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Updated: June 21, 2025
After leaving Moncrossen's office on the previous afternoon he had traveled all night, and reached Melton's old No. 8 in the early morning. All day he had slept by the side of his fire in the bottom of the ravine, and in the evening had lain in the cover of the scrub and watched the greener stable the horses and limp to the deserted shack.
Ye see, in th' woods we don't loike myshtery an', whiles we most av us know that Moncrossen's givin' Appleton th' double cross, 'tis none av our business, an' phwin we thoucht ye'd come into th' woods undher false pretinces to catch um at ut, they was more or less talk.
As the freezing nights hardened the crust upon the surface of the sodden snow, Jacques discarded his rackets and, spending his days in the lodge, attended his traps at night by the light of a lantern. Daylight found him one morning headed homeward on a course paralleling the river and nearly opposite Moncrossen's camp.
The Indian hastily untied the thongs, and the white man thrust his bandaged feet into the soft comfort of the mooseskin moccasins. A few minutes later he took the trail, following the windings of Moncrossen's new tote-road into the North. The air was filled with a light, feathery snow, and, in spite of the ache of his stiffened muscles, he laughed.
It was told in the woods that whisky flowed unchallenged in Buck Moncrossen's camps. His crews were known as hard crews; they "hired out for tough hands, and it was up to them to play their string out." But woe betide the man who allowed overindulgence to interfere with the morrow's work. Evil things were whispered of Moncrossen's man-handling of "hold-overs."
By that swift movement Appleton understood, for he knew men it was his business to know men and then and there he decided to send Bill to Moncrossen's camp, where it was whispered whisky flowed freely. Appleton had no son, and he felt strangely drawn toward the young man whose eyes had held him from the time of their first meeting.
During the morning he had covered but fifteen of the forty miles which lay between the old shack and Moncrossen's camp.
With a sly wink toward the others, the old man drained the glass at a gulp and passed it innocently to be refilled. "I'll let him go this time," rumbled Creed with a frown. "He's headin' for Buck Moncrossen's camp Moncrossen'll break him!" "Or he'll break Moncrossen!" interrupted Daddy, bringing his crutch down upon the floor. "The one camp'll not hold the two o' thim f'r long.
So now, tired, grimy, and with his head aching dully from the long breathing of foul air, he was in no humor for comprehensive amiability. He made his few purchases and replied curtly to the questions of the storekeeper. It is doubtful if he would have replied at all but for the fact that he must have information in regard to the whereabouts of Moncrossen's Blood River camp.
An' now he's gone an' poshted a foive per cint bonus av they bate Moncrossen's cut, an' uts loike handin' ut to 'em, 'cause he knows th' b'ys is already doin' their dommedest, beggin' ye're pardon, miss. "Oi'll bet me winther's wages, come shpr-ring, we'll have Moncrossen shnowed undher dayper thin' yon smithy, an' they had to tunnel to foind ut."
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