THE BATTLE IN THE WILD
The woman shrank back. The last
trace of levity had vanished from her eyes. Their
blue depths gazed out upon the strange scene with horror
and dread. In that moment she understood the
power she had wielded with these two men, and a thrill
of regret shook her frame. She saw in the eyes
of both the cruel purpose which was in their hearts.
It was death for one of them. Even in that moment
of suspense, she found herself speculating which of
them it would be.
There was no sentiment in her thoughts.
These two were nothing to her. She would regret
the death of either as she would regret the death of
any strong, healthy man; but that was all. Her
horror was a natural revulsion at the prospect of
seeing death dealt out in the ruthless manner that
these men contemplated.
Just for one instant the desire to
stay the combatants rose uppermost in her mind.
She stepped forward again and raised a protesting hand.
“Are you brothers or wolves
of the forest that you’d kill each other?
If you fight for Aim-sa, she’ll have neither
of you.”
Her words rang out clear and incisive.
In her excitement she had forgotten the halting phrases
of the White Squaw, and spoke fluently enough.
Nick was ominously silent. Ralph answered her.
“Stand back, an’ remember
ye’re the squaw of him as wins ye in fair fight.”
Then he cried out to his brother:
“Are ye ready?”
Nick made no audible reply. His
face looked the words his lips did not frame.
He was ready, and the passion in him was more than
willing. Once, before he closed with his opponent,
he glanced round at Aim-sa. It may have
been that he sought one look of encouragement, one
smile; it may have been. But the beautiful face
he looked upon had no smile for either. It was
dead white under its tanning, and the blue eyes were
widely staring. Ralph did not take his eyes from
his brother’s face, and the fierce light in
them was as the gleam in the eyes of the timber-wolf
prowling at night around a camp-fire in the forest.
For a moment a heavy cloud spread
itself over the face of the sun, and the grey daylight
of winter again covered the mountains. Instantly
the forest lost its look of spring, and the air returned
to the chill of the darker months. The bald break
in the forest looked more cheerless than a waste ground
in a city, and those who stood about to fight for life
became savage images that looked something less than
human. Nick, larger than his brother, was a tower
of thew and muscle. As he stood there, clad in
a cotton shirt and trousers belted at the waist, he
was the figure of a perfect man. His shaggy head
was thrown back, but his handsome face was distorted
by its expression of hate. Ralph was the smaller
by inches, but his muscles were as fine-tempered steel.
There was even more of the wild in his expression
than in that of his brother. The ferocity in
his face was wolfish, and not good to look upon.
Both had bared their hunting-blades,
long knives at once vicious and coldly significant.
There was no further word. The
men bent low and moved circling round each other.
Their attitudes were much those of wrestlers seeking
an advantageous “holt.” By common
consent they avoided the tree, keeping to the oozing
soil of the open.
Ralph displayed the more activity.
His lesser stature inclined to a quickness his brother
did not possess. He sought to use art to draw
the impetuosity of the other, and kept up a series
of feints. But strangely enough Nick displayed
a control which was surprising. He had a full
appreciation of the life and death struggle. He
had faced it too often with the dumb adversaries of
the forest. It was Ralph who became incautious.
His fury could not long be held in check, and his cunning
at the start of the fight soon gave place to a wild
and slashing onslaught, while Nick fought on the defensive,
reading in his brother’s eyes the warning of
every contemplated attack.
But Ralph’s swift movements
harassed Nick; they pressed him sorely, and often
drove him to extremity in his defence. For long
he kept distance, knowing that while the other was
wasting strength his own was being carefully husbanded.
Ten minutes passed. Still they
had not come together. Ralph charged in with
upraised knife; the blow was warded, and he passed
on only to swing round on the instant and repeat the
attack from the opposite direction. But always
Nick faced him, grim, determined, and with deadly purpose.
Once the latter slipped; the footing was none too secure.
Instantly Ralph hurled himself upon him and his blade
scored his brother’s arm, leaving a trail of
blood from elbow to wrist. That one touch let
loose Nick’s pent-up fury and he allowed himself
to be drawn.
The two came together with a terrific
impact. Nick slipped again. This time he
could not save himself. His feet shot from under
him and he went down backwards. In his fall he
seized Ralph’s knife-arm at the wrist, and the
same time aimed a slashing blow at his face. But
Ralph’s agility was as furious as it was full
of force. In turn he caught Nick by the wrist,
and, with a great wrench, sought to dislocate his shoulder.
