Henry Herbert Knibbs

“ Suddenly he sprang away in long, lithe bounds; a mad patter of feet on the cabin porch and he scrambled to his fastness in the eaves.
Slowly the great bird circled to the limb again, where he sat motionless in the summer night, a silver-and-bronze epitome of melancholy patience.
Below him a leafless clump of branches moved up and down, although there was no breeze stirring. The owl saw but remained motionless. Stealthily the branches moved from beneath the shadow of the trees, and a buck stepped to the clearing, his velvet-sheathed antlers rocking above his graceful neck. ”

“ The big horses arched their necks and threw their shoulders into the harness as the deep snow clogged the runners of the sleigh. Sometimes the momentum of the load carried them down a short pitch, the sleigh close on the horses’ heels. Cameron talked almost constantly to his team, helping them with his voice, and at each “spell” he would jump down, lift their feet and break out the accumulated clogs of snow. Avery swung his arms and slapped his hands, turning frequently to ask Swickey if she were warm enough. ”

“ They seemed slight and ineffectual compared with the stout peaveys, whose dangling steel fingers hung suggestively ready to grasp with biting spur the slippery timber; and Y-hey! from the men, and the log would grumble over the shingle and plunge in the lake with a surly rolling from side to side. But the peavey’s attenuated brother, the pike-pole, was a worker of miracles in the hands of his master, the driver.
Ross, who had been watching with keen interest the manœuvres of the rivermen, stood with his shoulders against a buttress of the dam, muffled in sou’wester and oilskins. ”

“ Before Harrigan could recover his poise, Ross shot up and drove a clean, straight blow to Harrigan’s stomach. The Irishman grunted and one of the men laughed. He drew back and came on again, both arms going. Ross circled his opponent, avoiding the slow, heavy blows easily.
“Damn you!” panted Harrigan, “stand up and take your dose—”
Ross lashed a quick stinging fist to the other’s face, and jumped back as Harrigan, head down, swung a blow that would have annihilated an ox, had it landed, but David leaped back, and as Harrigan staggered from the force of his own blow, he leaped in again. ”

“ The canoe lurched over the rounded pitch of a submerged ledge and settled to a steady keel in the lower Squawpan deadwater.
“That’s better than the trail,” said David.
Swickey glanced back at the snoring rips and brushed a spatter of water from her face.
“We’ll drift and wait for Pop,” she replied, shaking the water from her paddle and laying it in the bow. “Dave, look! Get your rifle—it’s a young bull!”
Smoke raised his head and twitched his homely nose. “Down, Smoke!” whispered Swickey. ”

“ The broad, round flanks of the horses worked rhythmically, and each huge forefoot rose and fell with trip-hammer precision. A sharp drive of wind bent the tops of the young wayside firs groundward. The wagon pitched over a knoll and took the rutted grade below it at a speed that kept the horses’ flanks quivering with the anticipated shock of the clacking whiffletrees, as the traces slackened and then snapped taut again with a jerk. ”

“ The wavering image of the overhanging forest was fading in the somnolent, foam-dappled eddies circling lazily past Lost Farm Camp when Jim Cameron’s team, collars creaking and traces clinking, topped the ridge and plodded heavily across the clearing. Smoke swayed to the pitch and jolt of the wagon, head up and nose working with the scent of a new habitation. As the horses stopped, David and Smoke leaped down. ”

“ CHAPTER XXIX—SMOKE’S LAST STAND As each morning brought a crisper edge to the air and a crisper outline to the margin of the forest against sunrise and sunset, the Lost Farm folk grew restless, and this restlessness was manifested in different ways. Avery, returning from Timberland in the afternoons, busied himself in cleaning and oiling his already well-cared-for traps and rifle. He also prepared malodorous bait from fish, which he cut in strips, bottled, and hung in the sun. Swickey took long walks with Smoke, never asking her father nor David to accompany her. ”

“ She used to be the greatest youngster for fun—”
“Well,” interrupted Bascomb, “she isn’t a youngster any more, Davy. I can tell you that much. I’m the kid—or goat—it’s all the same.”
“When you get back home you’ll feel differently about it,” said David. “When you get among your own kind again.”
“Oh, damn that song about ‘my own kind.’” His face flamed and paled again. “This caste business makes me sick. Why, Swickey’s worth any six Back Bay dollies in Boston. There’s more real woman about her than a whole paddock of them.” ”

“ Swickey resumed her position and sat gazing into the gloom. She could hear the murmur of voices from the doorway opposite. Presently she heard David say: “That’s right, Avery.”
“You bet it is, if Davy says so,” murmured Bascomb.
Swickey turned toward him again. “Did Dave really write poetry once, Mr. Bascomb?”
“Really, truly, cross my—pocketbook,” he replied, “only it’s in my other clothes.”
“He doesn’t look like a poet, does he? I mean their pictures.”
“No. Davy looks more like a man. Now I’d make a good understudy to Shakespeare; don’t you think so?” ”

