sharply to his dogs and jerked his cariole quickly to one side. The dogs came willingly enough to a standstill and waited frisk- THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 9 ing their arched tails slowly as they turned their heads toward him. For two days they had fought their way through a March blizzard in which it was almost impossible to ke,ep one's bearings. The wind had dropped during the afternoon and the sun had gone down in a sky that promised fair weather. The air was still filled with fine particles of snow that drifted down from the spruce and tamaracs and glistened faintly in the failing light. Kirk knew that within an hour he would emerge at last from the seemingly endless miles of tree- sheltered trail and drop down to the smooth wind- swept level of the Saskatchewan. Ten or twelve miles of river trail and he would be at The Pas, the foremost outpost of civilization in northern Manitoba. Then the hilarious reunions, the good cheer of crowded rooms, the luxury of long lazy days and nights with snug quarters and piping hot meals. During the five years that Kirk Brander had spent in the north, he had come in over practically the same trail a score of times or more, his gray huskies panting their way through miles of ill- broken or wholly trackless expanses of snow, his cariole weighted down with its freight of raw furs, his heart more hungry than he would have cared to admit for the warmth of a stout hand-clasp and the cordial glow of a human face. But now, with his new resolve burning within him, his mood was strangely different. He looked about him while his dogs rested, looked about at the low hills and the 10 skies and the dusky woodland where the darkness was already setting in. In another month it would be spring and the old longing, he knew, would he back upon him. Of one thing he was certain. He must leave the north while the ice was still on the river, while the snow was still deep in the trail or he would not have the will power to go at all. For he knew that spring would bring back with it the soft allurements and the gentle wooings, the swinging songs and the laughing of men, the greening forests and the browning earth and he knew only too well what his heart would bid him do. Quickly he turned his face towards the north. He took a half dozen steps slowly along the trail his cariole had just marked in the snow. He tossed back the hood of his parka and listened. The still- ness was like death itself. Suddenly he straight- ened himself and smiled. "Never again I" he said aloud as he looked about him in the gathering darkness. "Never again, yon white-faced, bare-fanged, snarling desert of exile! Never again!" He hurried back to his cariole, tossed it into position and with a sharp whistle flung out his long-lashed dog whip, making it crack in mid-air with the report of a rifle. "Wh-s-s-s-t! Hi, you! Bingo! Tip! Snap! Mush!" Half an hour later they swung at a merry gallop down the high bank of the Saskatchewan and came to the hard, wind-beaten level of the river. CHAPTER IL THE group of men who crowded the large square room of "Wu Long's " Northern Lights" restaurant had come in, with one or two exceptions, during the past forty-eight hours from distant and widely separated points in the north. They had not met for weeks, the ma- jority of them had not 'been out since the first real snowfall of the season, and now it was the middle of March. Similar groups might have been found crowding other places in the town, for hundreds of prospectors and trappers and men from the lumber camps had been arriving during the entire week to be on hand for the annual dog Derby. For the past twenty-four hours interest in the coming dog race had given way temporarily be- fore an unexpected announcement that had been made by Jim Cavanagh, the provincial constable. Two crimes in the northland are regarded as even worse than murder. There may be some reason for killing a man, though now-a-days the reason must be a good one, but no one has any reason either for stealing furs or for running off with another man's dogs. And Jim Cavanagh had given out the news that the warehouse of the Hud- son *g Bay Company had been broken open and 11 (2) 12 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL bales of fur to the value of twenty thousand dol- lars removed. The door opened and Phil Roche stepped into the room accompanied by a half-breed, Joe Bedard. Joe closed the door and turned to talk with the half-breed girl who stood behind the glass case that served as a counter. Phil Eoche walked to the middle of the room and paused be- fore Tuck Roberts, who was busy arguing with old man Dags. * * They Ve got the loot ! ' ' he announced abruptly. Roche's tall form was clad in a dark green mackinaw, his trousers tucked into heavy woollen socks. On his feet he wore moecassins of beaded buckskin and on his large head a fox-skin cap, the thick flaps of which hung loosely about his ears. The men pressed forward eagerly for news. "Old Jimmy found the stuff cached in the woods the other side of the railway, under two feet of snow all there dead easy ! Whoever did that job sure bungled it." "Any clue! " Dags asked briefly. "They've got enough," Roche replied. "Ye-h?" Old man Dags seemed to be only casually interested in anything Roche could say. "Jimmy won't talk but he'll talk later. I'd call it fast work fast even for Jimmy but any- one can work fast on a job as crude as that one." As Roche turned to go Dags' eyes followed him and a look almost cynical passed slowly over the old man's face. Roche paused near the door. THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 13 "No word from Brander yet?" lie said looking back towards Tuck Roberts. "Not yet," Tuck replied and Koche went out alone. "The son of a dog did that job himself," Dags suddenly said to Tuck when the door had closed. 1 1 Dags ! ' ' Tuck exclaimed. For answer Dags looked Tuck over once with- out smiling. "Young fellow," he said turning more directly to Tuck and speaking so quietly that he could not be heard above the din except by Tuck, "I'm older than you are just about forty years older an* it won't hurt you a damn' bit to listen to a man some older. You can't trust a bad dog an' when yon ain't lookin' he's goin' to bite. Now, look out!" Dags was by a long way the oldest man in the room. He had come to The Pas when the first news of gold in the district had trickled out and found its way into the newspapers. Who he was or where he hailed from, no man really knew. On one occasion, Tuck Roberts, in an irrepressible mood, had boldly asked the old man what his real name was. Dags had been more communicative than usual, a fact that was due in large measure, no doubt, to his having imbibed more freely than usual of a favorite though rather poor grade of whisky. But Dags, drunk or sober, never for- got himself. He had sobered perceptibly at Tuck's question and had looked his questioner 14 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL over for a full minute before making a reply. "My name, young fellow, is Dags just Dags." "Yes, but but Dags who or what?" Tuck had persisted. "Dags nothin' plain DagSi Mister Dags! Ain't that enough?" And Dags had remained as he was just Dags plain Dags Mister Dags, if one happened to be more than usually polite. But Tuck had always liked the old fellow. And he liked him now as he stood there beside him, his scant five-feet-nine reduced even further by a de- cided stoop, his chin pushed forward sharply, his narrow, half-shut eyes squinting oddly in the dim light of the room. Of some twenty entries in the dog Derby two men shared honors pretty evenly as favorites. One was Tuck himself who had left his traps a full month before the race in order to get his dogs into the very best condition possible for the test. His good fortune of the year before when he had won first money by arriving not more than thirty seconds ahead of Phil Eoche had made him a not- able favorite among the men. This year he had taken the same dogs, a beautifully