As well try to tear a limb from the
parent oak. Ralph’s effort died out, and
they lay upon the ground fighting to free their weapons.
Now the life and death struggle had begun. It
was a hideous battle, silent, ominous. But the
horror of it lay, not in the deadly intent, the flashing
steel, the grim silence. These men were brothers;
brothers whose affection had stood them through years
of solitary labours, trials, and privations, but which
had changed to a monstrous hatred because a woman
had come into their lives.
As the moments swept by, the brothers
rolled and writhed, with every faculty at terrible
tension. Now Ralph was uppermost; now Nick sought
to drive the downward blow. Now Ralph strained
to twist his knife-arm free from the iron grip that
held it; now Nick slashed vainly at the air, seeking
to sever the sinewy limb that threatened above his
face.
It required only the smallest slip,
the briefest relaxation of the tense-drawn muscles
on the part of either, and death awaited the unfortunate.
For long neither yielded one iota, but the struggle
was too fierce to last. Human strength has but
narrow limits of endurance when put forth to its uttermost.
Given no slip, no accident, there could be only one
conclusion to the battle. Victory must inevitably
be with the man of superior muscle. Neither fought
with a fine skill; for, used as they both were to
the knife, their antagonists of the forest only possessed
Nature’s weapons, which left the hunter with
the balance of power.
Already the breathing of the combatants
had become painfully heavy; but while Ralph struggled
with all the fierceness of his passion, and put forth
his whole strength, Nick reserved a latent force for
the moment when opportunity arrived. And that
moment was nearing.
Ralph was under and Nick’s great
weight held him down, for the sinuous struggles of
the other had lost their vim. Suddenly, with a
mighty effort, the younger man wrenched his knife-arm
free, and a cry, hoarse, fierce, sounded deep in his
throat. But his effort had cost him his hold
upon his brother. There was a wicked gleam of
steel as both men struck.
Ralph, striking upwards, was at a
disadvantage. His blade, aimed at the neck and
shoulder, struck Nick’s cheek, laid the flesh
open to the lower jaw, glanced, and buried itself
in the muscle of the shoulder. Nick’s blade
smote with a fearful gash into the side of his brother’s
throat.
It was over.
Ralph lay quivering and silent upon
the ground. Nick rose staggering and dazed.
He moved away like a man in a dream.
His arms hung limply at his sides, and his eyes looked
out across the wide woodland valley with an uncomprehending
stare. His face was almost unrecognizable under
the flow of blood from his wound. Once, as he
stood, one hand went up mechanically to his face,
then it dropped again without having accomplished
its purpose. And all the while his vacant eyes
stared out upon nothing.
Presently he sat down. His actions
were almost like collapse, and he remained where he
sat, still, silent, like an image. The moments
passed. The quiet was intense. A faint murmur
of flowing waters came up from the river beyond.
Suddenly he moved. Then in a
moment he seemed to break out into passionate life.
The stony stare had gone from his eyes. Intelligence
looked out; intelligence such as one might find in
one whose mind is on the verge of losing its balance;
a fearful, anxious, hunted intelligence, face to face
with an unending horror.
He moved to where his brother was
lying, and stood shaking in every limb; he had realized
the work of his hands. He dashed the blood from
his face. The vivid stain dyed his fingers and
the touch of the warm tide only seemed to add to his
terror. He went up to the still form and looked
down. Then he backed away, slowly, step by step,
but still unable to withdraw his fascinated gaze.
Suddenly a cry broke from his lips.
It was bitter, heartrending. Then a quick word
followed.
“Wher’s ”
His question remained uncompleted.
His head turned swiftly, and he looked stupidly about
him. The clearing was empty of all save himself
and that other lying upon the ground at his feet, and,
beyond, the carcass of the dead grizzly. A dreadful
fear leapt to his brain; he moved tottering.
His action gained swiftness suddenly. He ran to
the forest edge, and, with hungry eyes, gazed in beyond
the sparse fringe of scrub. There was nothing
there. He moved away to the right and ran in
amongst the low-growing bush, only to reappear with
more feverish haste, and eyes whose fiery glance seemed
to shoot in every direction at once. On he went,
round the edge of the entire clearing; in and out,
like some madman running purposelessly in search of
some phantasy of his brain. There was no one
there but himself, and the two still forms upon the
ground. Aim-sa was gone!
