The White Desert Part 2
He winced with a sudden pain, a sharp, yet aching throb of agony which involuntarily closed his eyes and clenched tight his teeth until it should pa.s.s. When he looked again, she was gone, and the opening of a door in the next room told him where. Almost wondering, he turned his eyes then toward the blankets and sought to move an arm,--only again to desist in pain. He tried the other, and it responded. The covers were lowered, and Barry's eyes stared down upon a bandaged, splinted left arm. Broken.
He grunted with surprise, then somewhat doggedly began an inspection of the rest of his human machine. Gingerly he wiggled one toe beneath the blankets. It seemed to be in working order. He tried the others, with the same result. Then followed his legs--and the glorious knowledge that they still were intact. His one free hand reached for his head and felt it. It was there, plus a few bandages, which however, from their size, gave Barry little concern. The inventory completed, he turned his head at the sound of a voice--hers--calling from the doorway to some one without.
"He's getting along fine, Ba'tiste." Barry liked the tone and the enthusiastic manner of speaking. "His fever's gone down. I should think--"
"Ah, _oui_!" had come the answer in booming ba.s.s. "And has he, what you say, come to?"
"Not yet. But I think he ought to, soon."
"_Oui_! Heem no ver' bad. He be all right tomorrow."
"That's good. It frightened me, for him to be unconscious so long.
It's been five or six hours now, hasn't it?"
"Lemme see. I fin' heem six o'clock. Now--eet is the noon. Six hour."
"That's long enough. Besides, I think he's sleeping now. Come inside and see--"
"Wait, _m' enfant_. M'sieu Thayer he come in the minute. He say he think he know heem."
The eyes of Barry Houston suddenly lost their curiosity. Thayer? That could mean only one Thayer! Barry had taken particular pains to keep from him the information that he was anywhere except the East. For it had been Fred Thayer who had caused Barry to travel across country in his yellow speedster, Thayer who had formed the reason for the displacement of that name plate at the beginning of Hazard Pa.s.s, Thayer who--
"Know him? Is he a friend?"
"_Oui_. So Thayer say. He say he think eet is the M'sieu Houston, who own the mill."
"Probably coming out to look over things, then?"
"_Oui_. Thayer, he say the young man write heem about coming. That is how he know when I tell heem about picking heem up from the machine.
He say he know M'sieu Houston is coming by the automobile."
In the other room, Barry Houston blinked rapidly and frowned. He had written Thayer nothing of the sort. He had-- Suddenly he stared toward the ceiling in swift-centered thought. Some one else must have sent the information, some one who wanted Thayer to know that Barry was on the way, so that there would be no surprise in his coming, some one who realized that his mission was that of investigation!
The names of two persons flashed across his mind, one to be dismissed immediately, the other--
"I'll fire Jenkins the minute I get back!" came vindictively. "I'll--."
He choked his words. A query had come from the next room.
"Was that heem talking?"
"No, I don't think so. He groans every once in a while. Wait--I'll look."
The injured man closed his eyes quickly, as he heard the girl approach the door, not to open them until she had departed. Barry was thinking and thinking hard. A moment later--
"How's the patient?" It was a new voice, one which Barry Houston remembered from years agone, when he, a wide-eyed boy in his father's care, first had viewed the intricacies of a mountain sawmill, had wandered about the bunk houses, and ridden the great, skidding bobsleds with the lumberjacks in the spruce forests, on a never-forgotten trip of inspection. It was Thayer, the same Thayer that he once had looked upon with all the enthusiasm and pride of boyhood, but whom he now viewed with suspicion and distrust. Thayer had brought him out here, without realizing it. Yet Thayer had known that he was on the way.
And Thayer must be combatted--but how? The voice went on, "Gained consciousness yet?"
"No." The girl had answered. "That is--"
"Of course, then, he hasn't been able to talk. Pretty sure it's Houston, though. Went over and took a look at the machine. Colorado license on it, but the plates look pretty new, and there are fresh marks on the license holders where others have been taken off recently.
Evidently just bought a Colorado tag, figuring that he'd be out here for some time. How'd you find him?"
The ba.s.s voice of the man referred to as Ba'tiste gave the answer, and Barry listened with interest. Evidently he had struggled to his feet at some time during the night--though he could not remember it--and striven to find his way down the mountain side in the darkness, for the story of Ba'tiste told Barry that he had found him just at dawn, a full five hundred yards from the machine.
