United States or Chile ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He made a strike; he trusted his new friend; and his friend tricked, betrayed and robbed him. This blow and others came with the gaunt years. At the end of them David Drennen was the man who sought to quarrel with Kootanie George; he was a man like a lone wolf, hunting alone, eating alone, making his lair alone, his heart filled with hatred and bitterness and distrust.
His nerves were strung high and tense and the words came from him involuntarily. They were the clean words of rage at which no man in the world could take offence unless he sought a quarrel. And yet Drennen, as he moved forward a little to draw his winnings toward him, thrust his face close up to Kootanie George's and said crisply: "Say that again and I'll slap your face!"
"I called you Greaser, too," he said heavily. "I take it back, Garcia. You're a white man. Shake." Garcia took his hand readily, laughing. "And you, señor, whom I thought a clown are a gentleman," he answered, a trifle of impudence in the gaze which swept the big man from head to heel. Kootanie grinned a bit, passed over the innuendo in silence and went back to his chair.
When at last he came back to his bed the fires were out; all the others had gone to their rest. He fancied, however, that none of them slept. He pictured each one, his own father, Kootanie George, Ernestine, Lieutenant Max, lying wide awake, staring up into the stars, each one busy with his own destiny.
He saw that Kootanie George was there and that Kootanie's big boots were gummed with the red mud of the upper trail. He took no trouble to hide his sneer; Kootanie George, too, had been out in search of his gold and had returned empty handed. To each question of Père Marquette his answer was the same: "The best you've got; damn the price."
But that had not been all. A man named Kootanie George with another man wearing the uniform of the Royal Northwest Mounted had followed them. These had all gone by the beaten trail; Drennen saw that if he came before Kootanie George and Max to the four he sought he must take his chances with the short cut. The next night they camped at the upper end of the fourth of the string of little lakes.
"There shall be fon, mes enfants," whispered the old prophet from Moosejaw. Slowly, but light footed enough, lifting his great hands still a little higher, Kootanie George came forward. Drennen waited, his lip raised in the bitter snarl which seemed frozen upon his dark face, his grey eyes malevolent. He had fought with many men, he was not afraid to fight; all men there knew that.
Kootanie George scowled, Ernestine twirled her glass in her fingers, one or two men laughed. When he had done Ramon Garcia swept his fingers across the strings in a sort of mournful regret. Dios! It is sweet to be young and to love! More sweet than wine . . . to be young and to love!"
Kootanie George demanded as he emptied his canvas bag and piled several hundred dollars in neat yellow stacks. Garcia lifted his shoulders, showed his fine white teeth pleasantly and looked to Drennen. "As big as you like," retorted Drennen crisply. And then, lifting his voice a little, "Marquette!" "Oui, m'sieu." Marquette came quickly to the table. "I want some money . . . for this."
It was the fear that perhaps Kootanie George and Max might first come up with the quarry. Signs of fatigue showed upon Marshall Sothern an hour before they made camp. Drennen sought and failed to hide the restlessness upon him. The next morning, a full hour before the customary time for making the start for the day, Drennen had thrown the half diamond hitch which bespoke readiness.
Word Of The Day