But he did not pause. His brain
was in a tumult, there was no reasoning in it.
He searched everywhere. Bush that could conceal
nothing bigger than a beetle was examined; to his distorted
fancy the lightning-stricken tree presented a hiding-place.
Further he penetrated into the woods, but always only
to return to his brother’s side, distraught,
weary from loss of blood.
Gone! Aim-sa was gone!
At last he stood, an awesome figure,
bloodstained, dishevelled. He was at his brother’s
side as he had been a dozen times during his mad search.
It was as though he returned to the dead for company.
But now, at last, he moved away no more. He looked
upon the pallid face and staring, sightless eyes,
and the red pool in which the body weltered.
There was a long pause, and the quiet
set his pulses beating and his ears drumming.
Presently he turned away. But as by a magnet drawn,
he turned quickly again and his eyes once more rested
upon his brother’s body. Then all in a
moment a stifled cry broke from his lips, and, throwing
himself upon his knees, he thrust his arms about the
dead.
Suffering as he was, he raised the
body and nursed the almost severed head. He muttered
hoarsely, and his face was bent low till his own dripping
wound shed its sluggish tide to mingle with the blood
of the man he had slain.
Now, in his paroxysm of awful remorse,
the woman was forgotten, and he only realized the
dread horror he had committed. He had slain his
brother! He was a murderer! For what?
At the thought he almost threw the
body from him as he sprang to his feet.
“No, no! not murder,”
he cried, in a choking voice. “It was fair
fight.”
Then, still looking down, he drew
his foot back as though to kick the stiffening clay.
But the blow did not come, and, instead, he wrung his
hands at his sides like a child in distress. Harsh
sobs broke tearless from his lips; his breast heaved
with inexpressible agony. Then he flung himself
face downwards upon the sodden earth, and his fingers
dug into the carpet of dead matter, clawing aimlessly.
The afternoon was well advanced when
he moved again. He rose to his feet without any
warning, and the change in him was staggering.
Now a gaunt, grey-faced man looked out upon the world
through eyes which burned with the light of fever.
His movements were slow, deliberate. Only his
eyes betrayed his condition, telling a tale of a strange
new life born within him.
He moved off into the woods, striking
down the slope towards the river. He was gone
some time; and when he returned his face was cleaned,
and a bandage was tied about it. The wound in
his shoulder was not severe.
He came none too soon, for, as he
neared the clearing, he heard a succession of deep-toned
wolf-howls. As he broke the forest fringe, he
saw two great timber-wolves steal swiftly back to the
depths whence they had just emerged.
Nick cursed them under his breath.
Then he went to his brother’s side. Here
he paused, and, after a moment of mental struggle,
stooped and lifted the corpse upon his unwounded shoulder.
Then with his gruesome freight he plunged into the
forest.
He held the body firmly but tenderly,
and walked as rapidly as his burden permitted.
He often talked to himself as he went, like a man in
deep thought and stirred by violent emotions.
Sometimes he slowed his gait, and, at others, he almost
ran. His thoughts influenced him strangely.
Once he set his burden down and rested.
The forest was getting dark about him, but it suited
his mood; it formed a background for his gloomy thoughts.
And, while he rested, he fell to talking as though
Ralph were living, and merely rested with him.
He talked and answered himself, and, later, leaned
over his dead, crooning like some woman over her child.
The time passed. Again he rose, and once more
shouldering the body, now stiff and cold, hastened
on.
And as the evening shadows gathered,
and the forest gloom deepened, there came the sound
of movement about him. At intervals wolfish throats
were opened and the dismal forest cries echoed and
reechoed in the hollow shadows.
His burden grew heavier. His
mind suffered, and his nerves were tense as the wires
of a musical instrument. Every jolt found an echoing
note upon them, and each note so struck caused him
exquisite pain. And now, too, the wolves grew
bolder; the scent of blood was in the air and taunted
their hungry bellies till they began to lose their
fear of the man.
Nick stopped and looked about him.