“ The doctor had been up from Tramworth to take the splints from Smeaton’s leg and had mentioned Swickey’s message to the convalescent, which was that she hoped he would soon be able to be up again, and that she knew he would be just as strong and active as ever in a little while.
“Strong and active. Strong and active.” The phrase fixed itself in Smeaton’s memory and he repeated it to himself daily, usually concluding with, “Wal, I guess I am—even if I ain’t no dude fur looks.” ”

“ He turned back toward the trail, round which twinkled the lights of Lost Farm Camp. The wind had hushed. The snow fell lazily. In the silence a rustling caught his ear. Axel, huddled against the cedar trunk, had slipped sideways, his coat scraping against the loose-fibred bark.
David traced the sound to a snowshoe sticking up in the drift beneath the tree. Then a moccasined foot, a red-striped stocking, and finally he was kneeling by the unconscious Barney, shaking him vigorously. The lumberman’s eyes slowly opened, then closed again heavily. ”

“ The men laughed uproariously. Fisty, enraged, grabbed the astonished kitten and flung it against the wall. “What’n hell kind of a dump is this—” he began; but Swickey’s rush for her pet and the wail she gave as Beelzebub, limp and silent, refused to move, interrupted him.
Avery turned from the stove and strode toward Harrigan, undoing his long white cook’s apron as he came, but Ross was on his feet and in front of the Irishman in a bound.
“You whelp!” he said, shaking his fist under Harrigan’s nose.
The men arose, dropping knives and forks in their amazement. ”

“ Swickey shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed across the pond.
“There’s a deer!” she whispered, “just under those cedars, in the water. I wonder what it’s doing here this time of day?”
“Can’t see it,” said Bascomb. “Couldn’t if he was sitting on this log eating lunch with us.”
“It isn’t a he, it’s a doe, and she has a little fawn near her. I can just see him on the edge of the bank.”
David stood up and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. “I’ll get the canoe and paddle up there. It’s down the shore a bit.”
“I’d give anything to have your eyes,” said Bascomb, as David departed. ”

“ The sleigh creaked and crunched over snow-covered roots, the breathing of the horses keenly audible in the solemn silence, as their broad feet sunk in the snow, and came up again, the frozen fetlocks gleaming white in the gloom of the winter forest.
“Smoke’s keepin’ house, Swickey. Reckon he’ll be jumpin’ glad to see you.”
“Of course. Poor old Smoke. When we get rich, he’s going to stay with me all the time.”
“If he lives long enough, I reckon he will, eh, Jim?”
“No tellin’,” replied Cameron, with profound solemnity; “no tellin’. I’ve knowed worse things than thet to happen.” ”

“ Each little noise of the night seemed to float on the undercurrent of that deep hum-m-m of the rapids, submerged in its heavier note at times, at times tossed above it, distinctly audible, always following the rushing waters but never entirely lost beyond hearing. ”

“ The old lumberman rubbed his hand across his eyes, or rather his eye, for the other was nothing more than a puckered scar, and his broad shoulders drooped sheepishly. Then he laughed, flinging his hand out as though it contained an unpleasant thought which he tossed away.
“Gol-bling it, Swickey, seems to me as lately every time I drawed a bead on a deer, they was three front sights on the gun, and as many as three deer where they oughter been one. ’Sides,” he continued, “I ain’t ketched sight of him so fur. ”

“ Harrigan fingered the butt of the Colt in his pocket. So Barney was going to peach about—no, he couldn’t prove anything about Ross and the Indian, but he did know too much about a certain find on Lost Farm tract. Harrigan snarled as he realized that Axel held the whip-hand.
He jerked the gun from his pocket, murder gleaming in his agate-blue eyes.
“Now, you git, quick!” he snapped, leveling the short, ugly barrel at Axel’s head.
“It’s mighty nigh time—you’re right,” said Axel. “When a boss gits crazy ’nough to come at the men he’s hirin’, with a gun, it’s about time to quit. ”

“ CHAPTER XXV—ON THE DRIVE Joe Smeaton’s regard for Swickey had been increased rather than diminished by her kindly but decisive answer to his suit. “If they ever was angels what wore blue dresses, she’s one of ’em,” he confided to himself, as he beckoned mysteriously to the cookee. The rest of the men had already filed out of the camp and down toward the river.
“Here, Sliver, want to make a quarter?” The lad ambled toward him. “Sure ting, Joe,—it’s up to you.” ”

“ Suddenly Bascomb, consistently acting his part as the commissariat, in that he kept well to the rear, stepped on the moss-covered slant of a boulder. The soggy moss gave way and he shot down the hillside, the lunch-bucket catapulting in wide gyrations ahead of him. ”

