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Updated: June 8, 2025
When old John McNabb and his daughter stepped off the sagging combination coach at the siding which was the northern end of the new tote-road, the first man they saw was Orcutt, resplendent in striped mackinaw, Stetson hat, and high-laced boots.
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.
An' s'posin' a wake wint by befoor th' boss c'd sind a man down to look up th' team he'd sint f'r a cook, wid orders to hurry back. An' s'posin' he found th' bum-legged driver froze shtiff on th' tote-road phwere he'd made out to hobble a few moiles on his crutch phwat thin? Why, th' man was a greener, an', not knowin' how to handle th' team, they'd got away from um."
He thought, also, of Downey and wondered. He would have given much to have returned to that cabin, but a single glance into Orcutt's face stilled any thought of further objection, and he reluctantly acquiesced. "We can follow the line of the tote-road," he said.
The big Irishman turned and swung down the tote-road, the webs of his rackets leaving a broad trail in the snow. LaFranz cowered upon the snow-plow and sought refuge in craven prayer and curses the while he shot frightened glances into the darkening forest. He thought of cutting the horses loose and starting them for camp at a run.
He, too, would live like a man, would go into the North, and henceforth only the outlands should know him. He would resign Monday morning. The thought caused a pang of regret at parting with McNabb. Darkness found him still upon the tote-road. He emerged from the jack-pines and paused at the long smooth hill, as was his wont, to look down upon the brilliant lights of Terrace City.
"'Twill serve him right. He should have 'tended to his bankin' instead of pickin' on poor old John McNabb, that should be back of his counter sellin' thread, as he told me himself. Ten cents on the dollar he offered for my tote-road." "I'll do it!" exclaimed Hedin. "It will be hard, but it will be worth it, to see that crook get what's coming to him. And then I'm going away.
I'll show him who's got brains an' there won't be no investigation, neither." He drew the team to the side of the tote-road and, slipping the halters over the bridles, tied them to a stout sapling and made his way toward the shack. One look satisfied him that the sleeper had not stirred, and noiselessly he slipped the heavy hasp of the door over the staple and secured it with the wooden pin.
But the suspense was soon over, for the nearer bushes parted suddenly and out upon the tote-road floundered an immense moose, his bulbous nose wagging, his bristly mane twitching, his stilted fore legs straddled defiantly. The next moment a great bellow of laughter went up from the crowd. "The joke's on us!" cried a woodsman, who had been among the first to retreat. "Hullo, Ben Bouncer!"
Then he filled his pipe and blew great lungfuls of fragrant smoke into the air as he rested with his back against a giant pine and watched the fall of the snow. During the last hour the character of the storm had changed. Cold, dry pellets, hissing earthward had replaced the aimless dance of the feathery flakes, and he could make out but dimly the opposite wall of the rod-wide tote-road.
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