Charles Kingsley - "The Water Babies"

J. S. Fletcher - "The Paradise Mystery"

John Greenleaf Whittier - "The Frost Spirit and Others from Poems of Nature,"

William Cowper - "The Task and Other Poems"

The Silver Horde

R >> Rex Beach >> The Silver Horde




"'Your stay among us has not been very pleasant, has it?' Mr. Emerson
inquired.

"'Not so that you could notice it," replied our hero. 'I don't like fish,
and I never did.'

"'That is the result of prejudice; the fish is a noble animal,' Mr.
Emerson declared.

"'He's not an animal at all,' our hero gently corrected. 'He's a biped, a
regular wild biped without either love of home or affection for his
children. The salmon is of a low order of intelligence, and has a Queen
Anne slant to his roof. No person with a retreating forehead like that
knows very much. The only other member of the animal kingdom that is as
foolish as the salmon is Alton Clyde. The fish has got a shade the best of
it over him; but as for friendship and the gentler emotions--why, the
salmon hasn't got them at all. The only thing he's got is a million eggs
and a sense of direction. If he had a spark of intelligence he'd lay one
egg a year, like a hen, and thus live for a million years. But does he?
Not on your Sarony! He's a spendthrift, and turns his eggs loose--a hatful
at a time. He's worse than a shotgun. And then, too, he's as clannish as a
Harvard graduate, and don't associate with nobody out of his own set. No,
sir! Give me a warm-blooded animal that suckles its young. I'll take a
farmer, every time,'

"'These are points I had never considered,' said Mr. Emerson, 'but every
business has its drawbacks, you'll agree. If I have failed as a host, what
can I do to entertain you while you grace our midst?'

"'You can do most anything,' remarked his handsome companion, 'You can
climb a tree, or do anything except fish all the time.'

"'But it is a dark night without, and I fear some mischief is afoot!'

"'True! But yonder beautcheous gel--'"

Roused by the familiarity of these lines, Emerson looked up from his
preoccupation and smiled at Fraser's serious pantomime.

"Am I as bad as all that?" he inquired, with an effort at pleasantry.

"You're worse, Bo! I guess you didn't know I was here, eh?"

"No. By-the-way, what about that 'beautcheous gel and the mischief that is
afoot? What is the rest of the story?"

"I don't know. I never got past that place. Say! If I had time, I'll bet I
could write a good book. I've got plenty to say."

"Why don't you try it?"

"Too busy!" yawned the adventurer, lazily. "Gee, this is a lonesome burg!
Kalvik is sure out in the tall grass, ain't it? I feel as if I'd like to
break a pane of glass. Let's start something."

"I don't find it particularly dull at the present moment." Boyd rose and
began to pace the room.

"Oh, I heard all about your trouble. I just left the pest-house."

"The what?"

"The pest-house--Clyde's joint. Ain't he a calamity?"

"In what way?"

"Is there any way in which he ain't?"

"You don't like him, do you?"

"No, I don't," declared "Fingerless" Fraser stoutly, "and what's more I'm
glad I don't like him. Because if I liked him, I'd associate with him, and
I hate him."

"What's the matter?"

"Well, I like silence and quietude--I'm a fool about my quiet--but Clyde--"
he paused, as if in search for suitable expression. "Well, whenever I
try to say anything he interrupts me." After another pause he went on:
"He's dead sore on this place, too, and whines around like a litter of
pups. He says he was misled into coming up here, and has a hunch he's
going to lose his bank-roll."

"Last night's episode frightened him, I dare say."

"Yes. Ever since he got that wallop on the burr in Seattle a guinea pig
could lick him hand to hand. You'd think that ten thou' he put up was all
the wealth of the Inkers."

"The wealth of what?"

"Inkers! That's a tribe of rich Mexicans. However, I suppose I'd hang to
my coin the same way he does if I had a mayonnaise head like his. He's an
awful shine as a business-man,"

"So he's homesick, eh?"

"Sure! Offered to sell me his stock." Fraser threw back his head and gave
vent to one of his rare laughs. "Ain't that a rave?"

"Here he comes now," Boyd announced, with a glance out the window, and the
next instant Alton Clyde entered, a picture of dejection.

"Gee! This is fierce, isn't it?" the club-man began, flinging himself into
the nearest chair. "They tell me it's all off, finally. What are you going
to do?"

"Put up what fish I can with a short crew," said Boyd.

"We'll lose a lot of money."

"Probably."

Clyde's tone was querulous as he continued:

"I'm sorry I ever went into this thing. You bet if I had known as much in
Chicago as I know now, I would have hung on to my money and stayed at
home."

