Chapter XL: The White Man's Sentiment

It was very still in the dugout. Suddenly Reivers leaned forward to see if MacGregor were telling the truth. Satisfied with his scrutiny he sat back and laughed softly.

"In a belt, around his middle, eh?" he said. "Good work. Mr. Moir is cautious enough to be interesting."

"Cautious!" MacGregor threw up the flap of the dugout. "Look out there, man."

Reivers looked. On the sand directly before the door lay chained a huge, husky dog, an ugly, starved brute with mad eyes.

"Try but to crawl outside the shack," suggested MacGregor.

Reivers tried. His head had no more than appeared outside when the dog sprang. The chain jerked him back as his teeth clashed where Reivers' head had been. He leaped thrice more, striving to hurl himself into the dugout, then returned to his place and lay down, growling.

"Very cautious," agreed Reivers.

He peered carefully out toward the cooking-fire. The fire had died down now and was deserted. By the sounds coming from the larger dugout Reivers knew that Moir and his men were occupied with their supper, supplemented by occasional drafts of liquor, and once more he crawled out upon the sand.

With a snarl the great dog leaped again, his bared fangs flashing in the night. The snarl died in a choke. Reivers' long arms flashed out and his fingers caught the dog by the throat so swiftly and surely that not another sound came from between its teeth. It was a big, strong dog and it died hard, but out there on the sand Reivers sat, silently keeping his hold till the last sign of life had gone from the brute's body. Not a sound rose to attract attention from the larger dugout.

When the animal was quite dead Reivers crawled forward and untied the chain that held it to a rock. Noiselessly he crawled farther on and noiselessly slipped the carcass into the brook. The brisk current caught it and dragged it down. Reivers waited until he saw the thing disappear into the dark tunnel at the lower end of the cavern, then returned to the dugout and quietly lay down on his blankets.

"God's blood!" gasped MacGregor and sat silent.

"Well," yawned Reivers, "our friend Moir is short one dog."

"You crazy fool!" MacGregor was grinding his teeth. "Ha' you no' thought of what Shanty Moir will do when he finds what you've done to his watch-dog?"

"What I have done?" Reivers laughed his idiotic squaw-man's laugh. "D'you suppose a poor old bum like me could throttle a man-eater like that beast? You'll be the one to be blamed for it. Why should I touch Moir's dog? Moir and I came here together, chummy as a couple of thieves."

"You would not--you could not do that? You could not put it on me? Man, they'd drop me in the river after the beast, if you got them to believe it."

"Well?" said Reivers gently.

The Scot bit his lip and grew crafty.

"Well," he said, "there'd be only you left then to do the dirt-hauling for Shanty Moir."

Reivers nodded appreciatively.

"You deserve something for that, Mac," said he.

He lay silent for a few minutes. Then he chuckled suddenly as if he had thought of a good joke.

"Watch me closely now, Mac," he ordered, "and if you ever feel like speaking that word to Moir, I'll holler at you worse than this."

He rolled himself to the front of the dugout, and suddenly there rang out in the cavern such a shriek of terror as stopped the blood in the veins of all who heard. Twice Reivers uttered his horrible cry. Then he began to shout drunkenly:

"Take him off, take him away! Oh, oh, oh! Big dog coming out of the river. Take him away. Big dog swimming in the river. Take him away. Help, help!"

Shanty Moir got to the front of the little dugout in advance of the others. He came with a six-shooter in his hand, and the gun covered Reivers, huddled up on the sand, as steadily as if held in a vise. But Reivers observed that Moir stopped well out of reach.

"What tuh ----!" roared Muir, as he noted the absence of the watch-dog. "What devil's work----"

"The dog!" chattered Reivers. "Big dog; big as a house. Came out of the river. Tried to jump on me. Jumped back into the river. Swimming--swimming out there."

Shanty Moir swung the muzzle of his six-shooter till it pointed straight at Reivers's forehead. He did not step forward, but remained well out of reach.

"Steady, old son," he said quietly, "steady, or this'll go off."

Under the influence of the threat Reivers pretended to come back to his senses.

"Gimme a drink, mister," he pleaded. "I'm seeing things. I was sure there was a big dog out there. I'd 'a' sworn I saw him jump into the river. Now I see there isn't, but gimme a drink--quick!"

"Bring tuh old sow a cup of hooch, Joey," snapped Moir over his shoulder. "Wilt see about this." He turned the weapon on the cowering MacGregor. "Speak quick, Scotch jackass, or I pull trigger. What's been done here; where's Tige?"

"Was it a real dog?" cried Reivers before MacGregor could reply. "I saw something--he went into the river."

"Speak, you!" said Moir to the Scotchman. "Speak quick."

"He's telling you straight," replied MacGregor, with a nod toward Reivers. "The dog went into the river. I saw him go down, out of sight."

"Out of sight," muttered Reivers, swallowing the drink which Joey had brought him. "So it was a real dog, was it? He jumped at me, and then he jumped back, and I guess he broke his chain, because he went into the river and never came out."

Moir stepped over and examined the rock from which Reivers had slipped the dog's chain.

"Tammy," he said quietly. Tammy came obediently, stopping a good two paces away from Moir.

"See that?" said Moir, pointing at the rock. Tammy nodded.

"You tied Tige out for tuh night, Tammy?"