matched team of white-faced huskies, heavy enough to stand the gruelling that a hundred miles of raring would impose, but trained to a condition that was likely to develop all the speed th*y were capable of mak- ing, if the race should have to foe decided, as had been the case the year before, in the last half mile. 15 Tuck's chief opponent, it was generally agreed, was Phil Koche. He had made Tuck extend him- self to the very limit at the finish of the previous race. This year it was generally felt that Tuck had even more to fear from Eoche. While the former had talked freely of the coming race and of his dogs, Eoche had remained consistently secretive about his preparations. Joe Bedard, the well-known and generally disliked half-breed of the place, was the only man in town who knew anything of Eoche 's preparations but Joe was no talker. To him Eoche had entrusted a large share of the burden of the preparations, and no one doubted for a moment that those preparations would be complete to the last detail. Tuck shook off the effect of Dags' remarks and turning to the old fellow smiled pleasantly. "I'm not worrying about the race, Dags," he remarked. "I only wish the prize was for live thousand instead of two." Dags grunted. "Too bad wishes ain't yellow, Tuck," he replied. "We could paint old Paxton's holdings so they'd look like a bloomin' sunset!" Tuck smiled affably and busied himself with rolling a cigarette. There came a sudden flurry without and the door flew open revealing the parka-clad figure of Kirk Brander outlined against the darkness, the spare gray forms of his dogs faintly visible in the dim light that fell from the doorway. "Wh-s-s-s-t biug!" 16 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL He whistled sharply and tossing his long whip- lash into the middle of the floor jerked his hand back quickly, raising the ashes beside the stove into a little clond about the legs of Dags. The old man, whether the movement was prompted by affection or 'by the sudden crack of the whip-lash within a few inches of his feet, sprang towards Kirk where he stood laughing in the doorway. But before Dags could reach him, Kirk's eyes had spotted Tuck Eoberts farther back in the room. In a moment the two young fellows were together near the centre of the room, first in a violent handshake from which they broke suddenly into a rough-and-tumble sparring match in which both laughed as ihey gave and re- ceived 'blows on the side of the head that would have sent an ordinary man to the floor. When they finally closed and with their arms about each other started a nondescript dance that forced the others in the room to jump back from their flying heels, a half dozen of the men, one of whom was Dags himself, rushed in and tore the two apart. Kirk's eyes fell first upon Dags. " Hello, Dagsie, old boy!" he cried and catching him by the arms lifted the old fellow quite clear of the floor. But Kirk's greetings were to be shared by more than Tuck Roberts and old man Dags. Kirk Brander was like a brother come back to them all, and in a moment he was the centre of a small but THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 17 noisy mob of men fighting for an opportunity to shake his hand. Nor was there anything either in his smiling face or in the deep good nature that his whole bearing radiated that the best man- and the shrewdest man among them conld not have trusted to the limit. It was very much as old Dags had once said of him * * A straight man couldn't pick a scrap with Kirk Brander, and a crooked one wouldn't take the chance." His shoulders had broadened and his frame had reached up during his five years in the open until now he was as per- fect a specimen physically as the eye could wish to see. In his stride as he passed from place to place in the room among the men there was an ease, a jauntiness even, that was eloquently ex- pressive of his own lightness of heart. The hood of his parka lay back revealing thick hair of a deep auburn that in some way or other seemed exactly to fit his wonted jovial manner. Even Wu Long waddled in from the kitchen with his broad smile and broken words of welcome. "Hi, there, "Wu you old ketchem glub artist," Kirk cried as he stepped towards the grinning proprietor and shook his hand. " Hurry out and fetch me a big cup of black coffee ! " Wu grinned even more broadly at the recogni- tion his humble presence liad received and wad- dled away quickly in the direction of the kitchen to attend personally to Kirk's order. But Tuck Roberts was already emerging from 18 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL behind the swinging door that opened between the large room and the kitchen. In his hand he car- ried a large glass more than half full of a liquid that, in color at least, resembled tea more than coffee. "A little something to warm yo"nr blood, Kirk," he said, thrusting the glass into Kirk's hand. Kirk looked at it a moment and then held it up between himself and the light. "This is too stiff for me, Tuck," he said smiling, "and besides when I do take a drink I like company." In a moment a dozen glasses and cups were ready. Kirk poured almost half the contents of his own glass into the empty cup that Dags held, and half of what still remained into the glass held by Tuck Koberts. He added water to his own while the others in the group prepared to join in the toast. When they were ready all turned their eyes upon Kirk. For a moment he stood thoughtfully looking into his glass. Then his eyes lifted and moved slowly from face to face, dwelling a moment on each as if he wished to stamp its image on his memory. "To the men who live north of fifty- three," he said quietly, "and to the last week of Kirk Brander's stay among the best friends he ever had!" He did not raise his glass immediately. The men stood motionless and stared at him. THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 19 "Quit your spoofing, Kirk," said Tuck. "Honest Injun!" Kirk replied. "I'm going to end my happy exile and go back again to live among the the Philistines and the false prophets.'* "Which same allusion ain't precisely correct," remarked Dags with a touch of dry humor. "Philistines or Pharisees, Dagsie," Kirk re- plied, ' ' what 's the difference I I never was strong on religious distinctions. But I'm going out, boys, surer than jackfish for malamutes and I'm not coming back any more." Kirk raised his glass. "I'm not in on that toast, Kirk," said Tuck suddenly. "You've got to take it back." Kirk looked at him and smiled. "You're right, Tuck," he said laying his hand on Tuck's shoulder. "I should have talked it over with you first that's what I intended. How's this?" He raised his glass again. "To the good old dog on the heavy trail and the man that never quits!" When they had drunk the toast Tuck Roberts turned suddenly to Kirk. "Now give us the straight dope on this prodigal son stuff," he demanded. "I hate to say it, Tuck, but I'm going out," Kirk replied. "Quit it!" Tuck responded. Old Dags was within earshot. "Why not?" he 20 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL demanded and the whine in his voice was even more pronounced. "We don't have to inhabit the whole infernal globe, Tuck, just because it's here," he declared. "There ain't no race that's bred to it except Eskimos and huskie-dogs. An' I say leave it to them it's their country let 'em keep it!" "He's had it for three days," Tuck explained to Kirk. "If someone doesn't get him out of town, he'll make the dog Derby look like an old aunt's funeral." Kirk turned to Dags. "Cheer up, you old Lazarus," he said play- fully "Some day we're all going to wake up in these parts. We've been dead to the world, and, if you don't look out someone from outside will be coming in and cleaning us out." "Out o' what?" Dags whined. "Out of what!" Kirk exclaimed. "Don't you know that for two hundred and fifty years Can- adians have been puddling along on the southern rim of a country as rich as any country in the world and have handed the rest of