"I see heem move," the big voice was saying, "jus' as I go to look at my trap. Then Golemar come beside me and raise his hair along his neck and growl--r-r-r-r-r-u-u-f-f-f--like that. I look again--it is jus' at the dawn. I cannot see clearly. I raise my gun to shoot, and Golemar, he growl again. Then I think eet strange that the bear or whatever he is do not move. I say to Golemar, 'We will closer go, _ne c'est pas_?'
A step or two--then three--but he do not move--then pretty soon I look again, close. Eet is a man, I pick heem up, like this--and I bring heem home. _Ne c'est pas_, Medaine?"
Her name was Medaine then. Not bad, Barry thought. It rather matched her hair and the tilt of her nose and the tone of her laugh as she answered:
"I would say you carried him more like a sack of meal, Ba'tiste. I'm glad I happened along when I did; you might have thrown him over your shoulder!"
A booming laugh answered her and the sound of a light scuffle, as though the man were striving to catch the girl in his big embrace. But the cold voice of Thayer cut in:
"And he hasn't regained consciousness?"
"Not yet. That is, I think he's recovered his senses, all right, and fallen immediately into a heavy sleep."
"Guess I'll go in and stay with him until he wakes up. He's my boss, you know--since the old man died. We've got a lot of important things to discuss. So if you don't mind--"
"Certainly not." It was the girl again. "We'll go in with you."
"No, thanks. I want to see him alone."
Within the bedroom, Barry Houston gritted his teeth. Then, with a sudden resolve, he rested his head again on the pillow and closed his eyes as the sound of steps approached. Closer they came to the bed, and closer. Barry could feel that the man was bending over him, studying him. There came a murmur, almost whispered:
"Wonder what the d.a.m.n fool came out here about? Wonder if he's wise?"
CHAPTER III
It was with an effort that Houston gave no indication that he had heard. Before, there had been only suspicions, one flimsy clue leading to another, a building-block process, which, in its culmination, had determined Barry to take a trip into the West to see for himself. He had believed that it would be a long process, the finding of a certain telegram and the possibilities which might ensue if this bit of evidence should turn out to be the thing he had suspected. He had not, however, hoped to have from the lips of the man himself a confession that conditions were not right at the lumber mill of which Barry Houston now formed the executive head; to receive the certain statement that somewhere, somehow, something was wrong, something which was working against the best interests of himself and the stern necessities of the future. But now--
Thayer had turned away and evidently sought a chair at the other side of the room. Barry remained perfectly still. Five minutes pa.s.sed.
Ten. There came no sound from the chair; instinctively the man on the bed knew that Thayer was watching him, waiting for the first flicker of an eyelid, the first evidence of returning consciousness. Five minutes more and Barry rewarded the vigil. He drew his breath in a shivering sigh. He turned and groaned,--quite naturally with the pain from his splintered arm. His eyes opened slowly, and he stared about him, as though in non-understanding wonderment, finally to center upon the window ahead and retain his gaze there, oblivious of the sudden tensity of the thin-faced Thayer. Barry Houston was playing for time, playing a game of ident.i.ties. In the same room was a man he felt sure to be an enemy, a man who had in his care everything Barry Houston possessed in the world, every hope, every dream, every chance for the wiping out of a thing that had formed a black blot in the life of the young man for two grim years, and a man who, Barry Houston now felt certain, had not held true to his trust. Still steadily staring, he pretended not to notice the tall, angular form of Fred Thayer as that person crossed the brightness of the window and turned toward the bed. And when at last he did look up into the narrow, sunken face, it was with eyes which carried in them no light of friendship, nor even the faintest air of recognition. Thayer put forth a gnarled, frost-twisted hand.
"h.e.l.lo, kid," he announced, his thin lips twisting into a cynical smile that in days gone by had pa.s.sed as an affectation. Barry looked blankly at him.
"h.e.l.lo."
"How'd you get hurt?"
"I don't know."
"Old Man Renaud here says you fell over the side of Two Mile Hill. He picked you up about six o'clock this morning. Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" The blank look still remained. Thayer moved closer to the bed and bending, stared at him.