"You knew as much as we did," Boyd declared, curtly.

"Oh, it's all right for you to talk. You haven't risked any coin in the
deal, but I'm a rotten businessman, and I'll never make my ante back again
if I lose it."

"Don't whine about it," said Boyd, stiffly. "You can at least be game and
lose like a man."

"Then we _are_ going to lose, eh?" queried Clyde, in a scared voice.
"I thought maybe you had a plan. Look here," he began an instant later,
"Cherry pulled us out once before, why don't you let her see what she can
do with Marsh?"

Boyd scanned the speaker's face sharply before speaking.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean she can work him if she tries, the same way she worked Hilliard."

"Marsh isn't in the mood to listen to arguments. I have tried that."

"Who said anything about arguments? You know what I mean."

"I don't care to listen to that sort of talk."

"Why not? I'm entitled to have my say in things." Clyde was growing
indignant. "I put in ten thousand of my own money and twenty-five thousand
besides, on your assurances. That's thirty-five thousand more than you put
up--"

"Nevertheless, it doesn't give you the right to insult the girl."

"Insult her! Bah! You're no fool, Boyd. Why did Hilliard advance that
loan?"

"Because he wanted to, I dare say."

"What's the use of keeping that up? You know as well as I do that she
worked him, and worked him well. She'd do it again if you asked her. She'd
do anything for you."

Boyd broke out roughly: "I tell you. I've heard enough of that talk,
Alton. Anybody but an idiot would know that Cherry is far too good for
what you suggest. And when you insult her, you insult me."

"Oh, she's _good_ enough," said Clyde. "They're all good, but not
perhaps in the way you mean--"

"How do you know?"

"_I_ don't know, but Fraser does. He's known her for years. Haven't
you, Fraser?" But the adventurer's face was like wood as they turned
toward him.

"I don't know nothing," replied "Fingerless" Fraser, with an admirable
show of ignorance.

"Well, judge for yourself." Clyde turned again to Emerson. "Who is she?
Where did she come from? What is she doing here alone? Answer that. Now,
she's interested in this deal just as much as any of us, and if you don't
ask her to take a hand, I'm going to put it up to her myself."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Boyd cried, savagely.

Clyde rose hastily, and his voice was shaking with excitement as he
stammered:

"See here, Boyd, you're to blame for this trouble, and now you either get
us out of it or buy my stock."

"You know that I can't buy your stock."

"Then I'll sell wherever I can. I've been stung, and I want my money. Only
remember, I offered the stock to you first."

"You've got a swell chance to make a turn in Kalvik," said Fraser. "Why
don't you take it to Marsh?"

"I will!" declared Alton.

"You wouldn't do a trick like that?" Emerson questioned, quickly.

"Why not? You won't listen to my advice. You're playing with other
people's money, and it doesn't matter, to you whether you win or lose. If
this enterprise fails, I suppose you can promote another."

"Get out!" Boyd ordered, in such a tone that the speaker obeyed with
ludicrous haste.

"Fingerless" Fraser broke the silence that fell upon the young man's exit.

"He's a nice little feller! I never knew one of those narrow-chested,
five-o'clock-tea-drinkers that was on the level. He's got eighteen fancy
vests, and wears a handkerchief up his sleeve. That put him in the end
book with me, to start with."

"Did you know Cherry before you came to Kalvik?" Boyd asked, searching his
companion's face with a look the man could not evade.

"Only casual."

"Where?"

"Nome--the year of the big rush."

"During the mining troubles, eh?"

"Sure."

"What was she doing?"

"Minding her business. She's good at that." Fraser's eyes had become green
and fishy, as usual.

"What do you know about her?"

"Well, I know that a lot of fellows would 'go through' for her at the drop
of a hat. She could have most anything they've got, I guess. Most any of
them miners at Nome would give his right eye, or his only child, or any
little thing like that if she asked it."

"What else?"

"Well, she was always considered a right good-looking party--"

"Yes, yes, of course. But what do you know about the girl herself? Who is
she? What is her history?"

"Now, sir, I'm an awful poor detective," confessed "Fingerless" Fraser.
"I've often noticed that about myself. If I was the kind that goes
snooping around into other people's business, listening to all the gossip
I'm told, I'd make a good witness. But I ain't. No, sir! I'm a rotten
witness."

Despite this indirect rebuke, Boyd might have continued his questioning
had not George Balt's heavy step sounded outside. A moment later the big
fellow entered.

