Part 2

He sprang in the sled, lay flat. As his “mush” cry arose, a bullet from English’s rifle, the barrel protruding from under the window roared through the storm.

The dogs sprang forward, instinctively headed for the trail, a stone’s throw from the cabin.

Morely smiled grimly. “Good thing I laid flat, or he’d have had me.”

Again bullets spat toward the fleeing man. The snow and sleet were so heavy, the wind so high that visibility was poor at even a few yards.

When that trail was reached the cabin was blotted from sight.

Morely sprang from the sled, drew the fur parka over his head, headed the dogs toward Nichikun.

He reentered the long light sled, the hiss of a moose-hide whip cut through the sleet. The dogs, well fed, in good condition, sprang forward with a will. Speed was wanted. Speed they would give.

* * * * *

Daily Hardy’s strength was increasing.

Longer each day he sat in the big chair before the crackling fire; then a few steps farther until he could reach the door.

Constantly his thoughts revolved around the man who had stayed with him, brought him through this siege.

The weeks dragged by until a month had passed since Morely’s departure.

The weather settled fine, clear, with brilliant sunshine. The white world glittered and sparkled like a sea of flashing jewels.

“I’m strong enough now. If I had dogs I should have left a week ago.”

Hardy stood in the open door of the cabin gazing across the country. Far down the trail came several dark specks. Gradually the specks took on shape and substance, became a moving team of dogs, with sled, and a man at the gee-pole.

Opposite the cabin the team turned, made their way to the little building.

“Don’t come too near. Smallpox!” he shouted.

Steadily the half-breed came on. When near the cabin he paused.

“Me, I heard you, _mais eet_ not matter. I am jus’ over ze pest.” The trapper lifted a scarred and pitted face to Hardy.

“Dese ees my cabin. I was away in a line-cabin when ze sickness took me. Many weeks ’ave I been gone, but now I, Le Massan, am well, and ’ave come home.

“_Eh bien_, eet ees good to be home.” He loosed the dogs from their harness, stepped into the cabin, shut the door behind him.

Rapidly Hardy explained his presence in the man’s cabin; told of the fugitive he pursued.

“Many strange things ’appen in de time of de pest. Zis man, he save your life,” Le Massan said thoughtfully, “an’ now you go to catch heem an’ imprison heem? Zat ees strange.” He shrugged.

“Personal obligation has nothing to do with my duty.”

“_Oui?_ Me, I am glad I am onlee a trapper, for ze squaw who find me w’en I am sick and nurse me back to life, I will marry. So does Le Massan gif hees thanks. _M’sieu l’officier_ ’ave no value on hees life w’en he gif no thanks?”

Le Massan’s voice and manner were disapproving. He gazed reproachfully at Hardy.

“It is not as simple as you think,” he said wearily. “Now, my friend, I want your dogs and sled, also an outfit. I will pay you in cash. I have currency in my money belt.”

“An’ zis man, he did not take your monee?”

“No, he is not that type of--thief.” Within an hour Hardy left. Le Massan watched with disapproving eyes as Hardy swung onto the trail.

“Which way has he gone? North or south? I would be inclined to think south, perhaps to the nearest railway station. Yet that assumption seems so simple--too simple. Therefore, I turn north.”

The day was magnificent. Clear, sparkling, the sun of dazzling brilliance.

It was that transition period between the darkness of winter and the coming of spring, when the world takes on an unearthly aspect. The brilliant sun gave a glaring light. Tree and bush glittered with indescribable beauty.

* * * * *

Hardy had been on the trail several days when he began to notice his blurred vision. “Eyes are weak. Smallpox often leaves a weakened condition of sight,” he reassured himself.

Yet the following morning when he awakened he found his lids glued together with a thick sticky substance. By feel only he built his fire, melted a small pail of snow. For an hour he bathed his swollen lids, separating them at last. But his sight was poor, and an intolerable pain pierced his eyeballs.

All day he kept going, closing his eyes as much as possible against a world that glistened like polished steel. Dimmer grew his vision. By mid-afternoon darkness closed in.

