Peace River Pendleton by Hamilton Craigie Short Stories January 25 1923 Read online

  Short Stories, January 25, 1923

  Every man to his trade indeed; for by his very use of tools may one know him as a craftsman, a hard worker, a villain——or even a murderer PEACE RIVER” PENDLETON was be chain lightning. But Peace River had sharpening his ax.

  never used that axe save as a woodsman

  The logs were “in”; presently the

  uses it—to cut down trees. But there are

  crew of Camp No. 10 of the Babine some trees that stand too long.

  Development and Timber Company would

  Now he twisted a long horse-hair

  be on the way southward over the Skeena

  from the shoulder of his mackinaw,

  to Port Essington and the Coast. The drawing it smoothly across the glistening wangan-boss had shouted “Grub-pile!” but

  edge. There were several threads in the

  Peace River continued to whet the great

  handful; they parted now on contact with

  blade with slow, sure, steady strokes, as if the razor-like steel, hanging by a single his life depended upon it.

  hair.

  And perhaps, by a grim jest, that is

  There might have been an omen in

  just what it did, as will be seen when the it if Pendleton had been superstitious. Now time is served.

  he merely grunted again, squinting along

  Peace River grunted, turning the the bright blade as a shadow bulked great blade of the four-and-a-half pound

  suddenly between him and the light.

  axe upward to the light. That blade had

  The man who faced Pendleton,

  never failed him—yet. It was a good blade, powerful as he, himself, was, could never and it had served him well; as a weapon,

  have handled that axe as could its owner. In behind it the lift and drive of the great his hands it would have been a weapon, to shoulders and the mast-like arms, it would be sure, but an unaccustomed one; in the

  Short Stories

  2

  giant timber jack’s it could be on occasion and that was, to quote his own quaint

  a whirling white blindness of steel, and he phrase—a “jude.”

  handled it like a giant, to the quick heave But there was certainly nothing of

  and thrust of his powerful shoulders, as a the dude about Denver. Now his little eyes lesser man might twirl a peavie, say, or a narrowed at the corners as he leaned close.

  white-water man a pike-pole.

  “You, Peace River!” he repeated

  And the great axe was as well thickly. “They’re callin’ you ‘Peace River,’

  known as its owner. It had his initials on it, ha? Well, I hear you’re a hellbender in a burned into the handle; there could be no scrap, ha? Well, now, you listen here a

  mistaking it.

  minute, old-timer.”

  Now the timber-jack looked

  His voice fell to a purring

  upward, and a swift shadow, like the sun

  insolence, a low note, falling almost to a on water, passed over his dark, hard-bitten mutter.

  countenance. When Peace River smiled—

  “You an’ Mary Sigerson, you ain’t

  that was another matter. Then you could

  been friends lately. Well, an’ you ain’t

  follow the smile inward to find a heart that going t’ be, Mister Peace River Pendleton.”

  was as sound as a new-minted dollar. But

  “We’ll leave the lady’s name out of

  just now there was no smile, but a grim,

  it!”

  straight, brooding look that might have

  The words were low, even,

  been a warning to the man who faced him,

  controlled. The strong hand holding the axe sneering.

  turned it over; there came a quick wrench,

  “You, Peace River!” he said.

  and the head was jerked clear of the stout Speech can be meaningless and yet

  haft. There are few woodsmen who can

  charged with meaning. Now there was a

  “strip” an axe-blade, but Pendleton did it drawling insolence in the tone, a snarling without visible effort. It was as if, too, he violence in the trap-like mouth, twisted like would not trust himself with that axe in

  an animal’s, the lip lifting from the stained hand, with that sneering face thrust close to and blackened teeth.

  his. But for the matter of that he had been

  “Denver,” for that was all the name

  meaning to put a new wedge in it—a taper

  he went by, was tall and broad; he was a

  screw. It had been his own invention.

  bigger man physically even than Peace

  But now, at that poisonous

  River Pendleton. But he was not a reference to Mary Sigerson, the veins in his woodsman; beneath the stubble of a new-neck and temples stood out in ridges. He

  grown beard his face had that curious, dead got to his feet, lurching a little, as a bear pallor found not merely in cities. And there lurches, lumbering and slow. For he was

  was a perpetual, blinking cast to the furtive thinking of Mary, and of her father. The

  eyes; when he spoke it was out of the

  “timber-waddy jude,” Hardesty had called

  corner of his mouth, in the prison twist.

  him—perhaps with reason.

  And he had got a job at Camp No. 10 for

  Sigerson’s camp was close at hand,

  the sole reason that they were short-

  at the portage at “Forty Mile,” and was in a handed, and a man was a man. Old Tom

  way a permanent one. It had been only the Hardesty would have hired the devil previous season that Pendleton, acting as himself and welcome, if he could have used guide and general handy man for the

  him; there was but one species of human

  opulent Sigerson, had met his daughter,

  that Old Tom had no manner of use for,

  Mary, for the first time. Mary had liked the

  Peace River Pendleton

  3

  upstanding axeman; she had made no secret would have known him upon the instant,

  of her preference, but there had been but it would have made little difference.

