Lost In The Air | Page 8

already astir.
"Did you fellows wake up last night?" he asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
Barney and the Major shook their heads.
"Then you didn't see it?"
"See what?"
"The white thing."
Barney stared. The Major's face was noncommittal.
Bruce told them of his experience.
"He's been seeing a ghost," declared Barney, with a laugh.
"On the contrary," said the Major slowly, "I think he hasn't. There are white creatures in the Arctic; just such ones as he has described. I have seen them myself. No, not white bears, either. But I have never seen them this far South. I will not say now what I think Bruce saw but I will say I do not think it was an Indian."
"Look!" exclaimed Barney suddenly in a whisper.
He pointed to a thin column of smoke that was rising over the tree-tops, to the left of the wheat-field.
"Listen!" whispered Bruce. "Somebody's chopping wood." The freshening wind brought the sound of the axe plainly to their ears. A second later they heard the distant laugh of a child.
"Come on," said the Major, throwing his roll of blankets at the foot of a tree. "Where there's children there's no danger. Maybe they'll have hot-cakes for breakfast!"
A moment later found the three of them stealing silently through the forest.
What they saw as they peered into the clearing brought them up standing. A man wielded an axe before a cabin. He was tall and strong, smooth-shaven and clean. No Indian, but a white man. His clothing was of white-tanned buckskin. The cabin was of logs, but large, with a comfortable porch and several windows. The panes of the windows seemed near-glass. It was impossible to tell, from where they stood, whether the two laughing children who played by the door were white or half-breeds. The appearance at that door of a neatly-dressed Indian woman seemed to settle that question.
The three men had gone half-way across the narrow clearing, before the man, looking up from his work, saw them. Instantly his face blanched. With a quick step backward, he reached for a rifle that stood by the door. Then the arm fell limp by his side.
"Well, you've come!" he said in a lifeless tone. "I could have killed you, one or two of you, but I won't. I may be a thief, but not a murderer. Besides, there are probably more of you back there in the trees."
"On the contrary," smiled the Major, "we are only three. We are not armed. So you see you might easily kill us all. But why you should want to, and why you expected us, when the last thing we thought to do was to land in your wheat-field last night, is more than I can guess."
"Landed?" The man's face showed his bewilderment.
"I know," exclaimed Bruce impulsively, "I'll explain. You're Timmie--Timmie--" he hesitated. "Well, anyway, that's your first name. I know all about you--"
Again the man's trembling hand half-reached for the rifle.
"Then--then you have--come for me," he choked.
Bruce, realizing his mistake, hastened to correct it.
"You're mistaken," he said quickly. "We haven't come for you in the way you mean. You won't need to go a step with us unless that is your wish. Timmie, we're here to help you; to tell you that you were forgiven long ago."
"Is--is that true?" The man faltered. "The logging company?"
"The partners are dead. Their only heir, La Vaune, forgives you." "And the Province, the Red Riders?"
"The Province forgot the case years ago."
"Thank--thank God!" The man choked, then turned to hide his face. He faced them again in a moment and spoke steadily. "I've got the money here in the cabin, every cent of it. God knows I didn't mean to do it. But the temptation was too great. And--and once I had done it, I was afraid to go back. I would have died in prison. How did you come? Are you going back? Will you take the money to the little girl, La Vaune?"
"We're going farther," smiled Bruce, happy in the realization of what all this meant to the maid in the camp. "We're going on. We flew here and will fly back--or try to." "And we'll be more than glad to return the money," he wished to add, but remembering that he would not have that to decide, he ended, "La Vaune is no little girl now, but quite a young lady. She needs the money, too. And--and," he laughed sheepishly, "she's rather a good friend of mine."
Timmie drew his hand across his eyes, as if to brush away the vision of long years. Then, with a smile, he said briskly:
"Of course, you'll have breakfast? We're having hot-cakes."
"What did I tell you?" chuckled the Major, slapping Barney on the back.
Eager as the visitors were to hear the strange story of this man of the wilderness, they were willing that breakfast should come