it over to a com- pany of moneyed Englishmen who never saw Can- ada and don't give a tinker's dam if they ever do or not. But we've got to pull in our belts, Dagsie. God Almighty's going to give Canada the next hundred years to make good in, an' she's got to make good by herself or forget about it and let someone else handle the deal. We've got enough fish in the lakes north of the Saskatchewan to feed THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 21 the rest of the world week-days and Fridays. There's more good salmon in the Hudson Bay than they ever dreamed of in Alaska or British Columbia. There's enough water power here in one province to turn every wheel, light every house and every street in every village, town and city from Halifax to Vancouver. There's timber and stone and minerals why, God bless my soul, it isn't a question of whether the stuff's here or not. It's a question of whether we're packing the kind of stuff here" and he placed his hand over his belt ' 'that'll handle the deal. That's where we stand!" The men had all been listening to Kirk's enthusiastic outbreak and a deep silence followed when his voice suddenly ceased. From near the stove came the voice of old Dags : "An' you can put them words down to the credit of Kirk Brander young but well-meanin'." "Come on, Dagsie," replied Kirk, "give us a chance to be happy. Ill drink another just a very little one " He lifted a glass, poured it half full of water from a pitcher that stood on the table beside him and raised it. "To the success of the Derby," he said. "Hats off to a fair race and a good one and may Tuck Eoberts run the best race of his life." The men bared their heads and filling their glasses drank facing Kirk. Just as he was about to raise his glass, Kirk's eyes fell upon Joe Be- 22 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL dard still lounging lazily against the counter near the door. He was not drinking and his hat was on his head. "Hats off, Joe !" Kirk called in a roice that was not unpleasant, though it rang with a clear note of determination. For answer the half-breed got up lazily and, without showing any intention of complying with the request, moved towards the door. When his hand was on the latch, Kirk took a quick step for- ward. His right hand went back quickly as he seized the butt of the whip that dangled on a thong about his wrist. With a quick movement, he shook loose the long lash from where he had caught it up about the handle. When the end dropped to the floor, he drew his hand forward slowly, his eyes fixed steadily on Bedard's cap. Every inch of the whip-lash seemed, as if by magic, to become charged with life. It moved along the floor like a writhing snake and then suddenly, as Bark's hand snapped back, it leaped from the floor through the swirling dust and shot towards the half-breed's head. When it leaped back sud- denly with a deafening report, Bedard's cap rose straight into the air and went spinning to the floor a couple of yards from Kirk's feet. For a moment Bedard's face was ablaze with anger. Kirk looked at him steadily, a half smile playing about his mouth. Then he drank what was in his glass and stepping forward stooped good- naturedly and picked the cap up from the floor. 23 For a moment lie stood looking it over carefully. Then lie brushed the dust from it and handed it back to Bedard. "Too bad, Joe," he said in the best of good humor. ' ' Tuck 's my friend that 's all. ' ' When Kirk reached the hotel late that night he was met by the hotel clerk who flourished a yellow envelope in his hand. Kirk took the telegram eagerly and tore it open. It was from his uncle. ' ' Get in touch with Marion Curtis arriving The Pas to-morrow. Act on her instructions. Show speed and look out for W. K. P. HEETEY For a long time Kirk stood reading the message over and over. The name of Marion Curtis started vague memories memories of the life he had lived in those almost forgotten days before he had come north. Was that life, then, coming in to meet him even before he returned! CHAPTER HI. THE rear coach of "The Tamarac" the local name for the Canadian National train from Winnipeg to The Pas was filled to capacity with Derby enthusiasts. In one corner of the smoking compartment Warren K. Paxton had been holding forth for some time on the fntnre of the north country. He glanced from the window suddenly and got up. "Drop into my office," he said to the man whose attention he had engaged for the past hour. "You'll be staying over for the Derby. Drop in and smoke a cigar." He handed his companion a card which bore the information that Warren K. Paxton was sole re- presentative of the Eipple Creek Copper Mining Company, with an office on the main street of The Pas. "Come in when you get through with yonr busi- ness. Glad to see you any time." He shook hands and tossing away what re- mained of his cigar, left the smoking compartment and went back into the coach. Warren K. Paxton was not an unpleasant man to look upon, if one did not observe too closely the almost mockingly patronizing expression that 24 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 25 never left his countenance. At first glance one would think that Paxton was smiling to himself, agreeably too. A closer look would reveal the sneer to which the smile was little more than a very thin veneer. And once one saw that sneer he never again saw the smile. When Paxton really smiled he showed his teeth and they were neither good nor even. If by any chance one should miss the suggestion of largeness about Paxton it would probably be because he had a way of looking at one through cold gray eyes that permitted no one to think of him merely as a large man. His look had the cutting, incisive quality more often found in the eyes of smaller and more energetic men. Warren K. Paxton knew precisely what he wanted, and could tell, at any given time, just about how long it would be before he would get it. He went to his seat and busied himself for a few moments with putting a magazine into a capacious club-bag. From all outward appearances he had no concern in the world other than putting away a worthless magazine that he would not look at again anyhow. But the real truth of the matter was that Paxton was still turning over something that had occupied his mind ever since he had step- ped on board ' * The Tamarac * ' at Winnipeg. And now with only a few minutes left of the journey to The Pas he was as far away as ever from a satis- factory solution to his problem. The question that was vexing Paxton 's mind it had kept him awake and thinking most of the 26 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL night was why in the devil a certain woman who had no interest whatever in dog-racing shonld be going to The Pas on the same train with the Derby crowd. The woman Who had been the cause of his sleep- lessness was only three seats away as he stood fussing with his club-bag. She was taller than the average, two or three years under thirty, very at- tractive physically, and with a tilt to her head that was almost maddening to Paxton. Though she was dressed in a rather short, tight-fitting skirt that displayed a very trim ankle and neatly booted foot, one's attention was attracted more by her head with its mass of black hair riotous above dark eyes that were generously arched and filled with pride. With her was an English maid who obeyed the commands of her mistress and studied her every whim as if she had been trained to little else from childhood. Paxton knew Marion Curtis, had known her for a number of years in fact. He had known her as a young woman before she had married Trueman Curtis. He had known her even better since the untimely death of her husband had sent her out into the business world to shift for herself. He closed his club-bag with a very resolute snap and stood out in the aisle. Then quickly he turned and walked forward in the car. Three seats away he paused and turned his broad and ingratiating smile upon the woman who had occupied his