"What did you find at the traps?" asked Emerson, eagerly.

"Nothing." George spoke shortly. "The fish struck in this morning, but our
trap is corked." He wrenched off his rubber boots and flung them savagely
under a bench.

"What luck with the boats?"

"Not much. Marsh's men are trying to surround our gill-netters, and we
ain't got enough boats to protect ourselves." He looked up meaningly from
under his heavy brows, and inquired: "How much longer are we going to
stand for this?"

"What do you mean? I've got men out hunting for new hands."

"You know what I mean," the giant rumbled, his red eyes flaming. "You and
I can get Willis Marsh."

Emerson shot a quick glance at Fraser, who was staring fixedly at Big
George.

"He's got us right enough, and it's bound to come to a killing some day,
so the sooner the better," the fisherman ran on. "We can get him to-night
if you say so. Are you in on it?"

Boyd faced the window slowly, while the others followed him with anxious
eyes. Inside the room a death-like silence settled. In the distance they
heard the sound of the canning machinery, a sound that was now a mockery.
To Balt this last disaster was the culmination of a persecution so
pitiless and unflagging that its very memory filled his simple mind with
the fury of a goaded animal. To his companion it meant, almost certainly,
the loss of Mildred Wayland--the girl who stood for his pride in himself
and all that he held most desirable. He thought bitterly of all the
suffering and hardship, the hunger of body and soul, that he had endured
for her sake. Again he saw his hopes crumbling and his dreams about to
fade; once more he felt his foothold giving way beneath him, as it had
done so often in the past, and he was filled with sullen hate. Something
told him that he would never have the heart to try again, and the thought
left him cold with rage.

Ever since those fishermen had walked out on the evening before, he had
clung to the feeble hope that once the run began in earnest, George's trap
would fill and save the situation; but now that the salmon had struck in
and the trap was useless, his discouragement was complete; for there were
no idle men in Kalvik, and there was no way of getting help. Moreover,
Mildred Wayland was soon to arrive--the yacht was expected daily--and she
would find him a failure. What was worse, she would find that Marsh had
vanquished him. She had kept her faith in him, he reflected, but a woman's
faith could hardly survive humiliation, and it was not in human nature to
lean forever upon a broken reed. She would turn elsewhere--perhaps to the
very man who had contrived his undoing. At thought of this, a sort of
desperation seemed to master him; he began to mutter aloud.

"What did you say?" queried Balt.

"I said that you are right. The time is close at hand for some sort of a
reckoning," answered Boyd, in a harsh, strained voice.

"Good!"

Emerson was upon the point of turning when his eyes fell upon a picture
that made him start, then gaze more intently. Out upon the placid waters,
abreast of the plant, the launch in which Cherry had departed was
approaching, and it was loaded down with men. Not only were they crowded
upon the craft itself, but trailing behind it, like the tail of a kite,
was a long line of canoes, and these also were peopled.

"Look yonder!" cried Boyd.

"What?"

"Cherry has got--a crew!" His voice broke, and he bolted toward the door
as Big George leaped to the window.

"Injuns, by God!" shouted the giant, and without stopping to stamp his
feet into his boots, he rushed out barefoot after Boyd and Fraser;
together, the three men reached the dock in time to help Cherry up the
ladder.

"What does this mean?" Boyd asked her, breathlessly. "Will these fellows
work?"

"That's what they're here for," said the girl. After her swarmed a crowd
of slant-eyed, copper-hued Aleuts; those in the kyaks astern cast off and
paddled toward the beach.

"I've got fifty men, the best on the river; I tried to get more, but--
there aren't any more."

"Fingerless" Fraser slapped himself resoundingly upon the thigh and
exploded profanely; Boyd seized the girl's hands in his and wrung them.

"Cherry, you're a treasure!" The memory of his desperate resolution of a
moment before swept over him suddenly, and his voice trembled with a great
thankfulness.

"Don't thank me!" Cherry exclaimed. "It was more Constantine's work than
mine."

"But I don't understand. These are Marsh's men."

"To be sure, but I was good to them when they were hungry last winter, and
I prevailed upon them to come. They aren't very good fishermen; they're
awfully lazy, and they won't work half as hard as white men, but it's the
best I could do." She laughed gladly, more than repaid by the look in her
companion's face. "Now, get me some lunch. I'm fairly starved."

Big George, when he had fully grasped the situation, became the boss
fisherman on the instant; before the others had reached the cook-house he
was busied in laying out his crews and distributing his gear. The
impossible had happened; victory was in sight; the fish were running--he
cared to know no more.

