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Updated: June 6, 2025
Somewhere in the darkness Conniston's voice was urging him, as it had urged him up in the cabin on the Barren: "Don't walk into a noose. If it comes to a fight, FIGHT!" And then something happened that brought his heart to a dead stop. He was close to the door. His ear was against it. And he was listening to a voice. It was not Wallie's, and it was not the iron man's.
Here Conniston counted forty-nine teams and forty-nine drivers. One man it was the big Englishman with the scarred lip and cheek and the unsheathed knife was standing ten feet away from the edge of the ditch, his great bare arms folded, watching. "That's one of your foremen," Truxton said, his eyes following Conniston's. "Ben, his name is. He knows his business, too.
And over it the wind shrieked again, swallowing up the yapping of the foxes and the rumble of the ice. That night, in the yellow sputter of the seal-oil lamp, the fight began. Grim-faced one realizing the nearness of death and struggling to hold it back, the other praying for time two men went through the amazing process of trading their identities. From the beginning it was Conniston's fight.
It is easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep Derwent Conniston's sister and I I get my golden-headed goddess, Miriam Kirkstone!" "That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!"
And then he came to the ninth and last letter. It was in a different handwriting, brief, with a deadly specificness about it that gripped Keith as he read. This ninth letter he held in his hand as he rose from the table, and out of his mouth there fell, unconsciously, Conniston's own words, "It's devilish queer, old top and funny!" There was no humor in the way he spoke them.
So this wonderful little creature was Derwent Conniston's sister! And she was claiming him. She thought he was her brother! " And I love him because he treated me so nicely," she was saying. "He really hugged me, Derry. I guess he didn't think I was away past eighteen. And he wrapped me up in a big oilskin, and we came up here. And O Derry, Derry why did you do it? Why didn't you let me know?
But," and with a glance over his shoulder at Jimmie Kent, now out of hearing, and leaning a pudgy arm upon a pudgy knee as he smiled confidentially into Conniston's frowning face, "ain't it pretty close to the end now?" "I give you my word, Swinnerton, that if you can't tell me straight out what you are driving at, off of this land you go."
And Keith felt his warped and despairing soul swelling with a new life and a new hope, and he was thrilled by the thought of what he must do to live up to the mark of the Englishman. Conniston's story was of the important things first. It began with his acquaintance with McDowell.
Conniston thanked him and asked him to thank Miss Jocelyn, but assured him that instead of having time lagging for him he had more to do than he could manage. So Billy went on his way alone. Nor did he seem disappointed at Conniston's refusal to accompany him.
"But I tell you what I will do if you don't get out of here. I'll just naturally pitch you out!" "I'd never have guessed it," chuckled Swinnerton. "Never in the world. I'd never even have thought of such a thing. Conniston, it's the bulliest scheme I ever heard of! How you managed it so easily " "Managed what?" Conniston's curiosity, in spite of him, had for the moment the upper hand of his anger.
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