“Snowblind!” For a moment panic seized him, but his iron will quickly controlled it.

“Other men have had the same experience and came through,” he told himself grimly.

He sat in the sled, while the dogs trotted up the wind-swept ice, his ears straining for the sound of other sled runners, or the crunch of webs.

“Must be about sundown,” Hardy muttered. “Better call a halt.”

Suddenly there was a startled yelp from the lead dog, followed by a hoarse chorus of howls.

Desperately Hardy strained his blind eyes. A sharp report, an ominous volley of cracks, the sound of a swift current flowing under the ice told the story. Amid a terrified din from the struggling dogs, Hardy sprang from the sled. The cracks were spreading, widening into a sunburst. Hardy felt the water under his boots.

Swiftly he sprang back. “Oh, God, for a second of sight!” he breathed. Slowly, cautiously he backed. The ice became firm under his boots. He paused, listening to the frenzied struggles and wild howling of the team, until one by one their voices were stilled.

He heard the suction as the sled was drawn into the water.

It is not an uncommon thing in northern waters, that strange, warm undercurrent on which a thin layer of ice forms. Ice deceptive in appearance, but when surmounted by a weight it gives suddenly and treacherously.

Hardy continued to walk backward, realizing if he turned he would be at a loss to know in which direction he walked.

“Looks bad,” he muttered. “Blankets and supplies gone down with the sled. I’ll have to keep moving to keep up the circulation.”

Wearily he walked during that long night. By morning his muscles stiffened to the consistency of raw cowhide. Weakened from his illness, his vitality lessened swiftly.

Toward morning he stumbled over a low-growing snow-capped bush. Unconsciously he had half circled across the river and reached its wooded shore.

Eagerly with panting breath he felt among the brush, got a pile together, carried them to the shore ice. There were matches in the waterproof case in the parka pocket. Quickly he kindled a fire, a fitful, smoldering little flame, but its warmth was inexpressively grateful to the chilled man.

Many round balls of eyes from culvert and hilltop watched that fire curiously, fearfully.

Hardy did not know it, but death was near, lurking in fangs and claw. If he allowed that blaze to extinguish, the gray terrors of the wild would be on him.

* * * * *

The old priest raised a shaking hand, touched Morely’s face half fearfully. “Ees eet really you, my son? So often ’ave I dreamed that you came like this, only to awaken. Are you real or ees this but another dream?”

His tired, sunken eyes gazed anxiously at the man.

Morely threw an arm around the bowed shoulders, held the thin body to him for a moment. “It is I, father. And the first thing I do is to put you to bed. You are worn out. You need rest. I shall take charge here--”

“_Le bon Dieu!_ How often ’ave I prayed for your return, my son! God ees good.”

Morely arrived at the peak of the epidemic and threw himself body and mind into the battle. Day and night he worked with but brief intervals for rest.

“If only I had fresh vaccine!” he groaned. Vigorously he segregated the well from the sick; battled to keep wailing mothers from dying children, fought to keep fathers from stricken sons.

“My son, you mus’ rest. So hard you work,” the old priest said anxiously.

“Does a soldier rest in the midst of battle, father? When the enemy is in retreat, when it is beaten, then I will rest,” Morely said gravely.

For a time the bell in the chapel tolled daily. Gradually at fewer intervals, until a week had passed without a death.

“We’ve licked it, father!” An exultant light shone in Morely’s eyes, but his face was drawn, white from fatigue.

A week passed without a new case. The convalescent were growing stronger.

“There is little to do now at the Post, father. I have time to visit some cabins in the woods. There may be sick in them.”

In one cabin he found a dead body. The cabin was burned.

Toward evening he saw the blaze from a camp fire.

“Some traveler. Better investigate,” he thought.

His webs were almost soundless as he approached, yet Hardy’s keen ears heard the faint crunch.

“Help,” he called.

Hoarse though the voice was, Morely recognized it. He froze in his tracks, motionless, scarcely breathing, cold with astonishment.