“ Bascomb bit his lips. “All right. A conscience is an incumbrance at times. Well, good-bye. I’ll be up that way in a few weeks, perhaps sooner.”
With a gesture of farewell, David climbed into the wagon.
Smoke stood with forepaws on the seat, watching his master. When he could no longer see him, he came solemnly to David’s feet and curled down among the bundles. He, good soldier, had received his captain’s command and obeyed unhesitatingly. This man-thing, that he remembered vaguely, was his new master now. ”

“ He’ll get sorter used to him, though.”
When Cameron came in he glanced at the end of the table. None of the bundles had been opened. He ambled out to the wash-bench and made a perfunctory ablution. Judging by the sounds of spouting and blowing which accompanied his efforts, he was not far from that state of godliness which soap and water are supposed to encourage, but the roller-towel, which he patronized generously, hung in the glare of the lamp, its limp and gloomy folds suggesting that nothing remained for it but kindly oblivion. ”

“ That evening, after David had gone to bed in the small cabin back of the camp, Avery sat on the porch with his daughter. For a long time she cuddled the kitten, busily turning over in her mind the possibilities of a whole dollar and a half. She had heard her father say that the new man was going to Tramworth in the morning. Perhaps he would be able to get her a dress. A dollar and a half was a whole lot of money. Maybe she could buy Pop some new “specs” with what she had left after purchasing the dress. ”

“ By the way, where’s Smoke?”
“Reasonable question, my son, but unanswerable. We parted company somewhere near Tramworth, without explanations or regrets, on Smoke’s part anyway. That dog’s cut out for a bushwhacker. Boston’s too tame for him after that ‘Indian Pete’ affair. Wonder whom he’ll massacre next? I was beginning to get a bit shy of him myself.”
“He probably felt it, and vamoosed,” said David.
“He probably felt hungry,” replied Bascomb, with an unpleasant laugh. “A man’s in a bad way when his dog won’t stick to him. Perhaps he smelt the wolf at the door of the house of Bascomb.” ”

“ The desolate outskirts of Tramworth, encroaching on the freshness of the summer forest, finally resolved themselves into a fairly level wagon-road. Cameron drew up and David mounted beside him.
“Reckon you want Sikes’s hardware store first.” said Jim.
“No. I think I’ll go to the hotel. You can put up the horses. I’ll get what I want and we’ll call for it on the way back.”
At the hotel Cameron accepted his dismissal silently. When he returned from stabling the team he noticed David was standing on the walk in front of the hotel, apparently in doubt as to where he wanted to go first. ”

“ David did not understand his unnecessarily belligerent attitude, for he could have gained cover in two leaps.
“Now, Dave! Let him have it—just in that spot above his forelegs.”
She was watching the bull, and just as she expected to hear the rifle boom Smoke growled. She turned to threaten him; there was a rattling crash of underbrush above them, and a second bull, coming apparently from nowhere, charged right on top of them. ”

“ The Northern Improvement money is as good as any. I’ll take over your father’s stock till he gets on his feet, or you can take it, and we’ll cover any deficits with my money, and no one will be the wiser. The asbestos will be a paying thing in a year or two. In the mean time we’ll manage to get along.”
“Well, for cool, canny head-work, Davy, you’ve got a Boston lawyer faded to a whisper. And for unadulterated decency you’ve got a vestal virgin—”
“Tush,” said David, as they walked toward the vestibule. “It’s one o’clock, and I promised Aunt Elizabeth I’d be home at twelve.” ”

“ Four summers and four long winters they had lived at Lost Farm, happy in each other’s company and contented with their isolation.
There was but one real difficulty. Swickey’s needlecraft extended little farther than the sewing on of “buttins,” and the mending of tears, and she did need longer skirts. She had all but out-grown those her father had brought from Tramworth (the lumber town down river) last spring, and she had noticed little Jessie Cameron when at the Knoll recently. ”

“ Cameron caught him as he wilted across the threshold, and, with Barney Axel, helped carry him to the bedroom.
Harrigan had gone pale and was walking about the room.
Barney stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him silently. “So that’s the deer Fisty sent the Indian back fur. Always knowed Fisty’d jest as leave kill with his dukes, but settin’ a boozy Indian to drop a man from behind—Hell! that’s worse than murder.” ”

“ Ross stepped back and drew his sleeve across his sweating face.
“He’s got his’n,” said Avery. “Didn’t reckon you could do the job, but good men’s like good hosses, you can’t tell ’em until you try ’em out. Wal, you saved me a piece of work, and I thank ye.”
A bully always knows when he is whipped. Fisty was no exception to the rule. He refused Ross’s hand when he had recovered enough breath to refuse anything. Ross laughed easily, and Harrigan turned on him with a curse. “The Great Western’s t’rough wid you, but I ain’t—yet.” ”