at- tention. THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 27 "I didn't know yon were interested in dog-rac- ing, Mrs. Curtis," lie said in an effort to open a pleasant form of conversation. "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Paxton," she returned sweetly, offering her hand. "You never can tell what a woman may find interesting. We never know that ourselves." "I believe it," Paxton replied. "But I assure you I am interested in dog-racing very much so, indeed." Her accent was soft but carried a note that made her appear thoroughly at ease in the world. "I suppose, then, you're betting heavily on the outcome," he continued with an attempt at humor. "Oh, my, no not heavily, at any rate. I wouldn't mind placing a wager after I get there and find out something about the conditions." "Well," Paxton offered, "I have a little loose change left. Let me know when you're ready." "Fine I will!" she replied with enthusiasm. "Are you a good loser, Mr. Paxton?" "Always to a lady," he replied. "Then, by George, I'm going to try you out!" she laughed. The harmless little expletive with which she adorned her last speech came rather explosively from between lips that were a little too tight and perhaps a little too thin. Warren K. Paxton didn't like those lips. He didn't like the chin, either, that seemed to come forward just a trifle when she spoke. There was a challenge there and (3) 28 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL although Paxton could not but admire the woman who gave it, neither could he forget that he had lost a good night's sleep because of it. He looked at her now and tried to estimate the significance of what he saw in her face. He had known Marion Curtis for nearly five years and always when in her company he had found him- self dropping unavoidably into the habit of estimating her. "Do you know, Marion Curtis, " he said abruptly, "I've had dealings of various kinds with, you ever since your husband died and be- fore but I find you just as inscrutable as ever." She laughed heartily. "Mr. Paxton, you are positively funny. This is at least the third time you have said that very thing to me." Paxton tried, with little success, to conceal his embarrassment. "The third and last time," he replied, "and I hope you take no offence at what I say." "Oh, no no!" The finality with which she dismissed any such possibility was very character- istic. It was not at all necessary for her to wave it aside with a little sweep of her hand nor to tilt her chin very perceptibly though she did both to give the impression she evidently desired to give. The tone of her voice was quite sufficient. Paxton found himself in even greater dif- ficulties. "I'm a clumsy joker, Mrs. Curtis. My friends THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 29 know that and just put up with it." At last he seemed on the point of regaining his wonted cool- ness. "The fact is, Marion Curtis, you'd be a very agreeable sort of woman if you weren't so damned anxious to dominate everyone about you!" The words came suddenly and with a bluntness that was almost a surprise even to Paxton him- self. His smile now did full service as veneer. Marion Curtis looked at him once with eyes that went far beneath the smile. Then she laughed at him again. "Do you know, Mr. Paxton, you've said that to me before, too f And besides you said you were a good loser. Surely you wouldn't object to being dominated by a woman." "I resent the suggestion decidedly," Paxton replied in his best humor. "Not even by a good looking woman. ' ' After all, he thought to himself as he walked away, Marion Curtis was a devilishly attractive woman with a quick brain and a quick tongue and she had a way with her. If she could only be taught to keep her place in the world he could find a great deal in the woman to admire. But that was precisely what Marion Curtis could not or would not be taught. In fact, she didn't seem to have the vaguest idea of what kind of place a woman should fill in life. During the brief three years that she had been the wife of Trueman Curtis she had quietly reclaimed her 30 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL young rake of a husband while society still shook its head sadly over the tragic mistake she had made in marrying him. And then one morning the world awoke to find him one of the most suc- cessful young lawyers in the city with a political career opening straight before him. His sudden death had left Marion Curtis a widow at twenty- five and without many serious regrets. She had mourned the death of young Curtis neither very long nor very deeply. Marion Curtis was at heart a gambler a gambler with an un- breakable will of her own. She had married True- man Curtis partly out of pity for a man who was consistently and uninterruptedly making an ass of himself. The temptation to take him in hand and make him over was too great for her to resist. The fact that a Higher Power had stepped in before her work was complete had hurt her pride more than anything else. And Marion Curtis was very proud. She had relied upon pride When she went out to meet the world after Curtis had been taken out of her life forever. Now, nearly three years later, she was proud in the knowledge that she had never been beaten and in the confidence that she never would be. The station platform was filled with a motley northern crowd such as one might expect to see at a carnival or a masquerade ball. Men in picturesque caribou parkas decorated with bright ribbons of all colors and bound about with long THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 31 tasselled scarfs stood 'by smoking in silence as they watched the visitors descend from the train. There were girls, too, in beaded moccas-snis and brightly colored coats and toques, their warm breaths whitening into little clouds in the crisp air. Back against the wall of 'the station-house it- self stood an irregular line of Indians and an oc- casional squaw hunched into a black shawl, all alike interested in the new arrivals but showing never a sign of it in their dark faces. Marion Curtis stepped down lightly to the plat- form and shook her shoulders briskly as she drew her first deep breath of northern air. Warren K. Paxton stood only a few feet away doing his best to smile amiably. "It's cold up here but you don't feel it," he said jocularly. "I think it's positively wonderful!" she replied with enthusiasm. "Wonderful good Lord!" Paxton exclaimed. "Marion Curtis, you're unconscious you're freezing to death that's what's the matter. Do you notice a sleepy feeling creeping over you. That's a sure sign." She did not reply at once. She gave no sign even that she had caught his little joke. Her eyes were fixed on a marvellous team of five black and gray huskies and their driver standing leisurely beside them, one hand on the head of his big lead- dog, the other toying with a long whip. "I don't think I was ever more awake in my 32 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL life, Mr. Paxton," she declared without shifting her gaze. "Did you ever see such wonderful dogs?" Paxton turned to look in the direction she indicated. "Huh! You've picked the prize team of the north country. Don't put any money on them, though. They're good looking and they can haul a load, but they haven't the speed." "By George, I'd rather bet on that team and lose than win a thousand on any other!" she ex- claimed. "You'll find lots to take your money, young wo- man. Better appoint me your trustee for the duration of the visit. Here I'll give you the first thrill of your visit, Mrs. Curtis," he said sud- denly. "Come along and I'll get him to take you to your hotel. I know him well enough to break the ice and he's a little different from the rest of them. Come on 111 be responsible." He stepped briskly towards the end of the plat- form and Marion Curtis followed him. "Came here five years ago a regular booze artist," Paxton murmured, half-covering his mouth with one hand and casting his eyes towards the young fellow standing