The evening shadows were fast closing in. In
the gloom he saw eyes looking out upon him, eyes in
pairs, like coals of fire surrounded by dark, lank,
shadowy forms. One shadow stood out more distinctly
than the others, and he unslung his rifle and fired
pointblank at it. There was a howl of pain.
Then followed several fierce yelps, and stealing forms
crowded thick and fast upon the creature that had
bitten the dust.
With a thrill of strange dread Nick
shouldered his burden again and proceeded on his way.
His steps were no longer steady, but hurried and uncertain.
In his haste he frequently stumbled, but he was strong,
and he had a haunting fear of what lay behind him,
and so he put forth a great effort.
The twilight deepened; black shadows
were everywhere about him. Hills rose before
him, and valleys sank away at his feet. His fancy
now saw the forest crowded with prying eyes.
Every tree-trunk became a figure which stood pointing
and whispering words of denunciation. And as he
beheld this ghostly army of shadows his heart quailed,
and the look in his eyes grew more and more fevered.
He lurched on under the cold, clammy body without
thought of his way, with nervous dews upon his forehead,
and shaking limbs.
The wolves still followed. Their
cries, vicious, eager, came to him, and he knew that
the meal he had provided was devoured, and they hungered
yet, and thirsted for the blood they scented upon the
air. He sped on, staggering, and his mind grew
dizzy. But he knew that he had entered his valley,
and beyond lay the dugout which henceforth was his
alone.
His intolerable burden had worn him
down. He feared it as he feared the dark shadows
of the woods, and the stealing forms which trailed
behind him. He longed to throw that which he
carried to the ground and run headlong to the shelter
of his home. But something held him. It was
as if his brother’s corpse were endowed with
life, a ghostly life, and that it clung with tenacious
grip to the back of the living. And the thought
grew in his aching brain that he was no longer free
to do as he chose, but was being driven by the Thing
he carried. At the river he bent to rid himself
of the corpse. He purposed to rest ere he bore
it up the last hill, but the stiff arms had somehow
embraced his neck and clung to him. With a cry
of terror he moved forward at a run. Hard on his
heels came the loud-voiced throng of timber-wolves.
At last, ahead, he heard the yelping
of his own dogs. The noise brought him a measure
of relief, for the speeding shadows behind dropped
back into the woods, and their voices faded away into
the distance.
But the corpse clung, and its weight
dragged him back; to his distorted fancy the arms
held his neck as in a vise. He gasped painfully
as imagination told him that he was being choked.
A cold sweat poured down his face and set him shivering,
but, like one doomed to his task, he sped on.
Now the open stretched before him
and beyond lay the dugout. He saw his dogs rushing
to meet him; his five fierce huskies. They came
welcoming; then they paused uncertainly and grouped
together in a cluster, and their tone suddenly changed
to the short-voiced yapping of fear. As he came
on he called them by name, seeking solace in their
company and in the sound of his own voice. But
the only response the dogs made was to move uneasily.
Their bushy tails drooped and hung between their legs
and they turned back fearfully. Then they began
to creep away, slinking in furtive apprehension; then
finally they broke into a headlong flight, racing
for home in a perfect madness of terror.
And so, with horror staring from his
eyes, the man who had killed his brother came to his
home again.
Inside the hut he released himself
from the icy embrace of the dead man’s arms,
and laid the poor, cold clay upon the blankets which
had been spread for the return of Aim-sa.
While he stood brooding over the corpse a sound reached
him from, behind. Turning he saw that he had left
the door open, and in the opening he beheld the crowding
forms of his dogs. They stood snarling fiercely,
with bristling manes, their narrow-set eyes gleaming
in the dusk like sparks of baleful light.
The sight set him shuddering.
Then something seemed to stir within him. His
heart felt like stone in his body. A coldness
seemed to freeze his blood one minute, and the next
in a rush came a wave of fiery passion which drove
him to unthinking action. The veins in his head
seemed to be bursting, and his brain felt as though
gripped in a vise.
Out whipped his revolver, and six
chambers were emptied at the figures which barred
the doorway. A hubbub of howls followed, then,
in a moment, all became quiet. Now the doorway
stood clear; the creatures had vanished all
but two. And these lay where they had fallen.
Suddenly a harsh laugh broke the stillness.
But though the laugh was his, Nick’s lips were
unsmiling and his eyes gleamed furiously out into
the night.