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The man slowly shook his head: "No, Jeanne, it is impossible. Come, we will return to the lodge of Jacques. I myself will tell Wa-ha-ta-na-ta that no harm has befallen you, and " "Do you think she will believe you? Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, who hates all white men and, next to Moncrossen, you most of all, for she has seen that I love you. We have been gone three nights. She will not believe you.
"I am much obliged, Fallon, for what you have told me," replied Bill quietly; "but inasmuch as I am working for Appleton, I will just make it my business to look after his interests in whatever way possible. I guess I will take a hand in the bird's-eye game myself. I am not afraid of Moncrossen and his gang of thieves. Anyway, I will give them a run for their money." Fallon shrugged.
But, moind ye, phwin th' bird's-eye shtar-rts movin' ye don't notice nothin, or some foine avenin' ye'll turn up missin'." "What is this bird's-eye thing?" asked Bill. "What has it got to do with Moncrossen and me?" The Irishman considered the question and, without answering, walked to the corner of the bunk-house near which they were standing and peered into the black shadow of the wall.
For Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, knowing of the fatherless breeds of the rivers, hated all white men, and a great fear was in her heart for the girl, who is her daughter, and the daughter of Lacombie whom, she says, was the one good white man; but Lacombie is dead. "So always in the days of the summer, when these two would leave the lodge to visit the deserted camp of Moncrossen, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta followed them.
But place a man who has created an appetite for whisky among men who drink daily and openly, and enjoy it; who urge and encourage him to do likewise; where whisky is continually before his eyes, and the rich bouquet of it in his nostrils, and that is a test. Appleton knew this, and knowing, he sent Bill to Moncrossen, and smiled as he bet with himself on the outcome.
Then it was that Moncrossen knew that something must be done and that something quickly. He shifted Stromberg and Fallon to the sawing crew, made a skidder out of a swamper, and filled his place with a grub-shack flunky. Then one afternoon he dropped in upon Bill in the bunk-house, where that young man sat fuming at his inaction with his foot propped up on the edge of a bunk.
"That's all right, Moncrossen," he replied; "I picked the fight purpose to beat him up. It didn't work. He's a better man than me or you either an' you know it. Only he had to lick me to prove it. He chilled your heart with a look an' a grin an' the whole crew lookin' on. "But beatin' up a man is one thing an' murder is another.
"But it has come to a show-down at last, between you and me," the greener went on as he slowly and methodically turned the sleeves of his shirt back from his mighty forearms. "They tell me you are a fighting man, Moncrossen. They tell me you have licked men here in the woods good men, too. And they tell me you have knocked down drunken men, and stamped on their faces with your steel-calked boots.
All men die! Lacombie, who was good, is dead. And this one who, being a man of logs, is bad, will die also. Come away while yet there is time!" The girl sprang to her feet and, with uplifted hand, faced Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, and in her eyes was the compelling light of prophecy. "Is it not enough, O Wa-ha-ta-na-ta," she cried, "that Moncrossen, the evil one, hates this man?
Ut ain't rid war, but ut ain't so bad werwolves, Moncrossen, booze, Creed, a bit av a gir-rl somewheres, Shtromberg th' wor-rld is growin' bether afther all, an' Oi'm goin' to be in th' thick av ut!" Supper over, Bill donned mackinaw, cap, and mittens. "Phwere ye goin'?" asked Dunnigan. "To find Creed." "Wait a bit, 'tis early yit.
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