by his dogs. ' ' Cleaned right up altogether a decent sort of fellow name's Brander Kirk Brander nephew of old Henry Tyne 's you know. ' ' "Kirk Brander I" she asked in surprise. For once Marion Curtis was caught off her guard. THE LOBSTICK TKAIL 33 "Yes you know him?" "Oh, no it's rather a nice name, don't you think! It seems to me " But they were already beside Kirk and Paxton was busy with the introduction". Marion Curtis extended her hand cordially and smiled. For a moment she experienced a small panic lest Kirk should unwittingly drop a word that might give Paxton further food for thought. But Kirk's smile, cordial as it was, revealed nothing and his words bespoke merely the wel- come which the northland extended to all its visitors. Paxton lost no time in suggesting to Kirk that he should drive Marion Curtis to her hotel, and after a few minutes spent in giving directions to her maid she accepted Kirk's invitation to a seat in his cariole. When he had tucked the robes snugly about her he gave a sharp whistle, flourished his long whip in the air, and the dogs were off. No word was spoken by either of them as the dogs sped along, down one street after another, towards the centre of the town'. Seated in the cariole, Marion Curtis was tasting the joys of her first ride behind a dog team. Behind her, running close to the end of the cariole, Kirk divided his at- tention between his dogs and his passenger, who from the first glance she had given him out of her dark eyes, had held a strange but compelling fascination for him. 34 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL Kirk had had enough experience in life to know precisely the nature of the appeal which Marion Curtis made to him. As yet he had seen nothing of her dominating business ability except what he had caught in the first look she had given him when they had been introduced by Paxton. Of that he was to know more later. What he knew now was that she was a woman, with a woman's eyes and a woman's voice, and the subtle sugges- tion of sex made him wish he could put his hand out to where she sat beneath him and lay it upon the soft fur that closed snugly about her neck. At the next thought he almost cursed his uncle. Could it be possible that foxy old Henry Tyne had sent Marion Curtis into the north country simply to lead Kirk back to him? The suspicion lingered with him still as he drew his dogs to a standstill before the hotel and taking her hand assisted her to her feet and out upon the sidewalk where she stood a moment smiling at him, her cheeks flaming from the ride in the frosty morning air. Suddenly the smile vanished from her face and her voice assumed a tone that was quite matter-of- fact. "It was very fortunate to meet yon just like this," she said. "I had wondered a little on the way up just how I should find you without draw- ing too much attention, especially from our friend, Paxton. You have heard from your uncle?" Kirk nodded an affirmative. THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 35 "Did he tell you anything anything important. "Nothing except that I was to take my in- structions from you, ' ' Kirk replied. "Well, we can't talk here. You can see me soon? We must have a little talk to explain just why I've come. When can you see me?" "Any time," Kirk replied, "though perhaps we'd better leave it till after the race." "Are you going to run, then?" she asked IOOK- ing at the dogs. ' i No, but I 'm interested in a friend of mine who is going to win. ' ' "You must drop in to see me anyhow before the race. I'd like to make a little bet with Pax- ton. He seemed keen on getting me into it. I don't know much about the game perhaps you could instruct me." She turned and was about to go but halted sud- denly and looked back at Kirk. As she did so Paxton came swinging down the street. Walking beside him was Phil Roche. "When I have settled on who the 'winner's go- ing to be," Marion Curtis said when Paxton had come up, "I've a hundred or so that I'd like to use just to draw you out." "Good!" replied Paxton, "my mind's settled now. ' ' He put his hand on Phil Roche 's shoulder. "Meet Phil Roche, the winner of the Derby," he announced by way of introduction. Marion Curtis bowed and Kirk smiled a little it Paxton 's assertion of confidence in his favorite. 36 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL "Isn't that right?" Paxton enquired of him. "I call Tuck Koberts to win," Kirk replied simply. "For how much?" Paxton asked and Koche stepped closer. "A thousand, even money." "And five hundred of mine with it" suddenly put in Marion Curtis. Paxton and Eoche spoke a few words together. Then, "Done!" said Paxton. CHAPTER IV. AS KEEK drove down the street he could not help a feeling of something like resent- ment rising within him though at whom he was resentful he could not have clearly ex- plained. Marion Curtis, beautiful and com- pelling, had made the sort of appeal to him that left him annoyed with himself and out of sorts with the world in general. But even as he thought about it he was aware of someone speaking to him and looking up his eyes met those of Euth Mackay, soft and smiling and chiding him in their gentleness. "Dog-gone it, Euth," he said, shaking her hana and looking into her dark eyes, "but you're prettier every time I see you. If you get any bet- ter I'm going to shoot Tuck Egberts and run away with you myself." Euth blushed a little and then going to the lead- dog stooped and put her arms about his shaggy neck. "Dear old Bingo remembers me, too, Kirk," she cried delightedly. "Oh, he's a beauty!" In Euth Mackay, the only daughter of a re- tired servant of the Hudson's Bay Company who had taken to prospecting with abundance of luck, 37 38 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL there was the dark strain of Cree blood that came to her from her mother's side some three gener- ations back. But Kirk had always felt her beauty had been enhanced by it. At any rate Tuck Eoberts loved her and Kirk wanted no other prompting. And there* was much in the girl's ap- pearance to justify not only Tuck Eoberts but any man in falling in love with her. Kirk stood for a moment looking down at the two. In the girl's head with its rich brown hair lying upon her soft neck and in her face with its large soft brown eyes and full, clear, rounded cheeks there was everything that suggested tenderness and gentleness and woman's love. In Bingo 's grizzled face, its pointed, tufted ears, its square ; broad forehead and wolf-like jaws covered with a mixture of black and gray hair, its white fangs just showing from between 3iis lips on which there was a constant suggestion of a snarl, and its eyes, small, piercing, with a smouldering fire within there may have been something of fierce beauty in it but it was a face in which no one but the fondest lover of dogs could find the first trace of affection. Kirk had always loved his leader and had always trusted him, too, but he knew that Bingo was not a dog to be trifled with. And so he treated him always seriously, giving him cause at no time to doubt his mastery. Kirk stooped to look his dogs over while Ruth stood watching him. From one dog to another he went, lifting their feet in his hands and examining THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 39 them carefully. When he came finally to Bingo he spent rather longer and scrutinized the soft pads on the dog's feet very closely. In spite of the long journey Bingo 's feet were in perfect con- dition. Kirk ran his fingers up the muscles of the dog's fore-legs and over the shaggy, bulging chest where it showed deep and well to the front be- tween the dog's shoulders. '* Bingo, you old rascal," he said, slapping the dog's shoulders and pulling at the long coarse hair on his neck, "nothing could kill you nothing, un- less too much attention." He got to his feet. "Tell your dad I'm coming in to see him soon and have a big plate of those griddle cakes all ready with a side dish of those red raspberries I helped you pick last summer. Let