Screened behind a great tree, Morely watched Hardy take hesitating steps forward, saw him crash into a tree. Amazement held the watching man.

It was growing dark, but there was still light enough to see the trees and brush.

“Blind! Left the cabin too soon. And what a bloodhound he is! He’s trailed me almost to the Post!”

Rapidly Morely thought, planned. He webbed to the officer.

“Ha, here you are,” the blind man cried. “Thought you had gone on. I need help. Snowblind.”

Morely gazed at the swollen lids, glued together over the sightless eyes. He grasped Hardy’s arm. In a hoarse, guttural voice he spoke a few words of Cree.

“You’re an Indian? Then take me to your cabin. The blindness of the sun-on-the-snow has fallen on me.”

“I take you to my lodge,” he grunted in Cree. Hardy heaved a sigh of relief.

Morely, who was known and admired as a great medicine man among the Crees of Northern Quebec, knew he could depend on Migisi.

When the Indian heard the men approaching he threw open his door. Morely shook his head and pointed warningly at Hardy.

He led the officer into the warm candle-lit room.

The fragrant odor of broiling deer steak lay in the air.

“Ha, this feels and smells good,” Hardy exclaimed.

Beckoning to Migisi, Morely left the cabin, the Indian following.

Lowering his voice cautiously, he told the Indian:

“I have brought this man to you. He is snowblind. I found him on the shore trail. But I do not want him to hear my voice. He thinks an Indian found him, for I spoke to him in Cree. Let him think no one is in the cabin save himself and you. Migisi understands?”

The Indian nodded.

“Watch me, how I care for his eyes. When I leave with the rising sun, you continue the treatment until the light again pierces his eyes.

“If he cannot see by the third sun, come to me. Care for him, Migisi. A two-pound tin of tobacco shall reward you.”

* * * * *

Migisi’s moccasined footfalls were noiseless as he prepared the supper.

“Migisi care for your eyes now,” the Indian grunted. For an hour he watched Morely apply the snow applications on pieces of flour-sacking which he had made sterile by long boiling.

With the dawn Morely left, made his way to the Post.

“He will not leave the cabin until his eyes are thoroughly freed of the inflammation. He realizes it would be too dangerous to his sight, and no matter how impatient he may be, he knows a blind man is out of the Service.” Morely thought.

“I have a week. But I must be gone before then. I’ll take no chances, for he will make for the Post first thing. God!” The bitter exclamation came like a shot. “How different this has turned out from what I planned! And all my own fault. If I had kept hidden, if Hardy had not seen my face when I stopped the mail, all would have been well.

“I would never have been suspected, could have got back to the Post as I planned. Everything gone wrong, because of that one mishap. Also, I did not know a man of the Mounted would be traveling with the carrier.”

There was a continual sound of ax and saw in the air. The men of the Post were busily felling logs, erecting new cabins, making new tables, chairs and bunks. The Post was emerging from her weeks of horror.

The morning of the third day since his finding of Hardy, Migisi came to the Post, sought out Morely.

“The white man’s eyes have been pierced by the light. This morning he could see me.”

Morely turned to his supply shelves, took a tin of tobacco, gave it to the expectant Indian. When the Indian had gone, Morely walked swiftly to the old priest’s cabin.

“I must leave to-night. It is hard to go, but you can handle the convalescent, and any day the new factor will be here. Our moccasin telegraph has carried word of the deaths of McAndrews, his wife and his clerk to the major posts. They no doubt have long since notified the company.

“Father, I am leaving to-night. I--” Morely paused. It was hard to lie looking in those kindly, loving eyes.

There was a crunch of webs on the snow outside. Some one stopped to remove his webs, then knocked at the cabin door. The old priest hurried to the door, threw it open.

The man in the doorway looked over the white head, directly into the eyes of Morely.

“We meet again,” said he. The voice fell curt, hard.

Morely looked from the barrel of the drawn gun into the eyes of Sergeant Hardy!

* * * * *

“I arrest you for the robbery of the mail. Up with your hands!” Sergeant Hardy’s curt voice broke the silence.

