Lost In The Air | Page 8

let them sleep. He would keep watch. The three of

them could do no more.
Once more his mind turned to the problem of the wheat. What was it
that he had just concluded? Oh, yes, Timmie! Why might not Timmie
have camped here and planted this wheat? But twelve years? How had
he lived? Whence had come the seed wheat? There were a hundred
questions connected with such a solution. Ah, well, morning would tell.
There would be a cabin somewhere on the edge of the field and they
would eat. Eat? For the first time Bruce realized that he had not eaten
for hours; was very hungry. Securing some malted-milk tablets, carried
for emergency rations, he dissolved them in his mouth. A wonderfully
soothing effect they had. Propping himself against the trees, he closed
his eyes for a second, and before he could pry them open again, he, too,
was fast asleep.
When he awoke it was broad daylight and his companions were 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