me call for you and take you down to see the start of the race," he said as he swung his team out into the street again. "Will you bring the team 1 ?" she asked. " Sure thing. Be ready about five. ' ' He drove away leaving Euth smiling and waving to him from the sidewalk. With the race only a few hours away the town was a-stir with flutterings of gossip on the big event. There was a touch almost of spring soft- ness in the air and not a trace was left of the big blizzard that had swept the country three days before, except the huge banks of snow that lay in the streets and blocked the trails 40 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL where they led in different directions ont of town. The racers themselves were very little in evi- denceu The element of suspicion does not play a large part among men whose life is lived for the most part in the open, but no man takes a chance in a game where the stakes are worth playing for. Every man spent the day with his dogs and car- ried out his preparations quietly and unobserved. At noon the racers came together to meet the Derby committee and hear the chairman read the conditions under which the race was to be run. The course was laid from a point on the river to the house of a trader at Sturgeon Landing, fifty miles away, the race to be run over the full course and back again, finishing at the starting point on the river. A line which marked the starting and finishing points had already been set and posi- tions at the start were to be drawn for when the teams were ready to take their places. The time set for the start was five minutes after six in the evening and late-comers would have to accept the handicap or drop out of the running. On one point particularly Bob Harkwell, the chairman, laid special emphasis. "In the event of one team overhauling another and wishing to pass, it was to be understood that only the most sports- manlike conditions could be tolerated. No ob- structions other than those offered naturally by the conditions of the trail over which they were travelling could be countenanced." "If a man wants to use his whip when another THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 41 team is trying to pass him, ' ' Harkwell explained, "he must throw it low and on the side of his team away from the team that's coming up. Is that clear?" There was a general murmur of assent and ap- proval. "By gar," broke in a French half-breed who had entered his team in the race, "I lak see any man t'row de w'ip at my dog. You have to send out an' bring him in he can't come in alone, that's sure I" CHAPTER V. WITH everything set for the race Kirk left Tuck with his dogs and went -back to the hotel. Once in his room he spent a good half hour standing before his window engrossed in his own thoughts. The sky was a perfect winter blue and the sunlight lay warm upon the snow. Straight before him lay the flat white breadth of the river and beyond it the tree-covered wilds that reached on and out to where lay the great silent valleys and the far forgotten hills. His pulse quickened as he gazed and he involun- tarily drew a long, deep breath as if he wished to take into his very heart all that lay before him, its majestic beauty, its white expansiveness, its age-long challenge, its mighty spirit. There was undoubtedly a newly-awakened in- terest in the limitless possibilities of this great north country. Men of means and the big in- terests both in Canada and in the United States were turning their eyes in the direction of this, probably the last, unexploited mineral district on the continent. What the ultimate effect of this newly-awakened interest would be time alone could tell. But there was enough of the gambler in Kirk Brander to wish that he might be on hand 42 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 43 to watch this new game, the great game where men of means would play strong hands to win big stakes. And as he thought of it all he felt his lately renewed enthusiasm for the big cities some- what dampened. He would find Marion Curtis at once and hear her story. If his good old uncle was going to be one of the men in the game, the sooner Kirk Brander, his runaway nephew, learned all there was to know about it the better. He looked at his watch. It was shortly after three o'clock. He turned abruptly from the window and left the room. In response to his knock, Marion Curtis herself opened her door and greeted him with her rare smile. "Come in," she said simply. "Do you know I was almost expecting you hoping you might drop along, at least. I am just going to have a cup of tea." Kirk entered and allowed his eyes to rest a moment OB the white-spread table with its burden of china and refreshments. "You put me under obligation to you very early in our acquaintance, Mrs. Curtis," Kirk observed. "You are not quite fair," she reproved him gently. "I'm sure the offering of an innocent cup of tea should not be looked upon so seriously. " "Well, it's mighty good of you, anyhow," Kirk replied, and took the chair which she offered him at the little table. 44 With a word to her maid she took her place opposite him and prepared to serve the tea. "Are we prepared to talk business," she asked with a smile, "or is there too much excitement in the air to-day?" "I shall be governed entirely by your wishes in the matter," Kirk replied. "I didn't expect to get so gallant a reply from a a man of the woods," she responded and there was something almost coquettish in her manner as she spoke. "Gallantry is always a matter of occasion," re- turned Kirk, "occasion and inspiration." ' * Good, ' ' she laughed. ' ' Perhaps the individual has something to do with it, too, however. I can't see our big friend Paxton's favorite what was his name?" "Phil Eoche," Kirk prompted. "Yes. I can't see him in the role of a gallant, for instance." "You have to understand Phil," Kirk protested. "He's not half so bad as he looks. And besides Phil hasn't had the kind of treatment that is likely to make courtiers of men." "Oh a woman there too?" "Isn't it always so?" "Well, that may be a matter of opinion," Mar- ion suggested. "Still tell me about it." She had begun to pour tea as she spoke and Kirk could not help noticing the softer tone that had crept into her voice. He was not unconscious THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 45 of her physical beauty as he looked at her but now it was the beauty of her voice that appealed to him, a voice that had grown strangely soft and held nothing of the brnsque, matter-of-fact quality that he had associated with her when they had first met that morning. And so Kirk undertook to tell her the story of Phil Roche and his unfortunate love for Jule Allen, the daughter of old John Allen of the White Squaw mine. His telling, moreover, was almost an apology for Phil Roche he believed in giving the devil his due, be the devil never so black. If one circumstance is sufficient to damn a man's life, then Kirk felt that Phil Roche had a fairly good case. From time to time stray bits of news had gone about concerning a girl who had been seen only three or four times by the trappers and prospectors who explored the northern woods and waterways by winter and summer. Gossip had made the girl surpassingly beautiful much too beautiful to be true and scores of strange stories had been invented concerning her origin and her place of residence. Naturally much mystery sur- rounded her, mystery that was spun for the most part about the warm stoves in such places as Wu Long's restaurant. That invention was frequent- ly overdone might be excused in the light of the fact that for a long time there were very few facts on which to draw for support. When men have spun a fine mystery for them- selves they dislike nothing so much as having it 46 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL treated rudely. For months it had been accepted as settled that the girl was a white squaw whom the natives of the wilds kept hidden because of her rare beauty. It was a