The Girl From Tim's Place. Charles Clark Munn
was also another chance caller at this outpost–a half-breed trapper and hunter named Bolduc, who had established himself in a lone cabin on the Fox Hole, some ten miles up from Tim’s Place. He was a repulsive minor edition of McGuire. A wildcat, with laudable intentions, had essayed putting an end to his career, and succeeded to the extent of one eye and some blood. He had been the accomplice and partner of McGuire in many a whiskey-smuggling trip. He also dealt in this pernicious, but valuable, fluid, was a poacher ever ready to pot-hunt for a lumbering camp in winter, or find a moose yard on snow-shoes, after slaughtering the helpless inmates of which, he would sell them to the busy wood-choppers.
He, too, could be classed as brigand of the wilderness, and while no warrants or charges against him were rife, he felt it wise to avoid meeting minions of the law. Tim’s Place was a convenient point to obtain information as to location of new lumber camps or possible visits of officers. An occasional bottle of whiskey secured Tim’s favor. The evenings and meals there impressed Pete with the advantages of owning a woman’s services, and as Chip matured in domestic and other possibilities, a desire to possess her began to increase his visits.
His wooing met no response, however, and when persisted in always awoke on her part the same instinct once displayed toward him by a wildcat.
Then recourse to her father’s greed for money was taken, with results as described.
The only thing that saved poor Chip from pursuit and capture, however, was his wholesome fear of her finger-nails, and the belief that it was best to let her father earn the balance of her price and fetch her, as agreed. Acting upon this theory, Pete had departed from Tim’s Place at dawn, to await her arrival at his cabin, quite oblivious of the fact that his bird had flown.
All that long day he waited in great expectancy. Toward evening he returned to Tim’s Place to learn that Chip had not been seen since the previous night; that her father had also vanished without comment. That he was a party to this trick and deception, and, after securing his three hundred dollars, had taken her away, was Pete’s conclusion, and he vowed a murderous revenge. He returned to his cabin, little realizing that twenty miles away poor Chip, faint with hunger and the terror of a vast wilderness, was fighting her way through bush, bramble, and swamp in a mad attempt to escape.
Neither did Tim, while regretting the loss of his slave, know or care that one of his occasional visitors was now a mortal enemy of the other, and that a tragedy, dark and grewsome, would be its outcome.
CHAPTER V
“The size o’ a toad is allus reg’lated by the size o’ the puddle.”–Old Cy Walker.
A week was spent by Martin and his party at the settlement, during which he acquired the title to township forty-four, range ten, which included the little lake near the hermit’s hut, and made a foursquare-mile tract about it.
Chip, thanks to Angie, secured a simple outfit of apparel and–surprising fact–evinced excellent taste in its selection, thereby proving that eight years of isolation and a gunny-sack and red-shirt garb had not obliterated the deepest instinct of woman.
To Levi, Martin’s woodwise helper, was left the selection of fittings for the new camp. A couple of husky Canucks were engaged to bring them in in a bateau, and then the party started on its return.
Only one incident of importance occurred during the wait at this village known as Grindstone. Angie and Chip had just left the only store there, in front of which a group of log-drivers had congregated, when Angie, glancing back, saw that one of the group was following them. She quickened her pace, and so did he, until just as they turned into a side street, he passed them, halted, and turned about.
“Wal, I’m damned if ’tain’t Chip, an’ dressed like a leddy,” he exclaimed, as they drew near.
“Hullo, Chip,” he added, as they passed, “when did you strike luck?”
Chip made no response and he muttered again, “Wal, I’m damned, jest like a leddy!”
It was annoying, especially to Angie, and neither of the two realized how soon this blunt log-driver’s discovery would reach Tim’s Place.
And now, leaving the bateau to follow, the party started once more on their journey into the wilderness. No sight or sign of pursuit from the half-breed had been thus far observed. A few idle lumbermen in the village–the only visible connection between the vast forest and a busy world–were little thought of, as their canoes crept slowly up the narrowing river and gave no hint of interference from this low brute to any one except Levi.
He, however, seldom speaking, but ever acting, kept watch and ward continually. At every bend of the stream his eyes were alert to catch the first sight of a down-coming canoe in time to conceal Chip, as he decided must be done. When night camps were made, a site at the head of the lagoon or up some tributary stream was selected, and while not even hinting his reason for this, he felt it wise. As they drew near to Tim’s Place, it began to occur to Martin that Chip’s presence had best be concealed until that point was passed. He also desired to learn the situation there. He had always halted at this clearing in all his up-river journeys, so far, usually to buy pork and potatoes, and he now intended to do so again. He also felt it imperative to conceal Chip in Ray’s canoe, before they reached Tim’s Place, and let Ray paddle slowly on while the halt was made. But Levi dissented.
“ ’Tain’t best,” he said, “to let Tim know there’s two canoes of us and one not stoppin’. It’ll make him s’picious o’ suthin, ’n’ what he ’spects, Pete’ll find out. I callate we’d best pass thar in the night, leave the wimmen above, ’n’ you ’n’ I go back ’n’ git what we want.”
“But what about the Canucks following us with the bateau?” returned Martin. “They’ll tell who is with us, won’t they?”
“They didn’t see us start,” answered Levi, “ ’n’ can’t swear wimmen came. We’ll say we’re alone, ’n’ bein’ so’ll make it plausible, ’n’ you might say we’re goin’ to build a camp ’n’ ’nother season fetch our wimmen in.”
“But how about our men, on the return trip, after finding we have women at the camp?” rejoined Martin. “They will be sure to tell all they know on the way back.”
“We’ve got to keep the wimmen shady, an’ fool ’em,” answered Levi. And so his plan was adopted.
It was in the early hours of morning when the two canoes crept noiselessly past Tim’s Place. The stars barely outlined the river’s course, the frame dwelling, log cabin, and stump-dotted slope back of them. All the untidiness existent about this dwelling was hid in darkness, and only the faint sounds and odors betrayed these conditions. But every eye and ear in the two canoes was alert, paddles were dipped without sound, and Chip’s heart was beating so loudly that it seemed to her Tim and all his family must be awakened. Her recent escape from this spot and all the reasons forcing it, the fear that both her father and the half-breed might even now be there, added dread; and not until a bend hid even the shadowy view of this plague spot did she breathe easier.
“I was nigh skeered to death,” she whispered to Ray when safety seemed assured, “an’ if ever Pete finds I’m up whar the folks is goin’, I’m a goner.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of you,” returned that boy, with the boundless confidence of youth; “my uncle can shoot as well as any one, and then Old Cy is up at the camp, and he’s a wonder with a rifle. Why, I’ve seen him hit a crow a half-mile off!”
Smoke was ascending from the chimney, and the rising sun was just visible when Martin and Levi returned to Tim’s. Mike was out in an enclosure, milking; Tim was back of the house, preparing the pigs’ breakfast. The pigs were squealing, and a group of unwashed children were watching operations, when Martin appeared. A pleasant “Good