  Sigerson to reckon with. And Peace River

  For the measure of a man here in the North had never forgotten the sportsman’s Woods, the British Columbian wilderness, sarcastic stare, the slow, head-to-foot was the measure of his heart.

  inspection, the drawling, amused comment

  Peace River grunted, the force of

  of, “Well, but my good man, of course, you the blow turning him half round. But the

  understand—or is it possible you don’t?”

  blow found empty air. For Denver,

  Pendleton had felt within him the

  grinning his cold grin, had stepped inside beast which is in every man rising to the the punch even as his own left fist, lifting surface, but he had thrust it under with an from his shoe-tops, came upward with the

  effort.

  speed of light.

  “You timber-waddy dude!” was all

  That punch had, aforetime, won

  that he had said, but as such things fall out, many a fight for Denver Ed Gunderson; a

  rumor had magnified the matter—he had

  lesser man than Peace River Pendleton

  had a fist-fight with Sigerson, half killed would have wilted in his tracks. But

  him, threatened to “get” him, and so forth.

  Pendleton took it, his feet braced, head

  And it was generally understood thereafter lowered and weaving from side to side, as a that he “had it in” for the sportsman.

  grizzly meets the onslaught of wolves.

  And now, the thought of this Then, fists going like flails, he was on top hulking jailbird and Mary! It was too of his adversary, crowding him backward much. He knew that Denver had been a

  along the snow by the very force and fury casual visitor to the Sigerson camp, but

  of his attack.

  others of the lumbermen—sealers, timber-

  But Denver Ed, light on his feet for

  cruisers—had been welcome there. There

  all his bulk, side-stepped, circled with the was nothing unusual in that. But that lithe ease of the professional. Most of Denver had presumed—! It was too much.

  Peace River’s blows he took upon his

  As in a red mist he beheld the shoulders, his arms, picking them out of the broad, flat face close to his, heard the air before they were well started, unspeakab1e epithet, even as his fist, countering with heavy rights and lefts. But behind it the full weight of his two hundred he could not set himself for another

  pounds of iron-hard muscle, had crashed

  haymaker; the timber-jack had come in

  full upon Denver’s jaw. Or, rather, he close, his great arms reaching now for this thought that it had. Peace River Pendleton elusive antagonist, who mocked him even

  was a fighter. As a rough-and-tumble as he reached him on occasion with mixer, he was without a peer from Babine

  punishing blows.

  Lake southward to Port Essington, but as a Denver Ed’s sojourn in the timber

  bo
xer he was just a fair amateur, and little had served him well. Soft from months and more. Before he had sunk downward in the

  years of easy living, sledge and maul and scale to the man that he had become, axe had hardened and toughened him so Denver Ed Gunderson had been a that indeed he was by now almost the man heavyweight fighter of renown; it had been that he had been in the past. And he could his own undisciplined character which had take it. For there was nothing yellow about kept him from the championship. If Peace

  Denver Ed. As for his heart, that was black, River had heard that name of Gunderson he and it was just a muscle, without pity and

  Short Stories

  4

  without fear.

  came a sudden, brief explosion of

  But as the fight went on, his easy

  movement, and the body of his antagonist

  sneering abated, if by the merest shade; his catapulted over his head.

  confidence, the careless ease of the master Gunderson fell heavily on one

  giving a boxing lesson to a pupil, began to shoulder-point, twitched a moment, then,

  waver, to dissolve in a sudden, strange,

  rising, his mean mouth dripping curses as a uneasy apprehension.

  man turns the spigot of a barrel, made a

  This fellow—he could take it, and

  quick pass for his hip.

  then some! But there was more to it than

  And in that instant Pendleton

  that. There was a grim earnestness, a swung.

  resistless fury, an invincible, dogged

  Gunderson, going for his knife, saw

  determination about Pendleton that for the the blow in the split second that his guard first time planted a thin, entering wedge of rose to block it. It was a perfect defense, doubt and disbelief in Gunderson’s heart.

  even for that mighty blow, but there were Why, the fellow didn’t know when he was

  no entangling gloves to smother it. Straight beaten! He had hit him with everything but through that guard, as if it had been paper, the bucket, in the parlance of the squared the great fist drove; there came the sound circle; hooks, jabs, uppercuts, straight-as of a butcher’s cleaver on the chopping-letting his face into a red smear; pile-

  block as it landed with a smacking thud.

  driving rights and lefts, jolting him Gunderson bent, swayed, stumbled, backward upon his heels. Why, the fellow

  recovered ; then, in a long, slumping fall, was beaten to a fare-you-well!

