Lost Face | Page 6

and
Subienkow did not tell him.
Came the building of the fort. It was enforced labour. The tiered walls
of logs arose to the sighs and groans of the Nulato Indians. The lash
was laid upon their backs, and it was the iron hand of the freebooters of
the sea that laid on the lash. There were Indians that ran away, and
when they were caught they were brought back and spread-eagled
before the fort, where they and their tribe learned the efficacy of the
knout. Two died under it; others were injured for life; and the rest took
the lesson to heart and ran away no more. The snow was flying ere the
fort was finished, and then it was the time for furs. A heavy tribute was
laid upon the tribe. Blows and lashings continued, and that the tribute
should be paid, the women and children were held as hostages and

treated with the barbarity that only the fur-thieves knew.
Well, it had been a sowing of blood, and now was come the harvest.
The fort was gone. In the light of its burning, half the fur-thieves had
been cut down. The other half had passed under the torture. Only
Subienkow remained, or Subienkow and Big Ivan, if that whimpering,
moaning thing in the snow could be called Big Ivan. Subienkow caught
Yakaga grinning at him. There was no gainsaying Yakaga. The mark of
the lash was still on his face. After all, Subienkow could not blame him,
but he disliked the thought of what Yakaga would do to him. He
thought of appealing to Makamuk, the head-chief; but his judgment
told him that such appeal was useless. Then, too, he thought of bursting
his bonds and dying fighting. Such an end would be quick. But he
could not break his bonds. Caribou thongs were stronger than he. Still
devising, another thought came to him. He signed for Makamuk, and
that an interpreter who knew the coast dialect should be brought.
"Oh, Makamuk," he said, "I am not minded to die. I am a great man,
and it were foolishness for me to die. In truth, I shall not die. I am not
like these other carrion."
He looked at the moaning thing that had once been Big Ivan, and
stirred it contemptuously with his toe.
"I am too wise to die. Behold, I have a great medicine. I alone know
this medicine. Since I am not going to die, I shall exchange this
medicine with you."
"What is this medicine?" Makamuk demanded.
"It is a strange medicine."
Subienkow debated with himself for a moment, as if loth to part with
the secret.
"I will tell you. A little bit of this medicine rubbed on the skin makes
the skin hard like a rock, hard like iron, so that no cutting weapon can
cut it. The strongest blow of a cutting weapon is a vain thing against it.

A bone knife becomes like a piece of mud; and it will turn the edge of
the iron knives we have brought among you. What will you give me for
the secret of the medicine?"
"I will give you your life," Makamuk made answer through the
interpreter.
Subienkow laughed scornfully.
"And you shall be a slave in my house until you die."
The Pole laughed more scornfully.
"Untie my hands and feet and let us talk," he said.
The chief made the sign; and when he was loosed Subienkow rolled a
cigarette and lighted it.
"This is foolish talk," said Makamuk. "There is no such medicine. It
cannot be. A cutting edge is stronger than any medicine."
The chief was incredulous, and yet he wavered. He had seen too many
deviltries of fur-thieves that worked. He could not wholly doubt.
"I will give you your life; but you shall not be a slave," he announced.
"More than that."
Subienkow played his game as coolly as if he were bartering for a
foxskin.
"It is a very great medicine. It has saved my life many times. I want a
sled and dogs, and six of your hunters to travel with me down the river
and give me safety to one day's sleep from Michaelovski Redoubt."
"You must live here, and teach us all of your deviltries," was the reply.
Subienkow shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. He blew
cigarette smoke out on the icy air, and curiously regarded what

remained of the big Cossack.
"That scar!" Makamuk said suddenly, pointing to the Pole's neck,
where a livid mark advertised the slash of a knife in a Kamtchatkan
brawl. "The medicine is not good. The cutting edge was stronger than
the medicine."
"It was a strong man that drove the stroke." (Subienkow considered.)
"Stronger than you, stronger than your strongest hunter, stronger than
he."
Again,