Isobel Read Online Free PDF Page B

and he turned back to the camp. He had scarcely made the move
when he was startled by a strange sound coming with the wind. He faced
the white blur again, a hand dropping to his empty pistol holster. It
came again, and this time he recognized it. It was a shout, a man's
voice. Instantly his mind leaped to Deane and Isobel. What miracle
could be bringing them back?
    A shadow grew out of the twisting blur of the storm. It quickly
separated itself into definite parts— a team of dogs, a sledge, three
men. A minute more and the dogs stopped in a snarling tangle as they
saw Billy. Billy stepped forth. Almost instantly he found a revolver
leveled at his breast.
    "Put that up, Bucky Smith," he called. "If you're looking for a man
you've found the wrong one!"
    The man advanced. His eyes were red and staring. His pistol arm
dropped as he came within a yard of Billy.
    "By— It's you, is it, Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed. His laugh was
harsh and unpleasant. Bucky was a corporal in the service, and when
Billy had last heard of him he was stationed at Nelson House. For a
year the two men had been in the same patrol, and there was bad blood
between them. Billy had never told of a certain affair down at Norway
House, the knowledge of which at headquarters would have meant Bucky's
disgraceful retirement from the force. But he had called Bucky out in
fair fight and had whipped him within an inch of his life. The old
hatred burned in the corporal's eyes as he stared into Billy's face.
Billy ignored the look, and shook hands with the other men. One of
them was a Hudson's Bay Company's driver, and the other was Constable
Walker, from Churchill.
    "Thought we'd never live to reach shelter," gasped Walker, as they
shook hands. "We're out after Scottie Deane, and we ain't losing a
minute. We're going to get him, too. His trail is so hot we can smell
it. My God, but I'm bushed!"
    The dogs, with the company man at their head, were already making for
the camp. Billy grinned at the corporal as they followed.
    "Had a pretty good chance to get me, if you'd been alone, didn't you,
Bucky?" he asked, in a voice that Walker did not hear. "You see, I
haven't forgotten your threat."
    There was a steely hardness behind his laugh. He knew that Bucky Smith
was a scoundrel whose good fortune was that he had never been found
out in some of his evil work. In a flash his mind traveled back to
that day at Norway House when Rousseau, the half Frenchman, had come
to him from a sick-bed to tell him that Bucky had ruined his young
wife. Rousseau, who should have been in bed with his fever, died two
days later. Billy could still hear the taunt in Bucky's voice when he
had cornered him with Rousseau's accusation, and the fight had
followed. The thought that this man was now close after Isobel and
Deane filled him with a sort of rage, and as Walker went ahead he laid
a hand on Bucky's arm.
    "I've been thinking about you of late, Bucky," he said. "I've been
thinking a lot about that affair down at Norway, an' I've been lacking
myself for not reporting it. I'm going to do it— unless you cut a
right-angle track to the one you're taking. I'm after Scottie Deane
myself!"
    In the next breath he could have cut out his tongue for having uttered
the words. A gleam of triumph shot into Bucky's eyes.
    "I thought we was right," he said. "We sort of lost the trail in the
storm. Glad we found you to set us right. How much of a start of us
has he and that squaw that's traveling with him got? "
    Billy's mittened hands clenched fiercely. He made no reply, but
followed quickly after Walker. His mind worked swiftly. As he came in
to the fire he saw that the dogs had already dropped down in their
traces and that they were exhausted. Walker's face was pinched, his
eyes half closed by the sting of the snow. The driver was half
stretched out on the sledge, his feet to the fire. In a glance he had
assured himself that both dogs and men had gone through a long and
desperate struggle in the storm.