To Win or to Die | Page 4

a bit done up, but the fire has set me right again, and I'm quite ready to take the risks of the journey alone."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the man gruffly.
"I'll get you to let me rest here by the fire for an hour to eat my bit of bread and meat, and then I'll camp near you and go on again as I came. I shall manage, I daresay."
"Are we going to stand this, mates?" cried the red-bearded man fiercely.
"No!" came in answer, as all sprang up as if by a preconcerted signal.
"You misunderstand me, gentlemen," said the adventurer quietly, though his heart beat fast with the knowledge that the suspicions which had haunted him were correct. "I am much obliged for your kindness, and I want to save you trouble, that is all."
"Hear that, lads? We aren't good enough for the likes of him. All right, then, off he goes."
"Our company aren't good enough, eh? Then off you goes."
"Very well," said the young man, rising quickly; "but there is no need for a quarrel. I will go at once, and I thank you for what you have done."
"But we haven't done yet," cried the man addressed as Leggy. "Now, boys."
There was a sudden rush, and in an instant the young fellow was seized and thrown upon his face; then, in spite of his desperate struggles, he was turned over, his weapon seized, and everything of value dragged from his pockets.
"Quiet!" snarled the leader in the attack, "or I'll soon quiet you."
"You dogs! You scoundrels! Help! Thieves!"
"Louder, my lad, louder. Call police: there's some over yonder in Canady. Haul off that fur coat, lads. It'll just fit me, and I'll have his cap and gloves. That's right. Now then, my whippersnapper, off you go!"
Set free, the young man, in spite of his bubbling rage, felt the madness of further resistance, and the uselessness of wasting breath; so he sprang to his sledge, to begin lashing it fast with the rope.
"Hands off there!" roared the chief scoundrel, taking aim at him. "Now then, run for it, and get yourself warm before we begin to shoot."
"I'm going," panted the victim, "but I must fasten up my traps."
"You ain't got no traps. They're ourn," cried the man. "We give you a chance for your life, so cut at once."
"What! Send me away like this?" cried the young man, aghast. "It's murder! Let me have my blankets, man."
"Run!" shouted the scoundrel, and he shook his pistol.
"You coward!" cried the victim.
"Run!" was roared again.
Feeling that the gang into whose hands he had fallen probably meant to hide their crime by silencing him for ever, the victim turned and ran for his life, and as he ran he felt a sharp pang in the arm.
A heavy fall checked the victim's panic flight, and as he lay panting and wet with the perspiration which had started from every pore, he realised that one of the bullets had taken effect, ploughing his left arm, which throbbed as if being seared with a red-hot iron.
But the bodily agony was as nothing to the mental anguish which he suffered. Death was before him if he lay there--death in a painless, insidious form, no doubt; but still, death in all its horror to one so young and strong.
He knew that he must rise and keep moving if he wished to prolong his existence, and he rose to his feet, raging now against the cowardly gang, and more against himself.
"I was a fool and a coward," he groaned. "Why didn't I fight for my life? Great heaven! What shall I do?"
He paused for a moment, meaning to turn back and make an attack upon his enemies.
But, unarmed as he was, he knew it was madness, and he tramped on through the darkness in the faint hope of finding help, but with his heart sinking as he grasped the fact that fate or the management of the gang had driven him onward farther into the defile, and away from the aid he might have found if he had made his way back to his morning's starting-place.
Fully satisfied that death would be his portion, he struggled on aimlessly till utterly exhausted; and then he paused, breathless, to go over once more the scene by the glowing fire, and ask himself whether he had not been to blame for displaying his distrust after the way in which he had been rescued. But he could only come back to his old way of thinking--that he had fallen among thieves of the worst type, and that he owed his life to the prompt way in which he had escaped.
Recovering his breath somewhat, he stood listening as he gazed back through the darkness; but all was still. There were no signs of pursuit, so, taking out