That night the floors of the fish-dock groaned beneath a weight of silver-
sided salmon piled waist-high to a tall man. All through the cool, dim-lit
hours the ranks of Chinese butchers hacked and slit and slashed with
swift, sure, tireless strokes, while the great building echoed hollowly to
the clank of machines and the hissing sighs of the soldering-furnaces.





CHAPTER XXIII

IN WHICH MORE PLANS ARE LAID




It seemed to Boyd that he had never felt such elation as during the days
that followed. He trod upon air, his head was in the clouds. He joked with
his men, inspiring them with his own good-humor and untiring energy. He
was never idle save during the odd hours that he snatched for sleep. He
covered the plant from top to bottom, and no wheel stopped turning, no
mechanical device gave way, without his instant attention. So urgent was
he that George Balt became desperate; for the Indians were not like white
men, and proved a sad trial to the big fellow, who was accustomed to drive
his crews with the cruelty of a convict foreman. Despite his utmost
endeavors, he could not keep the plant running to capacity, and in his
zeal he took the blame wholly upon himself.

While the daily output was disappointing, Emerson drew consolation from
the prospect that his pack would be large enough at least to avert utter
ruin, and he argued that once he had won through this first season no
power that Marsh could bring to bear would serve to crush him. He saw a
moderate success ahead, if not the overwhelming victory upon which he had
counted.

Up at the Trust's headquarters Willis Marsh was in a fine fury. As far as
possible, his subordinates avoided him. His superintendents, summoned from
their work, emerged from the red-painted office on the hill with dampened
brows and frightened glances over their shoulders. Many of them held their
places through services that did not show upon the Company's books, but
now they shook their heads and swore that some things were beyond them.

Except for one step on Emerson's part, Marsh would have rested secure, and
let time work out his enemy's downfall; but Boyd's precaution in
contracting to sell his output in advance threatened to defeat him.
Otherwise, Marsh would simply have cut down his rival's catch to the
lowest point, and then broken the market in the fall. With the Trust's
tremendous resources back of him, he could have afforded to hammer down
the price of fish to a point where Emerson would either have been ruined
or forced to carry his pack for a year, and in this course he would have
been upheld by Wayne Wayland. But as matters stood, such tactics could
only result in a serious loss to the brokers who had agreed to take Boyd's
catch, and to the Trust itself. It was therefore necessary to work the
young man's undoing here and now.

Marsh knew that he had already wasted too much time in Kalvik, for he was
needed at other points far to the southward; but he could not bear to
leave this fight to other hands. Moreover, he was anxiously awaiting the
arrival of _The Grande Dame,_ with Mildred and her father. One square
of the calendar over his desk was marked in red, and the sight of it gave
him fresh determination.

On the third day after Boyd's deliverance, Constantine sought him out, in
company with several of the native fishermen, translating their demand to
be paid for the fish they had caught.

"Can't they wait until the end of the week?" Emerson inquired.

"No! They got no money--they got no grub. They say little baby is hongry,
and they like money now. So soon they buy grub, they work some more."

"Very well. Here's an order on the book-keeper."

Boyd tore a leaf from his note-book and wrote a few words on it, telling
the men to present it at the office. As Constantine was about to leave, he
called to him:

"Wait! I want to talk with you."

The breed halted.

"How long have you known Mr. Marsh?"

"Me know him long time."

"Do you like him?"

A flicker ran over the fellow's coppery face as he replied:

"Yes. Him good man."

"You used to work for him, did you not?"

"Yes."

"Why did you quit?"

Constantine hesitated slightly before answering: "Me go work for Cherry."

"Why?"

"She good to my little broder. You savvy little chil'ren--so big?"

"Yes. I've seen him. He's a fine little fellow. By the way, do you
remember that night about two weeks ago when I was at Cherry's house?--the
night you and your sister went out?"

"I 'member."

"Where did you go?"

Constantine shifted his walrus-soled boots. "What for you ask?"

"Never mind! Where did you go when you left the house?"

"Me go Indian village. What for you ask?"

"Nothing. Only--if you ever have any trouble with Mr. Marsh, I may be able
to help you. I like you--and I don't like him."

The breed grunted unintelligibly, and was about to leave when Boyd reached
forth suddenly and plucked the fellow's sheath-knife from its scabbard.
With a startled cry, Constantine whirled, his face convulsed, his nostrils
dilated like those of a frightened horse; but Emerson merely fingered the
weapon carelessly, remarking:

"That is a curious knife you have. I have noticed it several times." He
eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then handed the blade back with a smile.
Constantine slipped it into its place, and strode away without a word.