"Yes, but----"

"And you tied so well tuh beast got loose, and into tuh river and is lost."

"Shanty, I swear----"

"Swear all you want to, lad," said Moir and dropped him cold with a light tap on the jaw.

"Pick him up." Moir's moving revolver had seemed to cover every one present, but now the muzzle hesitated on Joey. "Carry him into tuh shack."

As Joey obeyed Moir stepped back toward the little dugout, but stopped well out of reach of a possible rush.

"Old son," he said slowly, and the gun barrel pointed at Reivers' right eye, "old son, if you yell again tonight let it be your prayers, because you'll need 'em. Dost hear? I suspect 'twas thy yelling scared Tige into the river. Wouldst send thee down after him, only I've use for you in tuh pits. Crawl in and lie still if wouldst live till daylight, ---- you. Wilt pay for the loss of Tige, I warn you that."

He turned away and Reivers fell back on his blankets chuckling boyishly. He was in fine fettle. The Snow-Burner was coming back to his old form, and in the delight of the moment's difficulties he had temporarily lost the softening memories that had disturbed him of late.

"How was it, old-timer?" he laughed. "Could you pick any flaw in it?"

MacGregor shook his head in wonder.

"I had a man go fey on me once, up on the Slave Lake trail," he said slowly. "He let go just such yells as came from your mouth now. I'm thinking no man could yell so lest he's fey himself, or has travelled wi' auld Nickie and stole some of his music."

"Quite so. Exactly the impression I wished to create," said Reivers. "I thank you for your compliment, but your analysis is all wrong. Complete control of your vocal organs, that's all. You see I wished to let out just such a yell. It was rather hard, because my vocal organs never had made such a sound before, and they protested. I forced them to do it.

"The man with the superior mind can force his body to do anything. Understand, Mac? It's the superior mind that counts. If you'd had a mind superior to Moir's you'd be top dog here, with Moir fetching bones for you. As it is, you're doing the fetching, and Moir's growing fat. And here I come along, with a mind superior to Moir's, and I'm going to be top dog now and gobble the whole proceeds of your squabbling. The mind, Mac, the grey stuff in the little bone-box at the top of your neck, that's all that counts. Nothing else. And I've got the best grey matter in this camp, and I'm going to be top dog as a matter of course."

MacGregor flared up hotly.

"You say, that's all that counts?" he said. "D'you mean to tell me to my face that after I'd struck hands with a man to be my partner, as I did with Shanty Moir, that I'd turn on him and play him the scurvy trick he played me, just because I could? Well, if you say that, mon, you lie, and I throw the word smack in your teeth. Go back on my hand-shake, just to be top dog and get the bones! God's blood! There's other things better than bones, and there's other things that count besides a superior mind. How many times do you suppose I could have shot Shanty Moir after we'd found this mine?"

"Not once. You didn't have it in you. You couldn't do it. If you could you'd have been the superior man, and you're not."

MacGregor thought it over.

"You're right, mon, I couldn't do it. I thank God I couldn't. I'd rather be the slave I am at present than be able to do things like that."

"Sentiment, Mac; foolish, unreasonable sentiment."

"Sentiment!" MacGregor spoke hotly, then suddenly subsided. "Yes, you're right, lad," he admitted after awhile. "It's naught but sentiment. I see now. It's the kind of sentiment that white men die for, and that makes them the boss men of the world. Well, lad, I am sorry to hear you talk as if 'twas only your skin was white. But I do not see you top dog of this camp yet. I'll warrant Shanty Moir didn't allow you to slip a gun or knife into camp. And did you notice the little tool he had in his hand?"

"A six-shooter," said Reivers. "A crude weapon compared to a good mind, MacGregor."

"Aye? I'm glad to hear you say so, lad, for I've only a mind, such as it is, left me for a weapon, and I'm quite sure I must overcome the six-gun in Shanty's hand ere I ever win back to lay eyes on my daughter Hattie."

"Your daughter Hattie!" Reivers sat up, jarred out of his composure. "You forget your daughter Hattie; you hear, MacGregor? And now shut up. There's been enough yawping to-night; I want to sleep."

He rolled himself tightly in his blankets. MacGregor crawled miserably to his corner and huddled down to sleep as best he could in his cruel shackles. The dugout grew as still as a tomb. Faint sounds came from the place where Moir and his men were living, but as the night grew older these ceased, and a silence as complete and primitive as it knew before man bent his steps thither fell over the isolated cavern.

Reivers did not sleep. MacGregor's last words had done the work. "My daughter Hattie." Hattie with the clean, pure face of her. Hattie with the wide grey eyes; with the look of pain upon her. Curse MacGregor! What business had he mentioning that name? Reivers had forgotten, or thought he had. He was himself again. And then this old fool--curse him! Curse the whole MacGregor tribe. And especially did he curse himself for being weak and foolish enough to permit such trifles to interfere with his sleep.

He dozed away toward daylight and dreamed that Hattie MacGregor was looking at him. The hard look on her face had softened a little, and she said she was glad he had sent Neopa back to her lover, Nawa.

"---- you, get out of there!"

In his half-waking Reivers fancied it was his own voice driving the picture from his mind.

"Get out, beasts, and get out quick!"

It was Shanty Moir's voice and he was calling to MacGregor and Reivers to get up.