# The Trail of the Golden Horn/Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9
Stains on the Snow
MARION was glad to leave the lean-to and follow her father. She started aside and gave voice to a slight cry of fear as the toe of her moccasined foot touched the body of a wolf stiffening upon the snow. The forest seemed filled with horrible things, dead and alive. And somewhere in their secret depths was Zell, the beautiful girl to whom she had become so deeply attached. Was she alive? or was she, too, lying upon the cold snow like the wolves around her? But perhaps she was alive, and longing to die. The thought was terrible. Why were base men allowed to roam at large, to prey upon helpless and innocent women and girls? She knew that it was permitted in towns and cities, so could it be otherwise on the ragged edge of civilisation? How she longed for the strength of a man, her father’s, for instance, that she might go about redressing human wrongs.
She thought of these things as she struggled bravely along the trail. She had no snow-shoes, and she could have made very little progress without her father’s strong supporting arm. She did not wish to give up, but ere long she felt that she could go no farther. A great weakness swept upon her, which forced her to sink down upon the snow with a weary gasp. For a second Hugo hardly knew what to do. Then without a word he stooped, picked her up boldly and bore her ​speedily forward. Like a tired child she lay in those strong encircling arms. How often he had carried her when she was a child, and she had often admired his strength then. But now he seemed a veritable giant as he strode among the trees, crossed the wild meadow, and ascended the hill to the cabin.
In a few minutes Marion was lying upon the bunk. How good it was to be there, and how restful. She felt that she could sleep forever. It did not take Hugo long to stir up the few live coals in the stove, boil some water, and prepare a cup of tea. This, together with some ptarmigan broth he also warmed, proved most refreshing. The heat of the room was conducive to sleep, and before long she was in a sound slumber.
An expression of satisfaction shone upon Hugo’s face as he watched his sleeping daughter. He filled and lighted his pipe, and sat down upon a block of wood and leaned back against the wall on the opposite side of the stove. He could not see the girl’s face, as the one candle which was burning gave but a feeble flickering light. But he kept his eyes fixed in her direction, and his thoughts were deep. He was really happier than he had been for years. His own daughter was with him, the one for whom his heart had been crying out in all his lonely wanderings.
Throughout the rest of the night Hugo kept watch. He prepared and ate his frugal breakfast, and fed the dog. As daylight was stealing over the land, he left the cabin and made his way back to the encampment. The dogs were still there, huddled upon the robes in the lean-to. The wolves were lying just where they had fallen. Hugo glanced at the gaunt brutes as if appraising their worth.
“If I had time,” he mused, “I would take you to the ​cabin and strip off your pelts. But I’ve got other matters of more importance now. He then touched the nearest wolf with his foot. “You didn’t expect this, I reckon, when you made the attack last night. It was mighty lucky I happened to come along when I did. It’s a pity I wasn’t on hand when that two-legged devil was around. There may have been more than one, though, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. I guess I could have settled the whole bunch. I hope to goodness I’ll run across them before long.”
The dogs snarled as he approached the lean-to. But he drove them back, and gathered up the robe and blankets. He left them there and began to examine the environs of the camping-place, especially in the direction the half-breed girl had gone after the dry wood. The wolves had beaten down the snow so it was difficult for him to find any clue. Several times he encompassed the place, moving in a wider circle each time until he came to the edge of the untrampled snow. He had almost reached the trail when his attention was arrested by several dry sticks which had evidently been dropped in a hurry.
And right here he saw moccasined footprints, large and small. Close by, the snow was trampled down, as if a struggle had taken place. This spot he examined most carefully, hoping to obtain some clue to aid him in his search for the missing girl. He was about to abandon his search when his right foot upturned a piece of cloth which had been hidden by the snow. Eagerly he seized this and inspected it closely. It was merely a small fragment, and as near as he could make out it had belonged to the flap of a man’s cap for the protection of his ears. To Hugo it had a world of meaning. He pictured the half-breed girl struggling ​furiously in the arms of her assailant, tearing at the man’s face and head, and ripping away a portion of his cap in her desperation. A growl of rage rumbled up in Hugo’s throat as he thought of the foul attack upon a helpless girl. Suppose it had been his own daughter! What if Marion were now in the clutches of that inhuman brute, whoever he might be! He turned and looked off toward the right. Placing the piece of cloth carefully in a pocket of his jacket, he walked slowly toward the trail, keeping his eyes fixed intently upon the foot-prints, which here were only a man’s size. Reaching the trail, he saw that the steps led in the direction of Big Chance. How far had the villain gone? he asked himself. No doubt he had a team of dogs near, and by now he was far away with his captive. It was most unlikely that he would take the girl back to the little mining camp where her father was living. He knew Siwash Sam, a man who minded his own business, but when once aroused his wrath was terrible. Only a devil or a madman would think of interfering with his only daughter, the pride of his life. But Bill, the Slugger, was both, he was well aware. He was a devil in badness, and his passion for the beautiful half-breed girl had turned his brain. Hugo knew of other deeds of infamy he had committed, and had so cleverly covered up his trail as to escape the far-reaching hands of the Police. But now he should not escape, was the trapper’s determination. He himself would be the avenger of the innocent if the Law did not get him first.