It was considerably later in the day when Boyd discovered the Indians to
whom he had given the note talking excitedly on the dock. Seeing
Constantine in argument with them, he approached to demand an explanation,
whereupon the quarter-breed held out a silver dollar in his palm with the
words:

"These men say this money no good."

"What do you mean?"

"It no good. No can buy grub at Company store."

Boyd saw that the group was eying him suspiciously.

"Nonsense! What's the matter with it?"

"Storekeeper laugh and say it come from you. He say, take it back. He no
sell my people any flour."

It was evident that even Constantine was vaguely distrustful.

Another native extended a coin, saying;

"We want money like this."

Boyd took the piece and examined it, whereupon a light broke upon him. The
coin was stamped with the initials of one of the old fishing companies,
and he instantly recognized a ruse practiced in the North during the days
of the first trading concerns. It had been the custom of these companies
to pay their Indians in coins bearing their own impress and to refuse all
other specie at their posts, thus compelling the natives to trade at
company stores. By carefully building up this system they had obtained a
monopoly of Indian labor, and it was evident that Marsh and his associates
had robbed the Aleuts in the same manner during the days before the
consolidation. Boyd saw at once the cause of the difficulty and undertook
to explain it, but he had small success, for the Indians had learned a
hard lesson and were loath to put confidence in the white man's promises.
Seeing that his words carried no conviction, Emerson gave up at last,
saying:

"If the Company store won't take this money, I'll sell you whatever you
need from the commissary. We are not going to have any trouble over a
little thing like this."

He marched the natives in a body to the storehouse, where he saw to it
that they received what provisions they needed and assisted them in
loading their canoes.

But his amusement at the episode gave way to uneasiness on the following
morning when the Aleuts failed to report for work, and by noon his anxiety
resolved itself into strong suspicion.

Balt had returned from the banks earlier in the morning with news of a
struggle between his white crew and Marsh's men. George's boats had been
surrounded during the night, nets had been cut, and several encounters had
occurred, resulting in serious injury to his men. The giant, in no amiable
mood, had returned for reinforcements, stating that the situation was
becoming more serious every hour. Hearing of the desertion of the natives,
he burst into profanity, then armed himself and returned to the banks,
while Boyd, now thoroughly alarmed, took a launch and sped up the river to
Cherry's house, in the hope that she could prevail upon her own recruits
to return.

He found the girl ready to accompany him, and they were about to embark
when Chakawana came running from the house as if in sudden fright.

"Where you go?" she asked her mistress.

"I am going to the Indian village. You stay here--"

"No, no! I no stop here alone. I go 'long too." She cast a glance over her
shoulder.

"But, Chakawana, what is the matter? Are you afraid?"

"Yes." Chakawana nodded her pretty head vigorously.

"What are you afraid of?" Boyd asked; but she merely stared at him with
eyes as black and round as ox-heart cherries, then renewed her entreaty.
When she had received permission and had hurried back to the house, her
mistress remarked, with a puzzled frown:

"I don't know what to make of her. She and Constantine have been acting
very strangely of late. She used to be the happiest sort of creature,
always laughing and singing, but she has changed entirely during the last
few weeks. Both she and Constantine are forever whispering to each other
and skulking about, until I am getting nervous myself." Then as the Indian
girl came flying back with her tiny baby brother in her arms, Cherry
added: "She's pretty, isn't she? I can't bear ugly people around me."

At the native village, in spite of every effort she and Boyd could make,
the Indians refused to go back to work. Many of them, so they learned, had
already reported to the other canneries, evidently still doubtful of
Emerson's assurances, and afraid to run the risk of offending their old
employers. Those who were left were lazy fellows who did not care to work
under any circumstances; these merely listened, then shrugged their
shoulders and walked away.

"Since they can't use your money at the store, they don't seem to care
whether it is good or not," Cherry announced, after a time.

"I'll give them enough provisions to last them all winter," Boyd offered,
irritated beyond measure at such stupidity. "Tell them to move the whole
blamed village down to my place, women and all. I'll take care of them."
But after an hour of futile cajolery, he was forced to give up, realizing
that Marsh had been at work again, frightening these simple people by
threats of vengeance and starvation.

"You can't blame the poor things. They have learned to fear the hand of
the companies, and to know that they are absolutely dependent upon the
cannery stores during the winter. But it's maddening!" She stamped her
foot angrily. "And I was so proud of my work. I thought I had really done
something to help at last. But I don't know what more we can do. I've
reached the end of my rope."

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