“Arrest--mail--wha’ you mean?” the old priest faltered.

He turned to Hardy. “Who are you?” he half whispered.

“I am Sergeant Hardy of the Mounted. I was with Jim King, the mail driver, when this man stopped us.” Hardy’s voice softened as he gazed into the stricken eyes of the old priest.

“Of a certainty there ees some mistake. This ees Dr. Keith Morely--”

“No mistake, father. Look at him. Ask him, if that is necessary.”

“My son, you a mail robber? In God’s name, why?”

“I should like to know that myself,” Hardy commented dryly.

“Tell us.” Again that half whispering voice of Father du Bois.

“There was something in the mail I had to have.” Morley’s voice fell low. “I cut across the country to intercept it. I intended getting what I wanted and return here.

“All would have gone as I had planned, save that Sergeant Hardy happened to be traveling for a distance with the driver. He saw my face. I knew then that I would have to leave the country. I intended doing so, but fate willed otherwise.”

“_Mais_, you were gone so long.” Father du Bois paused in bewilderment.

“A blizzard came up. The sergeant and I both sought shelter in the same cabin. He was sick--with the pest. I stayed with him until he was convalescent.”

“He saved my life, father.” For the first time during Morely’s narrative Hardy spoke.

Morely studied the officer’s reddened eyelids.

“You recovered your sight quickly,” he said, “but you must be careful of your eyes.”

Hardy stared at him incredulously. How did this man know of his recent blindness?

“How do you know I have been blind?” Hardy asked quickly.

“I did not intend to mention it. It slipped out unawares, but it was I who found you by your camp fire and led you to the Indian’s cabin. I spoke to you in Cree so you would not recognize my voice.”

“Another obligation, Morely. Seems I am pretty deep in your debt.” The men gazed at each other silently.

“Will you continue your narrative?” There was a strange quality in Hardy’s voice. “Why did you return here, when you had planned differently?”

“I met an Indian on the trail. He told me of the factor’s and his wife’s deaths. I realized I was needed. I knew Father du Bois was fighting it alone. I had to return.”

Grimly Hardy nodded. The three sat silent. After a time Morely said: “You got the sack of mail, sergeant? It was in good condition, I trust?”

Hardy stared at Morely blankly.

“What do you mean?” he barked.

“Why, surely you returned for the sack? It was not far from the cabin in which we stayed.” It was Morely’s turn to speak sharply. Incredulously he stared at Hardy’s blank face. “Surely you read my note?”

“What note?”

“The note I placed in the parka pocket. The one you are wearing.”

Hardy dug deep in the pocket. Pressed into a corner was a small folded piece of paper. He had not noticed it before. He drew it out, glanced at it blankly.

Aloud he read:

“I got what I wanted. You will find the mail sack in that wedge of rocks, where I stopped you and the driver, I piled stones over the crevice to protect it.”

The room was silent. After a time: “What did you take from the sack?” Hardy asked.

“A letter. I had no interest in the mail, otherwise. I intended placing it where it eventually would be recovered. Of course my gun threat was only a bluff. I would not have shot--”

“Whose letter was it you ran such risks to secure?” Hardy asked swiftly.

“The factor’s, McAndrews. I _had_ to have it.”

“Explain, Morely.”

“I will explain at headquarters,” he said slowly.

Father du Bois laid a trembling hand on Hardy’s arm.

“Sergeant, I beg of you, do not take this man. You can free heem if you would. You are not onlee an exponent of ze law. You are ze law itself. You who are clad with ze authority of courts, can make your own court here, try, an’ release this man.”

Hardy was silent, his troubled gaze on the priest’s pleading eyes.

“There ees so much sickness. Ze people need ze doctor. Of a certainty he ees needed. Do not take heem away.”

“Father, this is not a case wherein I could act as judge.” Hardy’s voice was low. “I realize all you say. And I also realize my own obligation to my prisoner. Yet, father, you, who would not betray a confession, cannot ask me to violate the code of the Mounted? I cannot possibly consider my personal wishes.”

Keith Morely came to his feet.