The thought of the Law caused Hugo to look quickly around. Then he gave a sarcastic grunt as he hurried along the trail.
“Hugo, you fool,” he muttered, “you better look ​after your own skin. If you’re not careful something may happen to you.”
His mind turned to his daughter and an anxious expression overspread his face. What was he to do with her? He longed to have her with him, but under the circumstances that was out of the question. He thought of the missionary at The Gap. If he could get there, perhaps she could live in the mission house for a time, at least. He was sure he could make it worth while for the missionary to look after his daughter. He raised his right hand and pressed it against his breast. Yes, the ring was safe, and it would help him if necessary. He recalled the day he had found it in the crack of the floor in that cabin on the bank of the river. How differently matters had turned out from what he had planned.
Thinking thus as he hurried forward, he ere long came to a heavy clump of trees. He had gone part way through when he came upon the site of an abandoned camping-place. He felt the ashes, and found them cold. He next examined the beaten-down snow and saw where the dogs had been lying. He studied a number of moccasined foot prints, and saw again several small impressions, together with large ones. He was certain now that they were made by the half-breed girl, and that her captor had camped with her here. His eyes suddenly rested upon the peculiar marks upon the packed-down snow a few feet from the fire. Stooping, he saw that it was blood. A chip lying near was also stained with frozen drops. Was it human blood? he asked himself, or was it from the bleeding feet of the dogs? He banished this latter idea, however, after he had looked carefully around where the dogs had been lying. There were no signs of blood ​there, so he knew that the stains near the fire were made by the blood of human beings. What had happened? he wondered. Had a tragedy been enacted there in the night? What had become of the campers?
For a while Hugo remained there, searching for some further clue. But nothing could he find to aid him in his search. Silence reigned around him. Far off the peaks of the great mountains were aglow with the morning sun. Above him the Golden Horn was agleam with surpassing glory. The entire landscape seemed fresh and joyous after its bath of night. But Hugo noticed none of these wonders. His thoughts dwelt upon more serious things. He was thinking deeply, and his brow knit with perplexity. There was a certain course he wished to pursue, yet he felt unable to carry it out. A restraining influence overshadowed him, pressing hard upon his very soul. It was no new battle he was fighting, as he had been contending fiercely for long years. It was a struggle between the brute nature within him, and the call to higher things. At times the former had seemed to sway his entire being, and on such occasions he had been a terror to man and beast. But alone in the silence of the great wilderness the nobleness within him had always risen to battle with the demon that would drag him down. And now another element in the person of his daughter had come to strengthen his manhood and his desire for a new mode of life. Would it not be better to leave the trails, he reasoned, face the world boldly, and if punishment according to the legal code were necessary, to bear it without a murmur?
As he thus stood there battling with these conflicting emotions, his keen ears caught a disturbing sound up the trail. He listened intently, his entire body now ​fully alert. That it was a dog-team, he soon became certain, and it was rapidly approaching. Forgotten in an instant was Hugo’s half-formed resolve to face the world boldly, and begin life anew. The habits of years had taken too firm a grip upon him to be shuffled off at will like a suit of clothes. Like a subtle poison the spirit of determined antagonism had permeated his entire being, affecting his every thought and action.
With an angry growl he sprang from the trail, crashed through the trees, and made his way to the base of the hill not far away. Here he paused and looked back. Not being able to see anything owing to the intervening trees, he ascended the hill until he came to a large rock behind which he crouched. From this place of concealment he could see fairly well all that took place on the trail below. Neither did he have long to wait, for in a few minutes a dog-team hove in sight, and pulled up near the abandoned camping-place. The two men who accompanied the dogs he at once recognized as Sergeant North and Constable Rolfe. He shrank back a little more behind the great rock, fearful lest he should be observed. His respect for the Police was now greater than ever. The day before he had watched them as they sped along the main trail between Big Chance and The Gap. He had smiled grimly then, satisfied that they were on the wrong scent. Now, however, they were right before him, and but for his keenness of hearing and quickness of action they would have been upon him before he could escape. To accomplish that journey they must have travelled all night. But why had they changed their course? That thought filled him with an intense uneasiness. His heart throbbed with hatred as he watched them. How easily he could pick them off. Only two shots would ​be necessary, for he knew that he could not miss. He clutched hard his rifle, and the forefinger of his mittenless right hand toyed with the trigger. One firm pressure, then the snick of the breech-bolt, a second reverberating report and all would be over. It was a tempting situation. But Hugo hesitated. He might kill those two men, but what would be gained? There were others to take their place, for back of them was the entire Force, together with the strength of the whole British Empire if necessary. He thought, too, of Marion. Why should he bring more disgrace upon her? If he had only himself to consider it would be different. It did not matter much what happened to himself. He felt that he was of little use in the world, anyway.
Slowly his grasp lessened upon the rifle, and he replaced the mitten upon his uncovered hand. Then fearful lest the Police should notice his tracks and follow him, he moved cautiously from the rock, slipped among the thicket of jack-pines, and sped rapidly away.