shock, therefore, when it became known that she was none other than Jule Allen, the daughter of the eccentric old English- man, John Allen. Old man Allen and his daughter had entered the district by way of the Saskatche- wan from the west and having once settled in a spot of their own choosing, nestled down and let the rest of the world pass unnoticed. But this dis- covery produced only a small flutter of surprise compared with the later announcement that Phil Eoche had returned from a couple of months' prospecting in the Ripple Creek district with the news that he had met Jule Allen and was going back to take the wood-nymph of the northern wilds for his wife. Eoche himself was not generally liked and the thought of his marrying one whosQ being was something more than human in the minds of the more imaginative produced much discussion that was anything but pleasant. For a couple of weeks they had awaited the appearance of old John Allen in town in the hope that the old Englishman, would settle their doubts and allay their fears. But John Allen did not come. And one day Phil Eoche and his near-slave, Joe Bedard, were miss- ing from town and speculation was rife once more. About a week later he returned, accompanied by Bedard but no bride. THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 47 For days Roche refused to answer the pointed enquiries that were directed at him. Bedard seemed not even to hear the questions that were shot at him from every side. When the wise ones began to draw wry faces and put their tongues in their cheeks or wink knowingly when the affair was mentioned, Phil Eoche became at first angry, then frigidly dignified. Finally an old missionary arrived from Cumberland House with a couple of Indians. A few days later the story of Roche's disappointment was being circulated freely among the men. Roche, it appeared, had arrived at Cumberland House on the appointed day and had gone im- mediately to the priest in charge of the mission there. In answer to the missionary's questioning look, Roche had told him that the bride-to-be would be on hand sometime during the afternoon. Roche had gone immediately to the shore at a point overlooking the lake and had waited there until evening. About sunset Jule Allen had ar- rived in a canoe with two Indians and had joined Roche. Together they had sat on the shore until dark, Jule's two Indians and Joe Bedard squat- ting beside the canoes at the edge of the water some hundred yards away. There had been some- thing approaching an argument between Roche and Jule, escape from which Jule had effected by calling her two Indians to her. They had escorted her to her canoe and had pushed out across the lake in the gathering darkness, leaving Roche and 48 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL Bedard standing on the shore. Eoche had been furious at first, then realizing hcrw little he could gain from anger, had turned philosophical, con- signed women in general to perdition, took a nor- mal night's rest, slipped away early the next morning with Joe Bedard, and returned to The Pas. Buf no one ever knew why Jule Allen had failed to live up to her agreement with Phil Roche, and the girl herself never came to town to give anyone an opportunity of learning her side of the story. That her action came to be looked upon with gen- eral disfavor was only natural even though Phil Eoche had few qualities to commend him to the favor of those who knew him. "And do you share the feeling that the others have for Jule Allen?" Marion Curtis asked Kirk when he had finished telling her the story. Kirk considered a while before he made answer. "I have seen Jule Allen only once," he replied finally. "That was four years ago, and she was a mere girl then. She is a woman now. She was a woman last summer when she met Phil Eoche. A woman that's worth anything doesn't do that kind of thing." "You almost make me hope that Phil Eoche wins the race," she said smiling. Then briefly she told him of the hopes she had once entertained and the harsh fate that had intervened just when it seemed she was about to THE LQBSTICK TRAIL 49 realize them. Kirk listened and felt again the deep appeal of her voice. "You will permit me to say that I am sorry," he said when she paused finally. "I know you are sincere when you say that/' she said, "but regrets are not at all necessary. I know how to lose without whimpering. And I have put all that behind me. Warren Paxton and his set have dogged my tracks without ceasing ever since I began to show them that I could get along without the help of a brilliant husband. And we Ve got Paxton in a game now that's going to be won by the best man. He's in he can't get out he's got to go in farther. And in the end he's got to take his licking, by George, or Marion Curtis has to take it. I'm not superstitious but if Phil Eoche wins this race Warren Paxton will take it as a good omen. I want his money now if I put a match to it as soon as I get it. I'm going to play him right across the table until he's had enough." When she had finished speaking she looked steadily at Kirk a moment. "What I want to know is, are you in the game too?" she said, and her voice had lost all its mel- lowness. Kirk considered a moment. "I don't know much about it yet," he said slowly, "but is Henry Tyne in it?" "It's almost life or death to Henry Tyne," she declared. "Then it's life or death to me," Kirk replied. CHAPTER VL FIFTEEN minntes before the time announced for the start Kirk swung his team over the high bank of the river and down the trail that led to the ice-level. In the cariole sat Ruth Mackay, a light robe tucked about her, observing with admiration and satisfaction the spirited movements of the dogs with Bingo in the lead. Already a number of the teams were in their places waiting for the word to go and the crowd had been gathering for more than half an hour. Following close behind Kirk came Tuck Roberts, his dogs yelping and snapping in their eagerness for action. At the sight of Tuck's approach a cheer went up that brought a smile to Ruth's face as she turned and looked behind her, first at Tuck's racers and then at Kirk Brander. "I believe they want us to win, ' ' she said simply. But even as she spoke a second cheer rose from the crowd and looking behind him as he ran Kirk saw Phil Roche and his team dropping down in the trail behind him. Then as they broke through the crowd and the teams took their positions be- fore the starting line, Kirk had a glimpse of Mar- ion Curtis, radiant and smiling, standing beside Warren Paxton, so THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 51 Then, with a strange presentment of evil, Bark noticed for the first time the figures of Jim Ca- vanagh and Sergeant Keene of the Mounted Police pushing their way quietly through the crowd. They had evidently just arrived and Kirk sensed something unpleasant in their manner as they approached Bob Harkwell of the race committee and held him in conference for a few minutes. It was evident from the hush that gradually came upon the crowd that Kirk's vague fears were shared by others besides him- self. When they had finished their talk, Harkwell, Cavanagh and Keene left their place near the starting-line and made their way towards Kirk. When they were within a few yards of him, Ca- vanagh beckoned to Kirk and the three men waited until he joined them. "What's the trouble, Jim?" Kirk asked as he came within easy speaking distance. Cavanagh 's voice was quiet and altogether inof- fensive. "Get Tuck over here for a minute," he replied. Kirk left at once and in a moment returned ac- companied by Tuck. "Sorry to have to step in on yon like this, boys," Cavanagh explained, "but I have my work to do." "You don't mean " Kirk began. Cavanagh was serious. "I'm damn' sorry to 52 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL have to say so, Brander, but the trail from that fur cache seems to lead here." "Where?" "Tuck." The word struck Kirk like a knife-thrust. He turned to Tuck and looked at him. "Why Tuck!" he