“I am ready, sergeant. And by the way, your uniform is at my cabin. No doubt you want to wear it? It has been fumigated and aired. We shall stop at the store and get a pair of very dark goggles for your eyes. You must be careful.”

Hardy glowed with admiration. Dammit but he liked this man. No cringing, no begging for quarter. Voice cool and steady.

Morely turned. Silently the hands of the priest gripped his.

“When you are shut away between dark walls, have courage, my son. Always my prayers are with you an’ I shall be waiting for your return.” The gentle voice faltered.

The two men walked to the door. With misty eyes the priest listened to the retreating crunch of their webs.

* * * * *

“It seems you overstep in pleading this man’s case, sergeant.”

Inspector McKenzie looked narrowly at Hardy’s earnest face.

“I have but given you a detailed report, sir. Only adding that the prisoner saved my life. I believe, twice. I have also reported what I have heard concerning him. I made inquiries at every Post on the way here. I questioned people who know him. He is honored by all.

“He has given three years of his life to the North without reward. His services are invaluable, for you know, sir, we cannot get half the physicians we need up here. He stamped out the pest at Nichikun. In other Posts, it is still raging. And Jim King, the driver, is dead, too.”

The inspector sat silent. “Bring in your prisoner,” he said finally.

Hardy saluted, left the inspector’s court. Morely raised haggard eyes, questioning.

“He is ready for you. And Dr. Morely, I want to tell you, I’m sorry. Dammit, I’m sorry. I wish I could have--”

“I understand, sergeant.” The voice was low, strained.

Inspector McKenzie looked sharply at the man before him.

“What have you got to say?” he snapped.

“I had to have that letter.”

“Why?” the inspector barked.

“Haven’t you read it? I gave it to the sergeant.”

“I want your story first. Then I’ll read it.”

“McAndrews and I had quarreled bitterly. He accused me of too friendly relations with a half-breed girl at the Post. The accusation was false. The girl was only grateful for my pulling her through a siege of pneumonia. Some one aroused McAndrews’s suspicions and he was stubborn. Wouldn’t listen to me, or believe me.

“His daughter Alice and I are engaged. She is spending the winter in Quebec, and we were to be married on her return.

“He wrote her, telling her the sort of man he thought I was, and told her to break our engagement immediately.

“She is a type of girl who believes absolutely in her father. Thinks he can do no wrong, that he’s never mistaken. She is loyal and devoted to him. He insisted on my reading his letter, doubtless to convince me that Alice was lost to me, irrevocably. And she would have been. She would never have listened to me.” Morely paused a moment.

“I knew the letter went out on that mail. I determined to get it. And I did.”

Involuntarily McKenzie nodded. Did a memory of his own hot-blooded youth return to him? Youth that will dare much for the loved one?

“I intended returning immediately to the Post. My short absence would not have been noticed, for I often go in the woods where sickness has been reported. Within a week or so, I intended going to Quebec, and urge Alice to marry me there. I think she would have--for we love each other. Then we would have returned to the Post. For my work is here, in the North, that I love.”

Morely fell silent.

“Seems to me it was an act of--er--Providence that Alice McAndrews never received that letter. Her father and mother dead, the poor girl needs the man she loves,” Hardy ventured. He kept a wary eye on the inspector as he spoke.

McKenzie stared at his sergeant fixedly, then picked up McAndrews’s letter. He read it thoughtfully, his heavy brows drawn together, his face grave.

Morely’s hopes died. There was no softness, no sympathy in that rock-like face.

To be locked in prison, while the pest still raged! When he was so badly needed! And Alice, alone in her bereavement--he groaned aloud.

Hardy’s face was moody as he watched McKenzie.

“The law recognizes extenuating circumstances.” McKenzie was speaking. “I feel that I am justified in dismissing this case. You are free, Dr. Morely.”

He rose, held out his hand. Inspector McKenzie’s eyes twinkled as he looked at his sergeant.

THE END

[Transcriber's Note: This story appeared in the October 20, 1928 issue of Argosy All-Story Weekly magazine.]