  he was down. He twitched a moment, then

  But he could hit; there was no doubt

  lay still, his face upturned to the still, gray about that, Gunderson grudgingly admitted sky.

  as he ducked under a long, curving left

  It had been a knockout—clean.

  grazing his jaw. It was followed by a right Peace River Pendleton grinned, a

  just inside his guard. The blow, traveling a mere spasmodic contraction of the lips, as scant six inches, spun Gunderson like a top, he stood over the fallen man, his gaze

  jarring him to the heels. He grunted, falling somber, even in his hour of victory. His

  into a clinch, and upon the instant felt thoughts were bitter, brooding, turning now himself lifted, swung.

  to that camp a scant five miles northward For if he had thought to rough it

  across the timber—the camp of Einar

  with this timber-jack, he found now that all Sigerson. His eyes turned to ice now as

  his skill, his shiftiness, the tricks which had Gunderson stirred, grunted, got slowly to a brought him the nickname of “Elbows” for

  sitting position, then, unsteadily, to his feet.

  his brutal infighting, availed him nothing.

  But there was no fight left in him—

  It is common knowledge that a good rough-

  with his fists.

  and-tumble fighter, given his chance, may He turned without a word,

  and frequently will, best the cleverest shambling onward over the snow. At a ringmaster that ever drew on a glove. little distance, he halted, dark face twisted Something of this flashed through the mind over his shoulder. Words came.

  of Denver Ed as suddenly he felt those iron

  “You got away with it this time,

  arms contract, pinning him helpless as Mister Peace River,” he said tensely, though with hooks of steel. Peace River

  “but—an’ you can smoke this with your

  Pendleton bent, straightened, heaved; there cigarette—I’ll get you, an’ I’ll get you

  Peace River Pendleton

  5

  good!”

  him, Pendleton, his face dark, leaped now without sound, arm raised, upon the dapper II

  insolence who faced him, poised, serene.

  It is doubtful if it was the timber-

  PENDLETON watched him go, then, with

  jack’s mind to do him actual hurt. But

  slow steps, he steered an uncertain course Hardesty and the sealer leaped between.

  for the bunkhouse. First, however, he

  “Easy does it, old-timer!” grunted

  picked up his axe.

  the wangan-boss. “Easy now. ’Twon’t do,

  Hardesty met him at the door. His

  ’twon’t do at all. That’s the stuff!”

  eyes widened at the sight.

  Sigerson, paling slightly, had made

  “Great tomcats, man! What you two stiff, mincing, backward steps. Now, been doin’ t’ yourself?” he exclaimed. as he turned going out the door, Pendleton

  “Look like ye’d been clawed by a painter!”

  found voice. Strangely enough, the words

  Behind him, Morse, the sealer, were almost an echo of Denver Ed echoed it, “A catamount—sure an’ Gunderson’s.

  certain!”

  “You listen to me, Mister Sigerson.

  Neither man had seen the fight; it

  Some day I’m goin’ to fix you—an’ I’ll fix had been, so to speak, without witnesses.

  you good!”

  Pendleton grinned through split and

  blackened lips.

  Ill

  “I reckon I have been,” he

  mumbled, “even if he did walk on two

  IN THE bunkhouse at Camp Ten the crew

  laigs. Saved me a dentist’s bill, anyway,”

  slept, fathoms deep in dreams. Presently

  he continued, as he spat out a tooth. “That there would be a moon, but just now the

  fancy tooth-puller down at Hazelton now,

  darkness was ink-black, save for the

  he’d a charged me good an’ plenty, I’ll tell spectral shimmer of the star-shine upon the a man!”

  snow, filtering downward from the remote

  He grinned again, then abruptly his

  blue dome of the sky.

  face hardened. He swung round abruptly at Abruptly, out of the dense shadows

  a cool voice at his elbow.

  at the rear, a formless black blot showed

  “Why, hello, Pendleton, is that you?

  for a moment against the snow. There came You—you’re not well, ha? Oh, excuse the brief, darkling glimmer of star-shine me!”

  upon steel; then, at a swift, stealthy lope, There came then the sound of a

  the figure was across the clearing, lost in discreetly smothered laugh.

  the black belt of timber to the north.

  It was Sigerson. Dapper, precise,

  In the confusion of tracks around

  from the jaunty set of his fur cap, to the and about the clearing the trail of this

  high-laced boots, he stood peering and midnight prowler would be lost as in a grimacing in the doorway, nose sharpened

  labyrinth of converging trails. The shadow to a pointed question, mouth with its chuckled now, and the sound was not a infinitesimal mustache hiding the faintest pleasant one. Denver Ed Gunderson,

  of faint grins. Sleek—that, in a word, was pausing only long enough to fit the head to Einar Sigerson. And seeing him, and Mary, the axe-helve— for that was how he had

  you wondered, and gave it up.