appealed. But Tuck gave him no reply. He was standing motionless, his face white and expressionless, his eyes fixed upon Cavanagh and Keene. The crowd, looking for sensation, moved in about the small group, and it was not long before even the drivers left their teams for a few hurried moments to learn what they could of the startling turn affairs had taken. Eoche, having left his team with Joe Bedard whose own team was next to Koche's at the starting line, pressed close and listened attentively to every word. "Awful foolish of Tuck," he remarked to a by- stander. Kirk pressed Cavanagh for an explanation, but the constable warned him that the interests of everyone concerned would be best served by leaving any discussion of the affair until the proper time had arrived. Bail to any amount was offered but the serious nature of the crime and the circumstances attending it made it impossible for either Cavanagh or Keene to consider any step that would give their man an opportunity of slip- ping from their grasp. Kirk's mind worked quickly. With Tuck out of THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 53 the race a dozen unpleasant eventualities arose. Kirk himself could do nothing 'by staying behind. He looked at Harkwell. ' * Will the committee allow me to run for Tuck ? ' ' he asked. Harkwell called his committee hurriedly and af- ter a few seconds ' consultation Kirk's request was granted. "I want to take out Tuck's leader and throw Bingo into his place," Kirk said to Harkwell when the chairman had given his consent to Kirk's entering the field. tC No rule against that, Brander," the chairman replied. "Finish with the same dogs you start out with and there'll be no kick coming." Kirk went at once to his team and, with the crowd looking on, began taking Bingo out of the harness. While he was engaged in the task, Roche pushed his way through the crowd and stood for a moment above him. **Is this right about you takin' Tuck's place?" he asked. Kirk looked up. "Have you any kick on it?" he asked. Koche grinned. "Why, no, Brander," he replied. "Come on in. But I didn't think you'd do that." "Do what?" Eoche laughed. "What? for Gawd's sake Kirk Brander goin' sub for a fur-sneak!" The flame leaped within Kirk's heart. He 54 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL sprang to his feet and looked at Roche for a frac- tion of a second across the narrow space that separated them. In his eyes burned the fires of a man who had been stung almost to madness. The next moment he would have launched himself against Roche who had stepped back suddenly on the defensive. But there was a quick movement among the men standing close to him and strong arms were about him before he could move. Koche, having recovered from his first surprise, had to be held back in like manner and the two stood facing each other across the small open circle, the arms of each held by at least a half-dozen men almost as strong as themselves. Close by stood Marion Curtis, her eyes flashing from excitement. But Euth Mackay came between the men and facing Kirk looked at him with her soft dark eyes wet with tears. "The race, Kirk," she said quietly, struggling to keep the sob out of her voice. Kirk turned at once to his work and in a few minutes he was in his position ready for the start. For a moment only did he take his attention from his team and that was to step aside once and grip the hand of Tuck Roberts who waited between Cavanagh and Keene to see the dogs get off. No word passed between them. Tuck smiled a little but Kirk's face was set. ^ At five minutes to six the teams were all in posi- tionsome twenty in all and the men eager to be off. The trail led 'before them up the river into THE LOBSTICK TRAIL 55 the northerly setting sun, and the white snow was tinged lightly with rose where the little drifts stood up behind their lengthening shadows of bine. Suddenly Harkwell stepped out and stood be- fore the line of racers. He called on them to voice their protests if they had any and for a moment all waited in silence. No one spoke a word of pro- test and the chairman moved to one side and drew ont his watch. The dogs, many of whom had been lying quietly in the snow, leaped up at the com- mands of their drivers and began tugging at their traces and yelping. Then Harkwell raised his hand. "Are you ready ?" There was a moment more of waiting and hold- ing the dogs in check. Then "Mush!" and Harkwell 's hand dropped. The dogs sprang forward snarling and snapping and the men ran alongside using the heavy ends of their whips to keep them from fighting when they came too closely together, while the crowd pressed in and cheered their favorites. Hoping to avoid a mix-up on the start, Kirk held his team back until the way was clear and then gave the word to his leader and was off. Only once he looked back as he heard Ruth's voice calling to him and then he caught sight of Marion Curtis standing silent and unmoving, her eyes Straight before her on the trail that he was 56 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL taking. He fell in at the end of the long line of racers now following each other in a single file that veered and turned and twisted its way along the river trail. When the crowd had finally dispersed and gone back to the town, Ruth still stood on the high bank above the river, her eyes fixed upon the vanishing line of racers, now like a thin knotted thread of black against the snow. And thus she stood until Kirk and his team, the last in the long line, grew faintly visible and vanished finally around a bend in the river, CHAPTER VH. THE sun had already set by the time the team leading the long line of racers left the level of the river and climbing the bank swung off in a northerly direction over a winter portage. The river trail had taken them about fifteen miles from the starting line and the re- mainder of the outward half of the course, being tween forty and fifty miles, lay along a winter trail that ran across country, emerging now and then for a few miles along the rivers and across the lakes that abound in the country between The Pas and Sturgeon Landing. In the quickly gathering dusk Kirk Brander found it almost impossible to keep his eye on the leading team. The line was still strung out at length, each team following closely the team in front, the nose of the lead-dog almost brushing the legs of the runner ahead. Occasionally a team that had led for a few miles would draw aside and allow the team behind it to move into first place and break the trail which was now becominjf very heavy in spots where the snow had drifted in and banked up in the open space between the trees. There was no conversation among the men except now and then when a change in order made 57 58 THE LOBSTICK TRAIL it necessary for one team to swing out of the trail to allow another to move up into its place. Even then the dogs required so much attention that little opportunity was given to talk. Only the gruff commands of the drivers and the occasional cracking of whips broke the silent monotony of the performance and even these sounds became less frequent as the night settled down with the cold snap of frost in the air. Little could be heard save the light tinkle of the bells, the rhythmic pad of moccassined feet in the snow and the soft brush- ing of the toboggans in the trail. For at least twenty-five miles there was little change in the relative positions of the racers. Breaking trail through snow-drifts that have been left by a three days' blizzard is slow and arduous work and the men showed little desire to compete for the honor of leading the others at this stage of the race. Gradually, however, Kirk found him- self approaching the front of the line as team after team dropped out of the leading position and took its place at the end of the string, where it had no difficulty in keeping up with the others. Of the twenty or more teams that had left the starting line together all were still running consistently and it was apparent that there would be no real -